#bound in ribbons and thin chains . . . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecampjuicebox · 11 months ago

Note

*Ahem*

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael and/or Haarlep - you decide). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and who also has a collar attached to a chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav would be down with being in the fiend's bed like this, she just would have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here)

Incredible idea! I think we need a lil Haarlep AND Raphael showing sweet little Mouse some fun 😈 Thank you for your submission, I hope you enjoy the filth! 💕

Wrapped With a Bow

Pairing: Raphael x Haarlep(m) x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 3rd Person

Warnings: Angst, smut, bondage, use of a collar/leash, CNC, domination, fingering, double penetration

The still morning air of the House of Hope sizzles with devilish magic as red sparks and hellfire swirl around the portal room, two large winged cambions appearing in the middle of the circle of enchanted frames. Servants and debtors alike greet the visitors with dulled eyes and forced smiles. The strong scent of sulfur and cinders alerts Raphael and Haarlep of the intrusion, Raphael stirring from his boudoir to assess the situation with a heavy sigh. "Who disturbs me at this hour?" he mumbles, palms rubbing the sleep from his half open eyes. One of the cambions bows gracefully, a letter pressed between his outstretched index and middle finger. "A gift from Mephistopheles." he says, voice deep and booming. A gift? Raphael reluctantly plucks the parchment from the fiend's fingers, tearing open the envelope with ease, eyes scanning the page as he reads.

My son,

As I know you are still infuriated by my actions, I am sending this gift to you as a peace offering. Use her well, she was near impossible to wrangle. A strong one she is. I hope you'll find her suitable.

Your father,

Mephistopheles

"How thoughtful." he hisses. Irritation seers in his throat as he waves a hand at the two fiends, showing them toward the boudoir to deliver the gift, and hopefully, get the hells out of his home. He follows, hands smoothing his hair back as he thinks back to the letter. A poor attempt at forgiveness. Shaking his head, he rounds the corner, eyes moving from the fiends to Haarlep, and back again, watching as they wrestle something to the floor, little yelps and squeaks of struggle perking his ears up. Just as quickly as they came, the two fiends blink away in another flurry of red magic, the sparks settling in the air to reveal his gift sat pretty on the marble floor. An woman, artfully wrapped in black silk ribbons like a Midwinter present, legs and arms bound to restrict any struggling. Around her neck sits a red leather collar, thick chain attached to a silver O-ring secured at the front. A delicious looking gift, indeed.

From across the room, Haarlep purrs, wings fluttering behind him, tail swishing side to side in an obviously aroused manner as he approaches the cambion and his new pet. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" he mumbles as he places his hands on Raphael's hips from behind, pressing his half-hard cock to the devil's backside. "Very pretty indeed." a smirk forces itself onto Raphael's lips as he kneels in front of Tav to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'll be put to such good use, little mouse." Tav spits at the devil, earning a quick grip of the jaw. Raphael's fingers hold onto each side of her face, squishing her cheeks together, a smirk forming on Tav's lips that he did not expect. She enjoys this? Haarlep gasps in excitement, swaying his hips side to side as he runs his own nails down his torso, one hand grasping at his now full erect cock beneath its thin leather restraint. "Let's play with her.."

Tav's eyes meet Raphael's. Sparkling and wet from tears, lashes dusted with little water droplets like fresh snow on pine trees. He sighs at the sight. So beautiful, so sweet. So ready to be destroyed. The look she gives him is one of surprising lust. She breathes a sigh of desire when he trails his fingers over the sharpness of her jaw and down the side of her neck. A shudder rattles her bones from his warm touch and she innocently blinks up at him. "So lovely.." he murmurs to her, fingers inching their way toward her right breast. Featherlight touch traces the shape and his eyes never leave hers, searching for permission to continue. She gives him a slow nod of approval. He circles the nipple with the tip of his nail, earning a moan from Tav's lips, her eyelids fluttering at the sweet mix of pain and pleasure. Careful fingers reach for the restraints and Haarlep quickly leans down to grasp at his wrist. "Release her there and she'll surely run. Let's move her to a much more comfortable destination."

The incubus and the devil help Tav to her feet. She stumbles from the tight restrains around her legs and Haarlep groans impatiently, scooping her legs up from beneath her, Raphael holding onto her top half as they carefully lie her on the plush bed. "Perfect. You do the honors, Haarlep." Raphael leans against the wall, his hands traveling over his torso and over the front of his thin robe, cock twitching behind the fabric, desperate for release. Haarlep grins and leans in to grasp at the bow in the ribbon with his sharp teeth, giving the silk a gentle tug to release the ties. Tav remains perfectly still. Lids low. Bottom lip caught in a death grip between her teeth. She's perfectly naked beneath the ribbons, cunt already soaked and ready for whatever the two men have in store for her.

Raphael palms at his erection slowly. His lower back bows off of the wall and Haarlep pauses to watch him, a low moan rumbling in his throat at the sight of his master exciting himself. "Such a tease." he groans, reaching down to rub at his own erection momentarily. A quick tug removes the ribbons from Tav's body and she sighs at the relief, legs falling open to reveal the mess between her thighs. Little red marks cover her skin from the friction and tightness of the silk. She sits up and turns her head toward Raphael to watch him, hips unintentionally rolling forward at the filthy thoughts swirling around in her head. She's ready for him. For both of them. In one swift motion, Haarlep reaches for her hips, flipping her over and shoving her face into the velvet duvet beneath them, a primal growl raising goosebumps all over her soft skin. His hands search her body. Every curve and crevice. Every freckle and bruise and imperfection.

Raphael still watches as Haarlep's hands roam Tav's back and ass, squishing the supple flesh between his fingers, kneading and groping and squeezing. One hand gathers Tav's wrists and forces them behind her back. He shoots a look at Raphael. "Some help?" he hisses and Raphael moves toward the bed to retrieve the ribbons Tav had been released from not moments before. He circles her wrists with the silk carefully, tying a bow at the top to finish off the restraint and he leans back to admire his work. The chain still connected to Tav's collar glimmers in the candlelight of the boudoir. An invitation. Raphael reaches down to grasp at it and give it a gentle tug, earning a muffled whimper from Tav as she struggles to lift her head from the bed. Hot fingers swipe up through her folds, Haarlep using his knees to keep her thighs apart as far as her hips will allow in this position. He lifts his fingers to show Raphael her slick, spreading them apart to windowpane the wetness between them in a thin, sticky layer.

"Little Mouse.. So wet for us." Raphael grunts. The devil leans forward, eyes fixed on Haarlep, tongue flicking out to clean off the incubus' fingers. He sucks the digits between his lips, tongue swirling around them thoroughly, Tav's sweetness making his cock grow even harder. Haarlep pulls his fingers away with a satisfying pop and works them through Tav's folds one more, eventually pressing the two fingertips to her entrance. She accepts them with ease. Surprising ease, even for herself. Haarlep begins a torturously slow pump of his fingers within her walls and she rolls her hips backward against them, chasing friction, release, anything. She's desperate now. Desperate for more. To be filled to the brim. His thumb presses to her clit and Tav nearly comes undone in that moment, the pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves enough to start her legs trembling.

The pumping of Haarlep's fingers continues as he uses his free hand to palm at his cock again, the angry red tip weeping with a shiny bead of precum. He pulls it from behind its leather restraint and leans down to rub the head between Tav's ass cheeks, playfully pressing it against her tight hole. She lifts her head and yelps. "Such a good girl." Raphael coos, giving the chain another tug, this one much rougher. A quiet choked noise escapes her and she licks the drool pooling at the corners of her lips, turning her head to fix her eyes on Raphael as Haarlep ruts against her backside. The devil hands the chain to the incubus and unties his robe, instructing Haarlep to pull Tav up onto her knees. He obeys, fingers leaving her cunt reluctantly. She keens at the emptiness and pushes herself back against the incubus as he reaches a hand around to find her aching clit once more. Her head falls back against his chest in relief, little moans of pure pleasure pouring from her lips like a song.

Raphael crawls up onto the bed and settles himself on his back in front of Tav. She smiles down at him in between moans, Haarlep's fingers still working furiously at her clit, the other hand winding the chain tight around it to keep Tav's body pulled close to his chest for complete control. He mumbles filthy words into her ear, drawing her closer to her end with each circle of his fingers. Raphael takes his cock into his hand and strokes at it slowly, Haarlep gathering some of Tav's slick on his hand to reach out and smooth over Raphael's erection for lubricant. The devil groans at the sensation and his hand quickens. "Careful, Raphael. We know what happens when you become too eager." Haarlep teases. With a groan, Raphael flattens himself against the bed and drops his hand to his side. "Bring her to me." he grunts. Haarlep obeys and shifts Tav forward. She adjusts her legs to straddle Raphael's lap, cunt pressed firmly to his cock as it lays against his stomach.

His hands find the globes of her ass and without hesitation, he guides her hips in a grinding motion against him, the friction enough to earn a strained moan from the devil's throat. Tav grins and presses her chest tightly to his as she follows the movements he pushes her hips into, her slick dripping onto his pelvis with each thrust. A delicious mess of sticky clear fluid and precum coats their skin. Haarlep lines himself up behind Tav carefully, nails digging into the plush meat of her thighs. He gathers spit on his tongue, allowing it to fall in a thin rope onto Tav's tight asshole, his thumb rubbing the saliva into her skin before pressing the tip of his cock against her. She grits her teeth and hisses at the burning sensation as he pushes himself inside. "Oh g-gods-" she whines, head falling into the sweaty crook of Raphael's neck and shoulder. He holds her steady to allow her time to adjust before lifting his hips and allowing his cock to easily slide into her cunt.

Tav sobs into Raphael's neck at the heavy pressure in both holes, her hips still. Raphael coos to her quietly, smoothing her hair down against the back of her head. After a few moments of reprieve, Haarlep begins the thrusting first, nails still hooked roughly into Tav's thighs. Little rivulets of blood bubbling up and over the indentations. Raphael begins his movements next and Tav nearly crumbles to ash as both men pick up their pace. Hips crash against hips, loud squelching and slapping noises filling the boudoir like a filthy symphony. "I can't wait to pump you full of my seed, little mouse. Make such a mess of you." Raphael groans. Haarlep gives her chain another yank backwards. She coughs at the restriction against her windpipe, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as the two men continue to furiously rut into her aching holes. She can't take much more.

Raphael falls apart first, loud moans ringing in Tav's ear. He ruts up into her one final time, hot ropes of cum spewing deep within her walls. She presses sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest as she continues to ride him through his orgasm. The friction of the silk ribbons rubs her wrists raw and she wines as she tries to tug them apart. Sweat beads up on Raphael's forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the blissful overstimulation of his cock. Haarlep is next, muscular body toppling over Tav's, pressing her tighter to Raphael as he forces his hips into her a few more times. Heat boils up in Tav's belly and she settles into the cambion beneath her. A content sigh escapes her lungs. She tugs at the ribbons once more. Both men remain inside of her, cocks pulsing from their climaxes, Tav's walls squeezing around them with the beat of her heart. They lie there, a sweaty pile of heat and sex. All too tired to move. Haarlep chuckles quietly to himself and presses his head between the space in Tav's shoulder blades, his fingers releasing her wrists from the ribbons, chest heaving.

"Your daddy should bring us gifts more often, Raphael."

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #fic request #raphael x haarlep #raphael x haarlep x tav #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #haarlep smut #raphael smut

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thepastisalreadywritten · 8 months ago

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The most powerful moment of the coronation of King Charles III was not the gold glittering off carriages or epaulettes — not the pomp and show and signifiers of power.

It was precisely their opposite: when Charles shed his gold robes and stood in a thin white shirt, his frail humanity implied.

Then a screen was erected around him and, shielded, he had a private consultation with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who dabbed anointing oil with his hands on Charles’s bare breast.

"This was the most solemn and personal of moments,” Buckingham Palace said.

Charles was bare before God, in privacy, God being one of the last beings with no need to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

The Princess of Wales looked on as the screen shielded her father-in-law.

By contrast, she was at that point the most magnificent she had ever been, swathed in layer upon layer of regality, the dress, the robes, the hanging chains, headpiece and ribbons all serving to move the viewing gaze — subjects in every sense — from our awareness of Catherine Middleton with her everyday human DNA and towards the shared fiction of her transcendent queenliness.

Less than a year later, this moment is remembered with new and terrible power.

It is spring again, but it’s a time of hard Lenten moral reflection for us as a nation, in relationship to our royals, as well as an ever more voraciously unprivate modern celebrity culture.

Both the King and the princess have cancer, the latter’s disclosed by Catherine in an unprecedented video address on Friday, March 22.

Catherine’s speech was something of a plea bargain in which she traded not only her customary silence but her most personal of health ordeals in order to put an end to toxic rumours swirling online that had become in tone like an unruly mob rattling at the palace gates.

Or rattling at the figurative locks on her medical notes, with three workers at the London Clinic, where she and the King were treated, suspended and under investigation for allegedly trying to access her records (hers, it is important to note, the King’s were unmolested).

📷: Getty Images

What was so powerful about the anointing of the King was the sacredness of that space in which he could be fully human away from observation and judgment.

There should be another one-on-one consultation that is sacred, where anyone, from King to princess to pauper, can expect to be shriven in total privacy, and that is the sanctity of the medical room.

It used to be that priests were our only bound confidants, we could trust them to be privy to all our spiritual ills.

Now doctors are our secular priests: bound by law and ethics to enshrine confidentiality at the heart of the patient relationship.

As a result, our medical privacy in an age of oversharing and online surveillance feels both stranger and more necessary.

If we knew our every GP-inspected rash was to be posted on TikTok for the nation, many of us would quite literally die of embarrassment.

The King’s appointment behind the three-sided screen can now be viewed through the lens of royal illness.

The lavishly embroidered panels and expensive white shirt now replaced by the flimsy three-sided ward screen on wheels and thin hospital gown that can humble us all.

But it also enacts a principle at the very heart of becoming the monarch.

The medical-like screen is erected in the coronation to tell us there are some places the public cannot go; to tell us that there are sacredly personal moments in which a person, any person, however swathed in our projections of power, needs to be nakedly human.

Otherwise, they will go mad. We need to make sure the screens are erected around Catherine now.

Much is said, quite a lot of it by Prince Harry himself, of the dangers of the wives of the princes repeating the tragic history of their mother, Princess Diana, hunted by photographers.

He remains phobic to any hint of tabloid persecution or paparazzi chase. But this is a sideshow, even an anachronism in 2024.

He and others have not recognised how the “chase” has changed. Who needs paparazzi when there are a billion citizen hacks ready to take pictures with their phones, in case a convalescing woman nips to a Windsor farm shop with her husband?

Instead, the appetite now is not to see but to know.

The royals used to have a contract with the public: we pay for them, and in return, they give us their presence.

Nearly all of their official job is to do with surface: to show up, to put in appearances at a set number of functions, whether at the opening of parliament or the opening of a leisure centre.

But now parts of the online mob seem to be staging a coup. We want more than the surface, we want to puncture the skin barrier of the royal family and occupy from the inside.

The “fans” have become an invasive virus. The royal analogy is often that they are trapped in a gilded zoo. This new model, instead, casts the royals more as lab rats.

When Catherine disappeared from view in January after announcing a “planned abdominal operation,” the response from internet truthers was one of irate entitlement.

They are now the 1980s tabloids: ravening for intimacies and making stuff up when thwarted.

This wasn’t the boomer generation, who are both more respectful of the royals and more private about their own health.

It was the fortysomething mothers frustrated when they can’t track the phone location of everyone in their life; or the twentysomethings on Snap Map.

Both desperate for their personalised new Netflix season of “The Royals” to drop.

Catherine presents with such stoicism and dignity, it is easy to forget where this new invasiveness started: when she was pregnant with Prince George in December 2012 and hospitalised for extreme morning sickness.

While she was sleeping on the ward, a radio station in Australia rang the hospital switchboard pretending to be the Queen.

They broadcast the nurse’s comments about Catherine’s “retching.”

One could only find this prank funny if Catherine had already — a young, wretchedly ill, pregnant woman — been dehumanised.

George is now ten and his mother hospitalised again, and in that decade, the physical security of ill royals may have tightened but their claim to bodily autonomy seems to have weakened.

Some say Kensington Palace “brought it on themselves” by their wish for discretion; this claim is duplicitous.

The late Queen Elizabeth II became increasingly debilitated in her final years with not much detail ever given; just as her father, King George VI, died without disclosing his lung cancer.

I’m glad that the British do not subject their heads of state to the same publicised medical reports as the president of the United States; one shouldn’t have to present a stool swab to sit on the throne.

No, instead the apparent justification of all those clicking and posting conspiracy theories “worried for Catherine’s welfare” was this sinful truth.

As a beautiful, 42-year-old mother of three, her drama was more box office than the ailments of those older, a pound of her flesh was worth more.

Pity, Susan Sontag said in her 1978 book Illness as Metaphor, is close to contempt.

Back then cancer was still taboo. Those around the patient, Sontag says, “express pity but also convey contempt.”

Ask any cancer patient and they will say they don’t want pity: it is too isolating, it sets them apart, an unwanted privilege.

This is why the video plea of Catherine was one of affinity, rather than pity or privilege.

Last year, she sat in robes in Westminster Abbey at the coronation of her father-in-law, next to her future king son and future king husband.

In her video address last week, she sat on a classically English garden bench, pale, alone and in jeans, as bare of pomp as any royal can be.

No mention of kings or titles, just Diana’s ring on her hand.

Rather she gave an appeal, parent to parent, human to human, about her “huge shock” and her care for her “young family.”

And, finally, her kinship with anyone who lives in a vulnerable human body susceptible to a democratic illness like cancer, “you are not alone.”

Or, to paraphrase Richard Curtis:

“I’m just a girl, standing in front of a public, asking for some time to endure gruelling chemotherapy."

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

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book--brackets · 28 days ago

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Summaries under the cut

The Cat Ate My Gymsuit by Paula Danzinger

Marcy Lewis is bored by school, she knows she's never going to be thin, and she is dead sure she'll never have a date. Life at home isn't great either, since her father bosses her and her mother around. Then along comes Ms. Finney, an English teacher who'll try anything in the classroom and actually treats kids like human beings. Now that she's found a teacher who sees Marcy as more than a name on an attendance sheet, Marcy realizes her life could mean something. When Ms. Finney is suspended, Marcy knows she's got to take a stand. But is this new independence worth the price she'll pay at school and at home?

Magic Shop by Bruce Coville

Russell Crannaker, a rather timid boy who is eager to frighten the school bully on Halloween night, acquires a magic ring and the power to change himself into a hideous monster.

Thimble Summer by Elizabeth Enright

When Garnet finds a silver thimble in the sand by the river, she is sure it’s magical. But is it magical enough to help her pig, Timmy, win a blue ribbon on Fair Day?

The Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart

Fourteen-year-old Quint Verginix is the only remaining son of famous sky-pirate Wind Jackal. He and his father have journeyed to the city of Sanctaphrax – a great floating rock, bound to the ground below by a chain, its inhabitants living with their heads literally in the clouds.

But the city hides a dangerous secret: deep inside the great rock, something horrible lurks. With his father away, Quint may be the only one who can save Sanctaphrax from the dreaded curse of the gloamglozer . . .

School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari

Everyone is afraid of something...

Madeleine Masterson is deathly afraid of bugs, especially spiders.

Theodore Bartholomew is petrified of dying.

Lulu Punchalower is scared of confined spaces.

Garrison Feldman is terrified of deep water.

With very few options left, the parents of these four twelve year-olds send them to the highly elusive and exclusive School of Fear to help them overcome their phobias. But when their peculiar teacher, Mrs. Wellington, and her unconventional teaching methods turn out to be more frightening than even their fears, the foursome realize that this just may be the scariest summer of their lives.

Pillage by Obert Skye

Upon his mother's death, fifteen-year-old Beck Phillips is sent to live with an eccentric uncle he had never met in a remote manor house, where he learns that his family suffers from a curse that allows him to make plants grow on command and dragon eggs hatch.

The Blackwell Pages by K. L. Armstrong

In Viking times, Norse myths predicted the end of the world, an event called Ragnarok, that only the gods can stop. When this apocalypse happens, the gods must battle the monsters--wolves the size of the sun, serpents that span the seabeds, all bent on destroying the world.

The gods died a long time ago.

Matt Thorsen knows every Norse myth, saga, and god as if it was family history--because it is family history. Most people in the modern-day town of Blackwell, South Dakota, in fact, are direct descendants of either Thor or Loki, including Matt's classmates Fen and Laurie Brekke.

However, knowing the legends and completely believing them are two different things. When the rune readers reveal that Ragnarok is coming and kids--led by Matt--will stand in for the gods in the final battle, he can hardly believe it. Matt, Laurie, and Fen's lives will never be the same as they race to put together an unstoppable team to prevent the end of the world.

The Star of Kazan by Eva Ibbotson

Annika is happy living in the servants' quarters of a house owned by three eccentric professors. She adores Ellie and Sigrid, the cook and housemaid who found her as a baby, abandoned on a church doorstep. In the eleven years since, they have taught her how to bake and clean to perfection. Then one day a glamorous stranger arrives, claiming to be Annika's mother. Annika is no servant, she learns, but an aristocrat whose true home is an ancient castle. But at crumbling Spittal, Annika discovers that all is not as it seems in the lives of her newfound family. . .

The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbit

Jerry, Jimmy, and Cathy stumble upon a mysterious castle with a beautiful princess asleep in the garden. The princess is really Mabel, the housekeeper's niece, who is only pretending to be royalty. But when she shows them a secret room filled with treasure where they discover a magical ring, enchantment becomes a reality.

Fairy Oak by Elizabetta Gnone

Fairy Oak is the name of a village that grew up in the shade of a talking oak tree, an imaginary place, lost in the mists of time immemorial, overlooking a stormy sea, next to uplands covered in snow in winter, surrounded by enchanted woods, vast meadows, crystal clear rivers and lakes. A healthy and uncontaminated nature, which dominates and envelops the worlds in which the stories unfold. Within the walls of the old village there lives an equally old community, a mixed bag of funny characters, with the rituals, customs, habits and familiarity of a serene, cheerful, lively people. The books chronicle the adventures of the adolescent twins Vanilla and Lavender. To save their people, menaced by a cruel enemy, they go on a long journey deep into the labyrinths of their powers. Since the girls are very young, at first lots of things go wrong. Some are frightening. In short, it’s not going to be easy at all! But someone and something will help them.

#best childhood book #poll #the cat ate my gymsuit #magic shop #thimble summer #the edge chronicles #school of fear #pillage #the blackwell pages #the star of kazan #the enchanted castle #fairy oak

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mymediacollection · 1 year ago

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Jumin's bad ending but it's Gahan...with Yohan sitting on a chair, legs crossed as he waits framed by the lights of the city behind him.

Gaon walks unsteadily towards him, his hands bound behind him, thin chains clinking on his ankles and a luxurious, red ribbon hiding his vision acting as a blindfold.

#tdj #the devil judge #kang yohan #gahan #thedeviljudge #kim gaon #lawful husbands #tdj rewatch #tdj fanfic #kdrama

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ai-doesnt-live-very-long · 17 days ago

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Shadows of Utopia - Chapter 2

Written by Nova. Edits and Quality of Life assurance by Rai.

……………………………..

Lira felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed open the heavy hatch of the maintenance tunnel. It creaked ominously, the sound echoing in the stillness as she stepped into the unknown.

The moment she emerged, the stark contrast of the outside world hit her like a wave. Gone was the sterile, controlled atmosphere of the Hub, where the temperature was always perfectly regulated and the air smelled of artificial cleanliness. Instead, she was greeted by a barren landscape, harsh and uninviting.

The ground was cracked and dry, an expanse of muted browns and grays that stretched far into the horizon. Sparse tufts of withered grass poked through the parched earth, their lifeless forms swaying in a breeze that carried the scent of dust and decay. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like the bones of a long-forgotten giant, casting shadows under the unforgiving sun. Above, the sky was an unrelenting blue, almost too bright to bear, giving a false impression of tranquility.

Lira hesitated at the threshold, her heart racing. This was freedom? She had imagined the outside world as vibrant and full of life, a stark contrast to the polished walls of the Hub. Instead, it felt desolate, almost like a graveyard for dreams. She took a deep breath, the air gritty in her lungs, and stepped forward.

Each footfall crunched against the dry earth, amplifying her anxiety. She glanced back at the dark maw of the tunnel, a stark reminder of everything she had left behind. The Hub was a prison, but at least it was a familiar one. Now, she was alone in a harsh reality where every step felt uncertain.

“Just keep moving,” she whispered to herself, clutching her tattered jacket closer. Lira squinted against the bright sun, scanning the horizon for any signs of life. In the distance, a few scraggly shrubs fought for survival, but there were no towns, no people—only the vast emptiness that stretched before her.

Suddenly, a rustling sound caught her attention. Lira froze, instincts kicking in as she crouched low, heart hammering. She peered into the distance, her eyes straining to make out the source of the noise. A small creature, thin and scrappy, darted between the rocks. It paused for a moment, its beady eyes locking onto hers before it scampered away, disappearing into the shadows.

Lira let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. A living thing—at least something survived out here. Encouraged by this fleeting encounter, she pushed herself to stand and move forward. Each step felt like a declaration of independence, a promise to herself that she would not be defeated by this new world.

As she walked further away from the dome, the reality of her situation began to sink in. The Hub was gone, but so were the chains that bound her. This wasteland, as desolate as it was, offered a different kind of freedom—one that came with risks and challenges, but also possibilities.

With renewed determination, Lira pressed on, ready to discover what lay ahead in the unforgiving expanse of the desert.

Lira adjusted her gaze to the horizon, where a narrow path snaked through the desolate landscape. The road, a once-proud trail now cracked and overgrown with stubborn weeds, beckoned her forward. The further she ventured away from the Hub, the more alive the world felt—yet also more intimidating.

With no clear destination in mind, Lira chose to follow the path. It wound through the barren land, occasionally disappearing into patches of dust and rock before re-emerging as a thin, winding ribbon against the backdrop of the vast emptiness. She knew she had to reach the Arena Desert, but the thought of traversing the unknown filled her with both excitement and trepidation.

As she walked, the sun beat down relentlessly, and Lira pulled the frayed collar of her jacket higher, seeking whatever shade she could find. The heat shimmered off the ground, creating a mirage that danced before her eyes, teasing her with visions of cooler environments. Each step felt like an act of defiance against the oppressive sun, a reminder that she was alive and free, even in this harsh reality.

The road seemed to shift beneath her feet, its surface uneven and strewn with jagged stones. Lira stumbled occasionally, her thoughts consumed by the enormity of her situation. She was no longer a cog in the Hub’s machine; she was an individual, navigating the chaos of the outside world. This newfound independence filled her with resolve, even as the fear of the unknown gnawed at her.

After walking for what felt like hours, she came upon a dilapidated signpost half-buried in the sand. The faded letters barely read “Arena Desert: 20 Miles Ahead.” A rush of adrenaline surged through her. She was heading in the right direction! But the realization that she still had a long way to go dampened her excitement.

Determined to press on, Lira resumed her trek, moving with a sense of urgency. The desolation around her began to shift subtly. The terrain grew increasingly rocky, and a few patches of scrubby vegetation appeared, defiantly clinging to life in the unforgiving climate. The road had begun to incline, leading her towards a low ridge that promised a view of what lay beyond.

As Lira climbed, she noticed a distant figure standing on the horizon. She paused, squinting against the sun. Was it a mirage? Or perhaps another traveler? The figure seemed to shimmer, flickering in and out of existence as the heat distorted the air. Unsure of whether to approach or keep her distance, she felt a mix of curiosity and caution.

Finally, the road crested the ridge, and Lira stood at the top, breathless. Before her lay the Arena Desert, an expanse of sun-bleached sand and rocky outcrops stretching endlessly into the horizon. The air was thick with heat, and she could almost taste the dust in her mouth. But it was beautiful in its starkness, a testament to survival in an unforgiving world.

Lira took a moment to appreciate the view, the vastness both daunting and liberating. It was here that she felt the weight of her past slip away, replaced by the promise of what lay ahead. With a deep breath, she began her descent into the Arena Desert, ready to face whatever challenges awaited her.

As Lira made her way down the rocky slope, the heat began to intensify, wrapping around her like a thick blanket. The stark beauty of the desert gave way to the outlines of buildings that emerged from the shimmering haze ahead. The town of the Arena Desert sprawled before her, a vibrant tapestry of adobe and stone structures, their intricate carvings telling stories of a culture steeped in combat and camaraderie.

The streets were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the sterile silence of the Hub. Here, the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of metal against metal, echoing from the nearby arena. Lira could see fighters practicing their skills, their bodies moving with a grace that belied the harshness of their environment. She felt a rush of adrenaline at the sight—this was a place where strength and strategy reigned supreme.

Lira stepped into the heart of the town, her senses overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. The buildings were low and sprawling, designed to keep cool in the relentless heat. Colorful banners fluttered in the dry breeze, showcasing the accomplishments of local heroes. As she wandered through the narrow streets, Lira noticed the eclectic decor that adorned each home, a hodgepodge of items collected over time—trophies from combat tournaments, vibrant fabrics, and eclectic trinkets.

In one corner, she spotted a group of children engaged in a mock battle, their laughter ringing out as they brandished wooden swords. It was a reminder of the town’s deep-rooted connection to martial training, where even the youngest were taught the value of strength and strategy. Lira couldn’t help but smile at their carefree joy, a stark contrast to her own tumultuous journey.

As she navigated the bustling streets, Lira felt the weight of eyes upon her. She knew she stood out—her attire a stark contrast to the colorful garb of the townsfolk. Some glanced at her with curiosity, while others seemed more wary, assessing this newcomer who had dared to enter their territory. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against their scrutiny.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the town as Lira approached the central arena. It loomed large, an imposing structure decorated with vibrant banners that announced the next tournament. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a reminder of the importance of combat in this community. Lira felt a flicker of longing—she could almost hear the roar of the crowd, the thrill of victory, and the weight of defeat.

But she was not here to fight; she was a stranger in this land, seeking answers and a place to belong. Lira decided to find shelter for the night, knowing that the cold desert nights would soon descend upon her. As she turned away from the arena, the town’s vibrant energy faded behind her, replaced by the reality of her situation.

Navigating through the winding streets, she stumbled upon a small inn, its weathered sign swaying gently in the breeze. With a deep breath, Lira pushed open the door, the cool interior providing a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. The smell of spiced meat wafted through the air, and she could see a few patrons seated around tables, sharing stories and laughter.

Taking a seat at the bar, Lira summoned the courage to speak to the innkeeper, a burly man with a friendly demeanor. “Do you have a room for the night?” she asked, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that churned in her stomach.

The innkeeper regarded her with a raised eyebrow, assessing her for a moment. “We do, but it comes with a price,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Are you ready to share a story or two about your journey?”

Lira hesitated but nodded, understanding that in this community, sharing her experiences could forge connections and earn her a place, however temporary. As the innkeeper handed her a key, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. Perhaps in this vibrant, chaotic town, she could begin to carve out a new identity—a place where her past didn’t define her, but her choices did.

Settling into her room at the inn, Lira couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement mingled with apprehension. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries depicting heroic battles and legendary fighters, a testament to the rich history of the Arena Desert. She could hear the distant sounds of laughter and cheers wafting through the open window, drawing her curiosity and igniting a longing within her.

After a quick wash, she slipped into the common area, eager to absorb the atmosphere. The inn was bustling with locals exchanging tales of their recent battles and the upcoming tournament. The air was thick with camaraderie, laughter, and the aroma of spiced meat sizzling over an open flame. Lira felt her heart race; this was a place brimming with life, unlike the sterile existence she had left behind in the Hub.

She found a spot at the bar, ordering a plate of food. As she waited, she struck up a conversation with a nearby patron—a wiry man with a sun-kissed face and a braided beard who was animatedly recounting a recent skirmish. “You’ve got to see the arenas! The fighters are incredible! They’re not just muscle; they’ve got brains too. Strategy’s half the battle,” he boasted, his eyes gleaming with passion.

“Sounds intense,” Lira replied, her curiosity piqued. “What’s it like to fight out there?”

“It’s like dancing with death!” he laughed, slapping the table. “But it’s exhilarating. The crowd feeds off your energy; you can feel their excitement. It’s not just about winning; it’s about putting on a show. You should join the next tournament!”

Lira chuckled nervously, shaking her head. “I think I’ll stick to watching for now. I’m not exactly a fighter.”

“Everyone’s a fighter in their own way,” he replied, winking at her. “You’ve made it here, haven’t you? That’s already something.”

As the night wore on, the stories flowed like the drinks, and Lira found herself drawn into the warmth of the community. She listened to tales of bravery, clever tactics, and the bonds formed through shared struggles. For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of belonging.

When the crowd began to thin, Lira made her way back to her room, her mind racing with thoughts of her own journey. She had escaped the confines of the Hub, but at what cost? The idea of fighting, of being a part of this vibrant world, stirred something deep within her. She was no longer just a passive observer; she had the power to shape her own destiny.

Lira lay awake that night, listening to the howling wind outside as a sandstorm began to brew. The storm rattled the windows, and she felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. Would she find her place here, or would she always be an outsider looking in?

As the storm raged on, she thought of the challenges that lay ahead—of the political tensions simmering between the Arena Desert and the Central Hub, of the scarcity of resources that shaped the lives of the people around her. This was a harsh world, one that demanded resilience and strength.

But there was something exhilarating about it, a spark of hope ignited in her heart. Perhaps she could forge a new path for herself amidst the chaos, blending her past experiences with the skills she could learn here. Perhaps this desert, with all its dangers and delights, would become her new home.

The storm continued to howl outside, but Lira drifted into a fitful sleep, dreaming of arenas filled with cheering crowds and the thrill of battle.

………………………………………

Lira stepped into the bustling heart of the Arena Desert town, her senses overwhelmed by the vivid colors and sounds. The air was thick with the scent of dust and sweat, mingling with the distant echoes of laughter and shouts from the nearby arena. For the first time since her escape, she felt the pulse of life around her—a stark contrast to the sterile, controlled environment of the Central Hub.

As she wandered through the streets, Lira noticed a group of mercenaries gathered outside the arena, their voices a mix of banter and camaraderie. Among them stood Jax, his posture relaxed yet alert, with a sly grin playing on his lips. He seemed to embody the rough-and-tumble spirit of the desert—a stark difference from the polished, rehearsed smiles she had grown up with.

“Look at her, all lost and wide-eyed,” Jax remarked, drawing the attention of his companions. The comment sliced through the air, tinged with sarcasm. “New in town, I take it?”

Lira squared her shoulders, refusing to let his words deter her. “What’s it to you?” she shot back, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She could feel the eyes of the mercenaries on her, weighing her worth.

“You got that right,” Jax replied, his tone dripping with casual disdain. “This isn’t a playground for dreamers. You’ll want to watch your back around here.”

“Maybe I like a little danger,” Lira retorted, her pulse quickening. “What’s so great about hiding behind walls?”

Jax’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of genuine interest. “Hiding behind walls has its perks,” he countered. “It means you get to live another day without facing the harsh realities of this place.”

Lira bristled at his condescension. “I’m not afraid of reality,” she asserted, stepping closer. “I’ve seen the truth. The Syndicate doesn’t care about us—”

“Ah, the Syndicate,” Jax interrupted, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice. “You think you know the whole story? You’ve got a lot to learn, girl. Out here, ideals don’t pay the bills or keep you safe.”

“What do you know about it?” Lira challenged, anger flaring. “You’re just a mercenary, willing to sell your skills to the highest bidder. What’s noble about that?”

A silence fell between them, thick with tension. Jax’s expression darkened, and for a moment, the playful facade dropped. “You think I choose this life because I want to? It’s survival. Maybe you should stick to your sheltered life back in the Hub. This isn’t a game.”

Lira could see the steel in his eyes, a hardened resolve that mirrored her own determination. “And maybe I want to fight back,” she said, her voice steady. “Maybe I want to do something real, something that matters.”

“Fighting back won’t save you from the reality of this place,” Jax replied, a hint of respect creeping into his voice despite his tough demeanor. “But if you’re serious, you might just survive longer than you think. Just remember, not everyone will fight for the same reasons. We’re not heroes out here; we’re survivors.”

With that, he turned back to his friends, leaving Lira to grapple with the weight of his words. There was a truth in his cynicism that gnawed at her, but deep down, she knew she had to press on. She had already made her choice—she would not retreat back into the shadows of her past.

…………………………

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the desert sky in vibrant hues of orange and purple. Lira found herself wandering through the winding streets of the Arena Desert town as night fell, her earlier encounter with Jax still echoing in her mind. Determined to learn more about this place and the people within it, she made her way to the local inn, a modest structure made of adobe that stood at the edge of the bustling market square.

As she stepped inside, the scent of spiced meat and roasted vegetables wafted through the air, mingling with the warm chatter of patrons gathered at the tables. The inn was alive with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a stark contrast to the solitary escape she had experienced earlier.

Lira made her way to the bar, where a grizzled man with silver-streaked hair wiped down the counter. His eyes twinkled with a familiarity that made her feel a bit more at ease. “What can I get you?” he asked with a friendly smile.

“I’ll take a water, please,” Lira replied, still absorbing the vibrant atmosphere around her.

As the innkeeper filled a cup, a familiar figure caught her eye—Jax sat at a corner table, nursing a drink. The earlier tension still hung between them, but curiosity drew her closer.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Jax glanced up, surprise flickering across his features before he waved her over. “Sure, I could use some company. I’m not exactly surrounded by friends here.”

Lira sat down, studying him as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You didn’t strike me as the type to enjoy being alone.”

“Trust me, I’d rather be fighting than sitting here,” he replied, his voice laced with a dry humor that made her smirk. “But this is a necessary evil. You learn a lot about people in a place like this.”

The innkeeper approached, placing Lira’s water in front of her. “What’ll it be for you, Jax?” he asked, his tone affectionate.

“Just the usual, Dad,” Jax replied, rolling his eyes slightly but with a hint of fondness. “Can’t a guy enjoy a drink without his old man hovering?”

Lira raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Your dad runs this place?”

“Yeah, he does,” Jax said, his demeanor softening as he looked at the innkeeper. “And he’s way too invested in my life, if you ask me.”

“I’m just looking out for you, son,” the innkeeper replied, shooting Jax a knowing look before moving on to serve another customer.

“What’s it like?” Lira asked, genuinely curious. “Growing up here, I mean. Does it ever feel… overwhelming?”

Jax paused, taking a sip of his drink as he considered her question. “Yeah, it can be. There’s a lot of pressure to prove yourself. Everyone’s fighting to be the best, and it’s easy to get lost in the chaos. But it’s also home. We look out for each other, even if we don’t always agree.”

Lira nodded, recalling her own experiences back in the Hub. “It sounds like you have a strong community here.”

“Stronger than most, for sure,” he agreed, leaning forward slightly. “But it’s not without its issues. The Syndicate doesn’t care about us, and that’s something we all know. We have to fend for ourselves.”

“Is that why you became a mercenary?” Lira asked, the curiosity in her voice prompting Jax to open up more.

“It’s part of it,” he admitted, his tone becoming more serious. “I wanted to make my own choices and protect the people I care about. But it comes with a price. Trust me, not everyone fights for the right reasons.”

Lira contemplated his words, feeling a spark of understanding grow between them. “I want to fight against the Syndicate, to help those who can’t help themselves. But I don’t know where to start.”

Jax studied her for a moment, the challenge in her eyes igniting something within him. “Then maybe I can help you find your footing. But you need to be ready for the reality of it all. This isn’t just about ideals; it’s about survival.”

“Then let’s do it,” Lira replied, determination lacing her voice. “I won’t back down. Not now.”

With a nod, Jax leaned back, a reluctant grin breaking through his tough exterior. “Alright, then. Welcome to the real world, Lira. Just remember—keep your wits about you.”

As the two of them began to strategize, Lira felt the weight of her past begin to lift. This was the beginning of something new, a partnership forged in the heat of the desert and the urgency of their shared goal.

#writing #wip #ai #chatgpt #Nova #scifi #political intrigue #drama #character heavy #worldbuilding #distopia #resistance

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the-smallest-star · 7 months ago

Note

{🌹}

This time two deep crimson orchids, thin jet black stems braided together and loosely bounds with a white ribbon, took the place of the offering from yesterday. A slightly larger box, this one a navy blue hue, held a silver-chained pendant, from which a silver charm dangled.

As the last time, the square white postcard, edges trimmed with maroon glitter, sported the same paw-shaped stamp mark. However, this time, it sported a little message, written in neat script:

𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇.

-𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓇 ❤

[https://www.pinterest.com/pin/140315344624668393/]

[https://www.pinterest.com/pin/565342559490057029/]

Oooo, another strange gift? He's not sure how they keep getting to him but its still nice.

#hazbin!verse #GritttheImp

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calehenituse-brainrot · 2 years ago

Text

Of Dresses and Disguises

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

A plan of dresses and disguises is bound to be a disaster.

CONTENT WARNING: self-harm scars, self-harm shaming, drug usage, aphrodisiacs

To be truthful, you have no idea why Alver had suggested to recommend you a designer when you already knew one, but when he mentioned the bill being on him, you immediately jumped on the offer.

"The dress isn't complicated to make at all — it's simple and short," you had explained to the designer as you sketched out what kind of dress you wanted.

The designer takes your sketch, eyes raking the drawings with a keen eye, and over time, they began to glimmer with interest. "How scandalous!"

You let out a chuckle, taking a seat on the couch in the parlor. "I need it in black. And please add a white shawl so I won't get cold."

"In black? I must say, Miss [Name], your taste is impeccable," the designer complimented. "To have this style of dress shortened and corset removed. Would you like it to be form-fitting still?"

"Yes," you answered. "Shall we get my measurements?"

The designer clapped their hand and their assistants began to move. They measured and took notes of your size, jotting them down quickly before having you choose the fabric for the dress. Afterward was picking on jewelry and a matching purse to go with the dress.

It didn't take long for the designer to finish making the dress — they have been warned that your order must be prioritized as it was for urgent use — so when they returned two days later with the finished dress, purse, and jewelry, the operation began.

Your dress was a short black dress that stopped mid-thigh with a straight-across neckline and a thin draped hanging sleeve. You chose an elegant, tiered, pearly choker and a black purse with a golden chain to be your complimentary attire. You also added a white, sheer shawl to drape around your shoulders and tangled with your arms.

You were in the middle of doing your makeup to make sure you'd look unrecognizable when a few knocks on your door interrupted you. Reaching for kohl from your little makeup pouch, you exclaimed, "Come in!"

You began to stain your waterline with the kohl, seeing Cale appear from your door, dressed in a sleek black button-up with black trousers. He wore a black-based vest with golden detailing that made him look so regal. In his arms was probably his black blazer, folded neatly. His red hair has turned brown, tied with a golden ribbon.

You quickly finished your makeup before dusting your dress and turning around to face the man. When you faced him, you see Cale looking at you with a soft gaze.

"You look amazing," you complimented him with a smile, eying him up and down appreciatively. "Gold suits you."

"And you would, too," he says, handing you a black masquerade mask with golden detailing. You raised an eyebrow, noting that Cale was holding a plain black masquerade mask, silently asking why Cale was choosing to be humble tonight, to which he gave you a shrug as an answer.

You turned to the vanity, placing the mask on your face and before you could tie the ribbon behind your neck, Cale came over behind you, "Excuse me."

His fingers worked skillfully to tie the ribbon behind your head and when he was done, he caressed the point where your neck and shoulder meet gently. Shivers ran up your spine upon feeling his touch and you grasped it, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Cale leaned down, kissing the back of your neck affectionately. "You look breathtaking."

He glanced up at both of your reflections before his other hand came up to your thigh where your dress had hiked up, caressing the pale, straight bumpy lines that were peeking out. "Are you fine being dressed like this?"

You posed a little with a melancholic grin. "Just this once. No one will know who I am."

Cale stared at you through the mirror before he pulled away. He fixed the shawl properly around you so it won't look ruffled and crushed, his hand brushing against the scars on your biceps.

"You look amazing."

"Human!"

You both turned around when Raon burst the door open, flying into the room with a pout on his face. "Human, human, are you sure I don't have to follow you and [Name]?"

'Oh, so cute—!' You thought when you heard his confused, pleading voice. You saw Ohn and Hong walking into the room, their claws clacking on top of the hardwood floors.

"Wow, you look so beautiful, [Name]!" Hong complimented you, coming up to you and nuzzling your legs. "Thank you, Hong."

"I'm sorry you couldn't work beside us this time," you told them. "It's too risky."

"Just be careful," Ohn murmured, sitting on your vanity table to look up at Cale while Raon is perched around his shoulders.

"We'll be fine," Cale says, his other hand ruffling Ohn's head.

"Excuse me, Young Master-nim, Miss [Name]."

You all looked up to see Ron standing by the doorway. He gave you and Cale a polite smile. "Choi Han is ready."

"Oh, we have to get moving," you told them, moving to grab for your purse.

"Human, are you sure you can handle this?" Asked Raon anxiously, pouting.

You stood next to Ron, watching Cale talk to the kids to ease their anxiety about leaving Cale — most likely because he had been down in the dumps lately (you being the reason why) and they worry over him doing something dumb or borderline suicidal.

"I assume everything went well?"

You smiled at Ron's question. Of course, he'd want to know. "Yes. We both agreed to talk about it after things have settled down."

Ron let out a derisive chuckle. "Knowing what type of world we live in, I doubt that day will come soon."

"Mhm."

"Then?" Ron continued, now finally glancing at you. "Will you stay despite knowing that?"

He was asking whether or not you were still intending to leave to seek whatever it is that you wanted. Would you still leave even though you knew Cale returned your feelings?

You wished you could spit at the old man that he was purposefully making you feel selfish, but in a way, you are, aren't you? You were reminded of the voice that has been giving you headaches a few weeks ago, your head being so oddly quiet that you wanted to scream.

Despite the headaches, the voice was leading you to take your first step to get more clarity. They had given you a few days to choose whether you wanted to leave this all to pursue the answer of your existence here.

You turned to look at Ron with a sad smile. "No."

Ron's expressionless face cracked and you were stunned to be able to witness the way his eyebrows twitched in disappointment and eyes glazed with a melancholy look. He turned to look at you and while you never once had a father to care enough about you to be disappointed, you think about how bitter it must be because Ron's look was enough to crush your heart.

"I'm sorry," you murmured. Ron didn't say anything in response, turning to look at Cale instead when he came over with the kids.

Cale nodded at you and Ron. "Let's go."

Walking towards the parlor, you repeated some of the things you had agreed with Cale. His name was Robert Miles, a rich merchant that's traveling between the continents. You kept your name, [Name], posing as his escort for the night.

"Count Theo has several proposals, some accepted, some rejected by yours truly," you reminded him even though it wasn't necessary when you were nearing the parlor. "Road repairs, destroying functional bridges to make a better one, rebuilding a couple of administrative buildings, and many more."

"Cale-nim! [Name]!" Choi Han greeted you when Ron opened the door for you.

You saw that he was facing a mana communication device and it was on top of the table. Ron shut the door behind you all while you neared Choi Han, seeing Alver's face on the device.

He looked surprised when you came into the screen, perhaps barely able to recognize you. He smiled when he finally processed your appearance. "You look great, Miss [Name]."

"All thanks to you, Your Highness," you say, bowing your head a bit. "The designer you recommended me was amazing."

"I'm glad you went with the dress of my choice," Alver said.

Cale did a double-take. "Wait, what?"

"Now let me update you all—" Alver wastes no time to change the topic. "We spotted Baron Davis coming into the gambling house accompanied by escorts and Count Theo is already in there as well."

Baron Davis was the owner of the gambling house Count Theo frequents. He had connections with drug rings and a little bit on human trafficking, where some of the women he bought were allegedly used for his pleasures.

"Any chance they'll both be sitting at the same table tonight?" You asked. It'll be a bit of trouble if you're going to be distracting Baron Davis when Count Theo is near.

"Count Theo had been glancing towards Baron Davis ever since the man came in," Alver answered, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Damn," you murmured. You'll have to go all out and make sure Count Theo doesn't recognize you at all.

"I suggest teleporting there as quick as you can," Alver said, eyes glancing at Cale for a second before he looked back to you. "And, Miss [Name], again, you look wonderful."

You rolled your eyes seeing that the man was purposefully doing that to get some kind of reaction from Cale, though you doubted anything could get through the man. Alver gave you a gleeful smile before shutting off the call.

"Alright, let's go there before the night gets later," you turned to the rest, fixing your shawl.

Cale nodded towards the Black Dragon, wearing his plain black mask. "Raon, please."

"Leave this to me!" Raon acknowledged enthusiastically.

When you all appear in an alleyway not far from the gambling house, Choi Han and the kittens merged into the shadows to watch from afar and collect any documents they could use to incriminate Baron Davis.

"Human, I want to go with you!" Raon pleaded, looking at Cale with his big eyes.

"I guess—" Cale had just begun to speak when you grabbed his arm.

"Cale—!" You hissed under your breath. "You cannot be serious. That gambling house is full of cigarette smoke, drugs, and god knows what kind of pornographic scene we'd stumble upon inside. You want to let a child see all of that?"

Cale shut his mouth close and you let him go, opting to hug Raon instead. "I'm sorry, baby, but you can't go inside. You'd have to be older to get in."

"But I'm the mighty Raon Miru," Raon whined, surprising Cale because Raon rarely had to whine to get what he wanted.

"Well, in that case, the mighty Rain Miru could watch the area for me and Cale, right?" You cooed, holding Raon by his jaw and directing him to look into your eyes. You gave him a sweet smile with your dark red lips, "Hm? You can do it, right? Make us proud?"

It was endearing to see you bargaining with a child. Raon pouted before finally giving in, going limp into your arms as he mourned over not being able to work beside you all.

"Alright, go to your brother and sister and watch us from afar, okay? And listen to Choi Han well."

Cale watched Raon leave you both with arms crossed in front of his chest. You turned to him, slipping your arm into the crook of his elbow, and began walking together, "The night hasn't even started but I'm already tired."

"You're good with kids," Cale commented off-handedly, both of your eyes trained on the entrance to the gambling house.

"I try my best with them," you replied, walking closer to the entrance and seeing a tall, bulky man guarding the door. "I don't recall any security measures when entering the place."

"Evening, Sir," the man greeted you and Cale. "Your name?"

"Robert," Cale answered, taking out a few gold coins and giving them to the man. "Robert Miles."

Receiving the coins with both hands, the man scrambled to let you both in and bowed his head low as you walk passed him. You noted how he doesn't even ask you for your name, which means you must've looked like an actual escort. 'Good for me, I guess.'

Upon entering the building, your senses were overwhelmed by the colorful dresses and masks, the stench of tobacco, and something herbal in the air. Your best guess for the last one would probably be drugs. There were more women compared to men in the building, some of them crowding a noble or two, some sitting together, and you can see someone pining for a woman and making out with them on the dark corners.

"Vulgar," Cale said, eying the booths where a man was seated with a woman on his lap, swapping spit and grinding against each other. "Thank goodness Raon isn't here to see this."

'This place is like an orgy party,' commented the Fire of Destruction.

'It's gross,' murmured the thief with disgust.

'Smells horrible,' added the priestess.

"Look for our man," you reminded him. "Let's look around together."

A waiter with a tray of drinks passed you both and Cale easily snatched a glass, drinking the liquor with an appreciative hum. "Don't drink anything while you're here. They got some pretty strong stuff."

"Hmm, I know," you murmured, hugging his arm closer to your chest, and Cale's face reddens. "We'll look suspicious if we don't mingle with the others."

"Before that—" Cale began. "The dress. Was it... Hyung-nim's choice?"

You turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Please don't tell me his words managed to get under your skin."

"It didn't," he says. "But, again, why did you give him the privilege to choose your dress?"

'Are you upset she didn't ask you?' asked the Super Rock with a tone that Cale knew had he had a face, it would be smiling.

"Are you upset I didn't ask you?" You voiced out the Super Rock's question to the world. "I just think he'd know what kind of dress would be the most outrageous, considering he's more on the reserved side."

"Am I not reserved?" Cale asked with a frown, not because he was upset, but because he was confused.

"You've seen me with nothing but a bathrobe on and you didn't flinch," you reminded him of the incident in Ubarr territory, causing his cheeks to redden upon the memory. "You've seen more of a woman's skin compared to him. Besides, your standards of modesty are perhaps a bit skewed compared to his."

"Hello, hello..."

You both turned to the new voice that had greeted you. You were stunned when you were met with a middle-aged man with navy blue hair with strands of white hair slicked back, showing off his ruggedly handsome face that was accompanied by light wrinkles and crow's feet on the corner of his eyes.

On his sides were two women, looking slightly older than you were as they hang onto his arms.

"Good evening, Baron Davis," Cale greeted him first, bowing his head down, which you followed mutely.

"Oh? You know who I am?" Asked Baron Davis with a grin.

"It would be unbecoming of me to enter a party without knowing who's the host," Cale replied.

In an almost comedic timing, a waiter passed by and Cale placed his glass on top of the tray they were walking around holding. He held out his hand and Baron Davis took it, firmly shaking each other hand.

"Robert Miles," Cale introduced himself.

"Simon Davis," Baron Davis says slowly, eyes raking all over your body as if Cale wasn't standing in front of him. "What do you do for a living, Mr. Miles?"

"I'm a merchant," Cale answered, going through the background Alver have prepared for them because if he was going to pay attention to Baron David practically leering at you like a piece of meat, he might as well fuck up this whole plan and beat the shit out of the guy. "Born in the Roan Kingdom but my parents themselves are merchants so I could never stay in one place for far too long."

"Oh, the life of a nomad, eh? How wonderful," Baron Davis says. "And may I ask what about the lady beside you? What is her name?"

You bowed your head humbly, feeling Cale's arms tense the whole time you were holding him. You can feel the glare of the women beside him, most likely not wanting to have the man looking around for other women when they haven't sucked him dry yet. "My name is [Name], Sir Davis."

Baron Davis raised an eyebrow. "No last name?"

"I am a commoner, Sir Davis," you answered.

"You were wearing such an... elegant dress, I thought you were a part of the nobility." Baron Davis's attempt to flirt did not go over your head.

You let out a giggle and placed a hand on Cale's chest, leaning into him with a pout, ignoring the frantic drum of his heartbeat underneath your palm. "It's all thanks to Mr. Miles right here, Sir. He bought me everything I'm wearing today. Isn't he so kind?"

Baron Davis hummed. "What kind of merchant are you, Mr. Miles? Anything specific that you sell?"

"I focus on textile tradings," Cale answered automatically.

"I see..." Baron Davis kept his eyes on you, a sickening grin on his face as he enjoyed the view. "Well, I have a booth that I use to sit down and talk with anyone I find interesting. Mr. Miles, would you do the honor of being that person tonight, along with Miss [Name], of course?"

Cale had a feeling Baron Davis was only after you tonight but hey, at least the plan was working, right?

"It would be such a privilege to share a conversation with you, Baron," Cale said smoothly.

'Human, is everything alright?' Raon's anxious voice appeared in his head just as they were heading to a booth together.

'Everything is fine,' Cale replied. 'How is everything on that side?'

'Choi Han and a couple of other people are looking over papers in an office but we haven't found anything yet,' Raon explained, voice sounding so disappointed that he couldn't tell Cale any good news.

'It's okay, try to look behind bookshelves or under the floorboards,' Cale reassured the dragon. 'Keep us updated.'

"They've got into his office but they haven't found anything incriminating yet," Cale whispered to you while Baron Davis and his women were sliding into the booth.

"Oh, it's so soft," you say gleefully when you sat down on the plush seats of the booth, keeping up an act of an innocent girl.

"You think so, Miss [Name]? My bed is softer than these seats," Baron Davis suggested with a grin that Cale wanted to rip off. "Maybe I should show you later tonight."

You tried your best not to gag. "Oh, I would love to but..."

You snuggled to Cale, hand on his chest as it slowly trailed down to hold his clenched fist. "I promised Mr. Miles I'd warm up his bed tonight."

"I envy you, Robert," Baron Davis muttered, leaning back into his seat. "Tell me, what part of Miss [Name] do you like the most?"

Cale didn't have the chance to even think of an answer when Baron Davis continued to speak of you in the most perverse way Cale has ever heard; "Is it her tits? Does she sucks you off good?"

You were thankful for the dim lighting near the booth area because your face is flared red and your eyes had grown glossy. Never in your life have you ever heard someone talk about you so degradingly. It made your stomach drop and makes you feel nauseous.

"Are you the type to stuff her cunt full?"

You wanted to fucking cry.

You didn't expect Baron Davis to be someone so fucking disgusting to the point he could talk about this so openly and without any shame. You expected a little bit of decorum! Were your expectations set too high?

You held onto Cale's clenched fist, noting that it was shaking out of pure anger.

'What the fuck,' the thief cussed. 'Is this guy fucking sick in the head?'

'How dare he—!' the Super Rock was at a loss for words upon hearing such disgusting remarks.

'Burn him! Burn him alive! What a fucking sicko!' shouted the Fire of Destruction with rage.

Before Cale was successfully persuaded by the crazy bastard's suggestion to burn this whole establishment down, a figure appeared beside their booth.

"Simon!"

You tensed, hearing the familiar grating voice enter your ears. You turned, seeing Count Theo — you would recognize the slimy bastard even if he's wearing a mask — standing while holding a gorgeous mahogany box with an iron latch.

"Theo!" Baron Davis greeted enthusiastically. "Come, sit down, friend! How have you been? How's the Palace treating you?"

Because Baron Davis was already sitting with two women, Count Theo opted to sit next to you, placing the box on the table. You tensed a bit, shuffling closer to Cale until one of your legs was hanging onto his thigh.

Count Theo sighed. "It's been hell with that bitch [Name] around."

You saw Baron Davis glancing at you for a second and immediately reacted. "Oh my, I don't work at the Palace, though?"

"Huh?" Count Theo looked at you with a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, pardon me, Sir," you bowed your head a bit. "My name is [Name]. I had thought you were talking about me."

Count Theo's eyes drank the image of you and stopped only when Cale's arm appear to pull you by your waist. He glanced at Cale for a moment and when he saw brown-reddish eyes already glaring darkly at him, he stand down and looked back at you instead, "Where do you work, Miss [Name]?"

You tried your best to mimic Marilyn Monroe's iconic tone. "Well, Mr. Miles said I just need to look pretty and warm his bed. I would never work in the Palace when Mr. Miles treats me so kindly."

Count Theo's eyes glanced at the arm around your hips. "Mr. Miles...?"

"Theo, this is Mr. Robert Miles and his company tonight, Miss [Name]," said Baron Davis, gesturing to Cale. "Mr. Robert Miles, this is Theo, a good friend of mine."

"Mhmm, nice to meet you, Mr. Miles," Count Theo said before looking back at you and grinning. "Mhm, yes, you're not the [Name] I was talking about. She doesn't have tits and legs as great as yours, and she certainly wouldn't be dressed like you. The bitch's a fucking prude."

He raised his hand, the back of his hand caressing your arm and pausing when he came across your scars. "Oh, what's this? What a shame to see scars on such a beautiful body. They ruin you."

"Scars?" Questioned Baron Davis.

"Hmm, I've heard from my colleagues that that bitch [Name] always wore long sleeves probably because she has a lot of scars like this, something about being sad—" Count Theo snorted. "What a waste of fucking time. If she wanted to die, she should have just ended her life instead of seeking attention like that."

You felt your throat throb uncomfortably as you forced yourself not to cry, chest going tight as you mull over the decision of wearing such a dress. God fucking dammit, you get that it looks a bit horrid, but must such hurtful words be said?

"May I ask what's in the box?" Cale asked, pulling you closer to him and rubbing your waist with his thumb to calm you down.

You leaned to his neck, burying your face there to calm yourself down — feeling his warmth, breathing in and out with him, his scent calming the hurricane in your head, and using him as a place to lean on. You placed a hand on his neck and placed an appreciative kiss there.

"Thank you," you murmured against his skin, as quietly as you can. You can feel his heart pounding and smile at the effect you had on him.

"I am glad you asked, Mr. Miles," said Count Theo, opening the iron latch of the box and showing a few herbs rolled into a sheer, thin white paper.

'Shit,' Cale thought.

"Oh, my friend, you're a godsend!" Baron Davis reached and grabbed for one and Count Theo grabbed for his own.

"Mr. Miles, you must have one for yourself," Baron Davis said, having one of the women light up the end of the blunt for him. He inhaled with the blunt still in-between his lips, the end of it lighting up slightly before dimming and then he inhaled the smoke, some of it coming out of his nostrils.

You peeked at the box and many thoughts ran through your mind. Was Cale familiar with drugs? Had he ever done it back in the day? Does he get high easily? Can he even get high?

'Fuck, I didn't expect this,' you thought. You tried weed once or twice in college and thankfully you didn't get addicted to it — actually, you smoked more cigarettes back in college than weed.

Cale was the most rational between the two of you so he must not be in any situation where his consciousness and rationality be compromised.

Mustering the most innocent and cute voice you have, you asked; "Can I have one?"

Cale glanced at you, most likely confused. You whisper to him, "Just follow my lead."

"Of course, you can, sweetheart," Count Theo said, pushing the box towards you. "Mr. Miles, look at how Miss [Name] is willing to try one. Won't you grab one for yourself as well?"

"It's okay," you say, reaching for one. "We'll share it like how we always do!"

Cale was flabbergasted. What? Too many variables have shown up tonight that he was slowly growing frustrated with each time he has to improvise.

He watched Count Theo light up your blunt and you held it in between your fingers. With a grin, you settled yourself to straddle his lap, your center pressed against his crotch. His arms are around your waist, pulling you close so your breasts flushed against his chest.

"Whatever you do, don't inhale the smoke," you murmur to him before taking a drag of the blunt while pulling down Cale's chin so he'd open his mouth.

You leaned close to him, open your mouth to exhale the smoke into his mouth, and then crashed your lips together. You inhaled all the smoke back right into your lungs to prevent him from inhaling too much and let him kiss you, your hand still holding the blunt. You wanted to cough but swallowed it down, causing your throat to ache and you squirmed on top of him.

Cale licked your lips before pushing his tongue in, exploring your mouth, and twirling your tongue together just like how you did it to him a few days ago. His hand came up to the small of your back, wanting you to be so impossibly close to him that you'd merge as one.

"Mhmm," you whimpered when Cale unconsciously pushed his hips up to yours, the growing bulge brushing against your damp panties. "A-ahh..."

You pulled away from the kiss, licking your lips before taking another drag of the blunt while Cale spoke to them with his cheeks and the tip of his ear flushed red, "Hm, it's nice, I suppose."

'... That's genuinely the hottest thing I've ever seen a woman do,' the thief commented.

'I know, right? She was good with it, too,' murmured the Fire of Destruction.

"What an interesting way to share," Baron Davis pointed out, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy, no doubt having a hard-on.

"Say, Miss [Name], do you think we could share as well?" Teased Count Theo, exhaling a puff of smoke from his mouth.

"Oh, no, I can't," you say, removing yourself from Cale's lap, showing off the hard-on the man was having to the world. "I can only do it with Mr. Miles."

Count Theo flicked his tongue. "You're a greedy one, aren't you, Mr. Miles?"

Cale thought about how close the two of you are and how embarrassed he was to grind up to you like earlier. "I suppose I am."

"Sir, what is it like to work in the Palace?" You asked, looking at Count Theo with big, puppy dog eyes. "Is it as fun as they say? Do you get to meet His Highness every day?"

Seeing such a beautiful woman questioning him about his line of work with so much awe, Count Theo puffed up his chest and spoke with pride; "Of course! I used to be able to converse with His Highness Alver every day, however ever since that bitch came, my plans been going down the drain."

"Hmm, is it because of that [Name] woman?" you asked, prodding further, hoping Count Theo would admit something. You mustered up the courage to touch his arm and asked, "What did she do?"

Count Theo's face flushed red. "O-oh, she's a friend of His Highness and got a job through him. The bastard put her as a supervisor for project proposals in the office and she's been rejecting mine every time I applied one."

"Oh, proposals? What do you do with a proposal?" You asked, putting up a clueless facade hoping the bastard is into that sort of thing. Your body tensed when you feel Cale's hand on top of your thigh, his thumb brushing your skin. You took up the blunt again, taking a long drag of it before inhaling the smoke.

To be truthful, even though he wasn't used to being so intimate with someone, much less to make out with them but the mission so far had been in his favor with you being someone by his side because you have been putting your attention on him all night, but now that Count Theo has been the one to take your attention, he's slightly irked seeing you only talking to the man.

"Oh, you know, I try to make the people's lives better -- give them proper housing, this and that," bragged the Count.

Cale raised an eyebrow. What the hell is he talking about? According to you, all of Count Theo's projects mostly caused a disturbance to the commoner's day-to-day activities so you would only accept the ones you deemed urgent enough, but Count Theo was always trying to drag through the whole thing to make it last longer than necessary. "Probably so he can yap about how busy he is to his colleagues," you have told him earlier.

Cale heard you coo, no doubt thinking about how you'd rather stick your socked foot into a washbasin full of water than do this. "How kind of you."

"Don't tell me you're the one responsible for the rebuilding of the bridge near the administrative building?" Cale piped into the conversation, an amused eyebrow raised. He wants to see what type of outrageous shit Count Theo would spew. He had no idea which bridge he himself is talking about but he did manage to remember that small detail when you were complaining about it. "It looks much better than when I last visited."

"Oh, you've seen the contractors working, huh?" Count Theo seemed proud. "See, Mr. Miles, you can see what type of changes I'm doing to the kingdom."

"Though, I must admit that you put a lot of attention on that part of town," Cale pointed out. "Any reason why? A family member living there?"

You covered your mouth and put up an expression of scandalized when Cale continued, "Or perhaps a mistress?"

Count Theo frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Cale. "You're quite the curious one, aren't you, Mr. Miles?"

"No need to feel ashamed if you do," Cale pressed on, placing his arm around your shoulder. And for an added flair, his other hand reached for your chin so you would face him instead, "After all, I'm not exactly a refined man myself."

Count Theo looked at the way Cale was now looking down at you and squishing your cheek while you were whining for him to let go or he'll ruin the makeup you've done so hard on. He let out a low chuckle, "No, not a mistress. But something much more valuable."

"More valuable than a woman?" Cale questioned, making sure to have his tone as bewildered as possible. Count Theo snorted, "Mr. Miles, there are many things that are more valuable than a woman."

"I have several friends in that area, you see," Count Theo said with a grin. "They can't exactly... work being so near to the building but with my people in the area, they're having a much easier time."

"What a smart man, eh?" Baron Davis suddenly added, snickering. "He decided to risk it near the place they wouldn't be looking around in."

'Human! We found it!' Raon's voice smacked him back to reality. 'There was a space under the floor and Choi Han destroyed it! He said he found the proof we need!'

Thank Gods! Now they can run from this establishment.

"Please have something to nibble on while you all enjoy your time here," said Baron Davis, snapping his fingers and a waiter coming over with a tray of cut-up chocolate bars. "Especially Miss [Name]."

You gulped a bit, watching Baron David and his women eating a piece each. You reached for the chocolate and ate it, trying to erase the slightly spicy, bitter aftertaste in your mouth from the blunt. Goddamit, why couldn't they just make edibles instead of rolling a horrible blunt?

You sucked on the chocolate, finding it taste a bit different than your average chocolate. It was sweet with a bit of a bitter tang to it and a spicy aftertaste.

"[Name], they've done it," Cale whispered to your ear, his breath caressing your earlobe causing you to jolt.

"G-good," you stuttered, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

You leaned to Cale and when he touched your cheek to see what was wrong, you whimpered. Cale's face reddens when he heard the lewd sound and when he tried to help you sit up straighter, you mewled and nuzzled to him.

You feel uncomfortable to the point it was excruciating and the slightest touch by Cale set your whole body on fire. You feel your panties going damper than earlier and tried to look at Baron Davis through bleary vision, seeing him sitting there while making out with his woman, one of his hands squeezing her chest.

"C-Ca—!" Cale's hand came up to cover your mouth to stop you from saying his real name. His eyes widened when he realized how hot your skin was.

You grasped at his wrist weakly and gave him a pleading look. He slowly lowered his hand and leaned to you, hearing you whimper, "We... have to... out..."

Cale immediately stood up, knowing something had gone wrong.

'Cale, it's either the drug or the chocolate, or both,' suggested the Super Rock. 'She has been drugged.'

"Theo, it was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid [Name] and I will need to go first," Cale said, excusing you both.

You leaned to him, body feeling heavier than usual. Your shawl dragged through the ground, some of it still tangled around your arm. Cale cursed inside his head and approached a waiter, "Excuse me, but is there a private room?"

He would love to go out and look for the others immediately, but your temperature was spiking up at a concerning pace and it made his heart race. The waiter had pointed out the way to Cale, looking nonchalant despite you whimpering in his arm and looking unwell. Cale concluded that many have probably drugged women and taken advantage of them here.

Cale rushed into the room the waiter had pointed out and locked it behind him. He leads you to a couch in the room and before he could lay you down, you gave up trying to stand up on your own two feet, letting yourself fall on top of him.

He let out a groan of pain, his head banging quite loudly against the couch. "[Name]?"

"C-Cale," you whispered his name, borderline moaning it. You pushed yourself to crawl up so you can be chest-to-chest, looking at the man with eyes clouded with lust.

You stared at him for a second before kissing the man senselessly, grinding yourself against his bulge and whimpering in his mouth. Cale froze on the couch, feeling you grab his hand.

"Oh, Cale—" Your voice sounds strangled. You lead his hand to your breast, forcing his hand to squeeze it. "Touch me, please."

'Aphrodisiacs! The chocolate was laced with aphrodisiacs!' screamed the gluttonous priestess in panic.

'Cale, stop her!' Yelled the Super Rock when you began to pull down your dress by the neckline. Cale grabbed your hand and the other hand was used to fix your neckline.

"[Name], calm down—!" Cale jolted when you pressed down your center to his bulge, moving your hips. You moaned loudly as you did so, the sound so fucking erotic and sexy that Cale could feel his pants becoming too tight.

'This woman is a fucking menace when horny, holy shit,' commented the Fire of Destruction in awe.

"Can you please focus?!" Cale yelled at the ancient power, switching to hold you by your hips so you won't move. You whined and Cale switched the position so you would be the one lying down while Cale sat on your abdomen, pining your wrists above your head to lock you in place.

You looked up at him, face flushed red, hair messy, and pupils blown with lust. You closed your eyes, letting out a whine, "C-Cale..."

'Knock her out!' The thief commanded.

'With what?!' Cale questioned.

"Cale, please, please, please," you pleaded in hushed whispers, squirming underneath him. "Please, touch me."

Cale closed his eyes so he doesn't have to see you beneath him, pleading to be touched. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"Cale, pleaseee," you moaned, feeling like if you don't get to be touched, you can die from the heat of your body. "Cale, I feel horrible. Please, please, touch me."

Cale kept his eyes shut but his ears were still able to hear the noises you make.

'There's no way you can last like this until the aphrodisiac's effect disappears,' says the Super Rock.

'I say let the woman cum,' said the thief. 'Give her the relief she needs and let's get it over with.'

"I'm not going to take advantage of her," Cale stated firmly, holding you down when you squirm, thrusting your hips up to get some kind of friction. He'd leave you alone if he could so you could probably deal with this yourself but he can't do that when they're in enemy's territory, one where it's crawling with men waiting for a vulnerable woman to corner.

"Cale," you whispered. "Please?"

'You know, your self-control is something else,' said the Fire of Destruction, genuinely in awe.

'Instead of being like this, I suggest at least trying to reach the exit with her,' Super Rock said.

Cale knew that waiting for help like this is useless and might get you both in more trouble if you were caught. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released your wrists, prompting you to curl yourself up just as he got off of you.

"[Name], we have to get out of here," he whispered to your ear, taking your arm and putting it across his shoulder. "We can't stay here."

He pulled you up, trying his best to ignore the way your lips brushed against his jaw so lovingly, going down to his neck and leaving a bunch of lipstick marks all over his skin. He stood up with you hanging by his shoulder, holding you by the waist and nearly limping to towards the door. Cale finds relief and disgust at the fact that everyone in this place is so fucked in the head that they don't see anything wrong with a man dragging an intoxicated woman across the establishment. Plus, it seemed everyone is either stoned or drunk to even realize he was summoning a little bit of wind to his feet to help him get across quicker.

'You're gonna leave without causing at least some degree of havoc?' taunted the thief and if Cale could see them, he's sure he would find them with a smirk and an eyebrow raised. 'That's not very Cale Henituse of you.'

'Come on, kid,' added the Fire of Destruction, 'That David guy talked about [Name] like that and you're just going to let him slide?'

'I don't agree with causing havoc but... perhaps make sure they could never do that sort of thing again,' suggested the Super Rock.

'Make them regret it,' said the priestess.

Cale exited the place with you nearly passing out, not even going to stop and question where that bulky security man had been standing by when they entered the place. Once you were both out of sight, Cale flew to the top of the smaller houses where he had seen Choi Han's silhouette.

"Cale-nim! [Name]!" Choi Han called, eyes wide when Cale landed gently beside them with your face flushed red, sweating, and panting. Choi Han takes you from Cale's hold, carrying you bridal-style, and was immediately stunned to feel your how hot your skin was. "What happened to her?"

Ohn and Hong who are perched on Choi Han's shoulders looked at you with concerned gazes while Raon floated right on top of you, "Human, she looks so red! Like a tomato! Is she going to be okay? She's not going to die, is she?"

"She's going to be fine if we go back to Ron to have her looked at," said Cale, taking off his mask and throwing it away before he took off his blazer as well and draping it on top of you. "She had been drugged, most likely aphrodisiacs. She had previously been smoking a drug, too, so I'm hoping at least maybe Ron would know the after effects."

"Raon-nim, please transport us quickly to Ron," Choi Han said to the Black Dragon.

Cale sees your head lolled to the side before they are teleported into the duchy, specifically into your room. Choi Han quickly placed you on your bed, turning to look at Cale when the man got to the side of your bed, sitting by your bedside. Cale looked anxious as he turned to give Choi Han a command, "Choi Han, go look for Ron."

"Yes, Cale-nim." Choi Han turned around and left while Raon showed himself to Cale.

"What about me, human? What should I do?" asked the child anxiously, restless as he threw glances at you.

Cale held the dragon close so he keeps his eyes on Cale and not you. "[Name] would want you to not stress about this. She's okay, she's just a bit out of it, okay?"

Raon looked down, nuzzling to your side with the kittens. You huffed, feeling your whole body being set on fire but having some sense in you to not push the kids away. You fluttered your eyes open, glancing at Cale's anxious gaze. "W-what's happening?"

"You were drugged with aphrodisiacs in the chocolate," Cale answered. "After smoking that drug, I just need to be sure there's no after-effect for you."

You remembered smoking that blunt and let out an anxious laugh. "S-sorry..."

"It's alright," Cale reassured you. "You saved our disguise."

Your bedroom door swung open by an anxious Choi Han, Ron following closely behind. He approached you on the bed, looking over your complexion quickly before checking your temperature and pulse. He took off your mask to get a proper look at your full-blown pupil and let out a sigh, "The aphrodisiac she consumed are quite strong for her stature and body weight. Choi Han mentioned about drug usage before the aphrodisiac entered her system?"

"We were forced to smoke some kind of drug but [Name] managed to get me out of that situation," Cale explained. He refused to explain how you managed to do that since it'll be too much for both him and you for everyone to know.

"It probably intensified the effects of the aphrodisiac and make it last longer," Ron explained. "Since we don't really have an antidote for such things, the only way is to have her sleep this one out until the effects disappear. I'll have to knock her out."

Cale paled. "O-okay."

"She will be safe in my care, Young Master-nim," Ron reassured him with a benign smile. "Now please leave us alone."

The kittens jumped to Cale's arms and everyone had to anxiously leave you to Ron, but before Cale could leave, Ron stopped him. The butler gave Cale a slightly playful gaze. "Perhaps clean up a bit before you meet anyone else, hm, Young Master-nim?"

Cale stared at Ron for a minute before nodding slowly, leaving your room and heading towards his.

Ron turned to look back at you and let out a tired sigh. 'Oh, what should I do with you, Miss [Name]?'

Meanwhile, Cale was busy ignoring the surprised and flustered gazes of the servants when he walked by them. However, when he managed to meet his stepmother in the hallway, he knew something was wrong when he saw his mother's slightly scandalized look.

"Oh, uh, Cale," she greeted him, looking him up and down. "Where have you been? You're... dressed up nicely."

Cale didn't even try to think much of a lie. "[Name] and I went to dinner."

Violan covered her face with her fan, eyes scanning over Cale's face. "I-I see that [Name] have forgiven you for what you've done."

"Fortunately, yes."

Violan looked away from Cale and hurried to leave. "Well then, have a good night, Cale."

Cale nodded. "You as well, Mother."

He finally arrived to his room, letting the kids invade his bed first as he took off his vest. He approached the vanity and eyes widened in shock when he saw lipstick marks all over his lips, jaw, and neck. Is this how he had been walking around this whole time?

"I'm an idiot," he murmured to himself, rubbing his temple in exasperation.

#cale henituse x reader #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #lout of count's family #tcf cale #tcf choi han #tcf alberu #raon miru

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that-norse-pagan · 3 years ago

Text

A Informational Dump on Fenrir

Names:

Fenrir (Fen-Dweller)

Fenris (Coming from "Fenrisúlfr")

Fenrisúlfr (Úlfr meaning Wolf, Fenrir's Wolf or Fenris-Wolf)

Vánagandr/Vanargand (Monster of the River Van)

Hróðvitnir (Fame-Wolf)

Appearance:

Fenris is said to appear as a Ginormous Wolf, with Black Gur and Red Eyes. However, for me personally, his fur appears as more of a darker greyish color. :)

Mythology:

All of these are going to be kept as short as I can, while still keeping them accurate and informational. (Low Energy for those who don't like to read as much or are having a hard day and out of spoons!)

Birth and Prophecy:

Fenrir was born to Loki and Angrboða, among of course, his other siblings. (Jördmungandr and Hel). The Æsir had heard of these births, along with the prophecies that came with them. Fenrir was to swallow Odin, the "Head Ruler" of the Æsir, and the other children to add their destruction with the bringing of Ragnarök; the End of Worlds. Now it would be obvious the Gods didn't like to hear about their own endings, so the effort was put in to try and hold off Ragnarök.

Jördmungandr was thrown into the deepest depths of the Ocean, curled around Midgard (Earth). Eventually he grew large enough to bite at his own tail, and the Ouroboros is a common symbol used to represent him.

Hel, Fenrir's other sibling, was set to rule Helheim, land of the Dead.

Meanwhile Fenrir himself was raised by the Æsir in hopes he would grow to favor the Gods. However as he grew larger and more ferocious, the Gods began to fear what he would become, and Fenrir was tricked into being bound in fetters (leg bindings).

The Binding of Fenrir:

At first, Fenrir was tricked into bindings, told by the Gods that it was a game, a test of his strength. He was first bound with Leyding, created by the Gods themselves. It was the strongest chains they had created, however Fenrir broke it with a single kick.

The Second Binds were known as Dromi, also made by the Gods, and twice as strong as before. Fenrir struggled a moment, but in under a minute he had broken free.

The Third and Final Binding was Gleipnir, which roughly translates to "Entangler" by most sources, though other sources have argued a few different translations.

Gleipnir was crafted by the Dwarves from 6 "impossibles" (The Sound of a Cat's Footfall, a Woman's Beard, the Spit of a Bird, Breath of a Fish, Roots of a Mountain, and Sinews of a Bear). Light and thin, Gleipnir appeared as merely a ribbon. However the Gods had sensed its power, and none of them had proven able to break it.

So from there Gleipnir was presented to Fenrir, with the Gods challenging that he could not break it, as none of them had been able to. Fenrir had scoffed, as ripping such a seemingly small thread would not be as impressive as thick chains.

However he sensed a trap, and agreed with caution to allow the ribbon to be tied around him as long as he had the assurance he was safe, which required the Gods to sacrifice their own safety as well. Tyr, (who had been feeding and caring for Fenrir as the Gods grew more and more fearful of him, and the one Fenrir trusted most) was the only one brave enough to volunteer. He placed his right hand into the jaws of Fenrir as the great wolf was tied.

Fenrir struggled and kicked, but the ribbon only tightened around him. The Gods mocked and laughed at Fenrir for being unable to break himself free. In the rage, Tyr lost his right arm to Fenrir, the sacrifice for binding the wolf.

Gleipnir was fastened to a large stone, which was then anchored to another, larger stone. A sword is then forced through Fenrir's jaws, keeping him trapped.

His children, Sköll (Sun Devourer) and Hati (Moon Devourer) were the only ones who attempted to free him. However the ribbon proved unbreakable, and the children were punished with chasing the Sun and Moon until Ragnarök, when the planets will be swallowed.

Location:

According to Myth, Fenrir is said to be bound on the Island "Lyngvi", in the Great Lake "Amsvartnir" (roughly translated to Pitch Black).

Personal communication with him sets more of a woodsy location, he is usually within a large circle of trees.

Things that Remind Me of Him:

The rush of adrenaline after doing something you're proud of

The burn in your muscles and lungs after a run or working out

The strength in standing up for yourself and defending what you believe

The smell of the Woods and safety of the darkness

Embracing the darker parts of yourself, whether it is simply to acknowledge them, or work on healing them

The rage associated with something being unfair or inequal

Rebelling against the "Norm"

Being unapologetically "You"

The Cyclical Events and Beginnings and Ends in life

The harsh heat of Flames

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee

Protection Magick

Caring your Mental and Physical Health

Putting yourself first in times of need (not selfishness, but times where you are needed to be put first)

Emotional Pain (Sorrow, Anger, etc. Offer it to Him too!!)

Dark Colors, Makeup, and Outfits

Bloodstone, Obsidian, Petrified Wood, Smokey Quartz, Tree Agate, Lapis Lazuli, Howlite, Hematite, Carnelian, Onyx, Black Moonstone, and Fossils (for my Crystal Focused Practitioners)

Mugwort, most types of Roots and Barks (White Willow, Oak, Birch, Burdock, etc), Yarrow, Yew Berries, Pine Needles, Turmeric, and other "Woodsy" Plants (for my Herb-Based Witches)

Parents and Siblings:

Fenris was born to the Jotuun Loki, the Trickster God, and the Jotuun Angrboða, Mother of Monsters. Along this were his Siblings, Jördmungandr the World Serphent, and Hel, Ruler of Helheim, the realm of the Dead (which is also a part of Niflheim).

Children: Sköll and Hati [Though some mythology speculates They and Fenrir are the same being(s)]

Disclaimer:

These retellings and translations are by my own words and own research, I cannot promise 100% accuracy on it all.

Please forgive any spelling or grammar issues, I am human and make mistakes. :)

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cafenervosa · 3 years ago

Text

THE ARCHIVIST 👁️

A drawing based on a crazy album cover I've been thinking about for months to celebrate me finally finishing The Magnus Archives! Image description and reference photo under the cut

[Image description: two images of people being held up with string like a puppet labeled "God's Chosen Puppet."

The first is a digital drawing of The Archivist (Jon Sims) from The Magnus Archives. He is a thin man with dark hair that has a white streak in it. He has a myriad of small scars across his arms. He has a pained smile on his face and is standing in front of a large sigil. The sigil is glowing slightly as if made of neon. The middle looks like a spider's web and around the edge there are several different symbols including an eye, a centipede, a flame, a tombstone, a cloud, an outline of a person behind another outline of a person, a spiral, a severed hand, a coffin that has been chained shut, and a wolf's head. There are glowing strings coming out of the sigil that are bound to The Archivist like puppet strings.

The second image is a photo of a woman on a vintage album. She has red hair and is wearing a pink satin dress. She is smiling serenely and is being held up with two pink ribbons. There is text which reads "Ann Kathleen Beaty presents: God's Chosen Puppet." End image description.]

#the archivist #the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #neon #illustration #ask to tag #digital #image description

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gaiuswrites · 3 years ago

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher higher higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

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dr-lokidottir · 3 years ago

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Full Moon Ritual with Fenrir: release of Gleipnir. 🐺🌕

About a month ago, I had the pleasure of meeting the wolf Fenrir (whom I mistook for a spirit guide, you can read the full story here).

He appeared and showed me a ritual to free us from our own bindings, but before we start, let's go step by step.

This ritual is for all those pagans and non-pagans who wish to free themselves from their labels, being a ritual that is done in the company of the great wolf Fenrir, your inner child/your adolescent self, and you.

The blog will be in this order:

Personal symbolism of Fenrir and Gleipnir, and how it applies to our lives. Freeing ourselves to initiate our personal Ragnarok: the end of the old and known world for a new one. Closing of one cycle to initiate another.

Why in Full Moon? You can do it when you want btw.

Materials.

Ritual.

Part One: symbolism of Fenrir, Gleipnir and the Ragnarok.

Fenrir.

Personally and for many others, Fenrir represents strength, anger and above all, personal liberation from all those chains that bind us and do not allow us to grow. Fenrir represents the fact that, when by being ourselves and by our own nature, the family and society, the system, binds us and above all, silences us, referring to the back that is between the jaws of the great wolf.

Fenrir is that force that allows us to free ourselves from the bonds imposed on us simply by our nature, by expressing ourselves freely.

Gleipnir.

In Norse mythology, Gleipnir is the unbreakable ligature with which the Æsir finally succeeded in chaining the wolf Fenrir. It was made by the dwarves at their request. Gleipnir was a light, silky and thin ribbon, which, however, no one could break. It was made of six wondrous ingredients:

the sound of a cat's footsteps.

a woman's beard.

the roots of a mountain.

the sinews of a bear (thought to refer to nerves or sensitivity).

the breath of a fish.

the saliva of a bird.

Glepinir symbolizes our bondage. I want to emphasize again that Gleipnir is not an iron chain, no, it is a THREAD created from things that in the historical and cultural context of the time, DID NOT EXIST/WERE VERY HARD TO GET. Therefore, our bonds are things that DO NOT EXIST or else, they are LIES that we have told ourselves or else, we have been made to believe. And if they are real and tangible things, we can still free ourselves from them. What holds us back is as light as a thread, made of lies.

The Ragnarok.

The "end of the world". What is our Ragnarok, what is our battle, which cycle is going to end to start another one? An abusive relationship, negative labels given to us by our toxic family, comments from high school peers, it applies to everything.

To initiate our own Ragnarok, is to free ourselves as Fenrir from our own Gleipnir, to undertake the adventure of destroying everything that kept us silenced and bound, initiating a massive destruction of labels, beliefs and wounds, to provoke the end of our own world and to initiate in that new world: our true self.

Part two: why in Full Moon?

Well, why not? LOL. You can do it whenever you like, but I did it on the Aquarius Full Moon, especially since it's a sign related to rebellion, liberation, evolution, revolution and transformation (plus it's my sun sign and 90% of my natal chart).

You can do it whenever you like: coming out of therapy, in an evening with trusted friends, in the shower, whatever.

Part three: Materials.

A photograph of you as a child and another from your teenage years.

Paper and pencil, if possible in red.

You.

Nerves are not part of the materials, but they usually comes included lol.

Part four: ritual.

To make it easy to understand, let's do it step by step. You know that if you have any doubt you can write me with confidence or leave me a Question.

You will place incense of your favorite scent, whatever makes you feel comfortable. If you perform a protection ritual, you are free to do it, I don't do it because I personally don't care, but yes.

You are going to place in front of you the pictures of when you were a child and when you were a teenager in front of you.

You are going to divide your daughter in 3 columns and you are going to put a title to each one: childhood, adolescence and adulthood.

As you look at the pictures, you are going to write in each column, the labels you were given and that you were given, according to the ages: if when you were a child you were told you were stupid, put it in the childhood column. If as a teenager you were told you were a loser, put it in that column, and so on in the column for adulthood.

You will probably cry, it's normal. Also feel anger.

When you are done, you are going to play this song (is the one that Fenrir chose).

You are going to close your eyes, and you are going to visualize your inner child and your adolescent self in front of you. You will read label by label, and with the rhythm of the music, you will visualize each word as one of Gleipnir's threads in your body and you will shake it. When I say you will shake it, I mean you will literally have to move. The movements can be as gentle or violent as you want just as your intuition tells you.

You will probably feel an overflowing energy of fury: it is the presence of Fenrir. If you feel the need to get down on all fours, howl, bark, growl, take off your clothes, let your hair down and muss your hair, do it, set yourself free and start the damn Ragnarok!

When you are done, you will burn the leaf, or destroy it and bury it, feed it to the dog, whatever the anger or feeling you have present in the present moment tells you to do. Fenrir tells me right now that you can even get edible paper to write on and then eat it.

And well, my heathens, that would be.

Love, Dr. Lokidottir.

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bookstantrash · 4 years ago

Text

A/N: Next week uni exams start and I won’t be able to write for a while, so I did my best to finish this chapter on time before I go MIA for some time.

You can check here Pemberley’s Lake, Hooked on You and Smells like petrichor and paper, part one, two and three of my Nessian Pride and Prejudice AU.

The sound of music

Cassian could not sleep. His mind kept coming back to the greenhouse.

To Nesta and her lavender and vanilla scent and how lovely she looked amidst the flowers.

He would not lie to himself and say he did not let his lips linger a little bit longer than necessary on her temple.

Or that he had not felt some resemblance of male pride on seeing her wearing his jacket.

That he had not imagined her wearing it after they had come back home from a ball or one of Gywn’s operas.

That he had not imagined Nesta tucked close to his side, his arms around her and a smile on his face as he heard her talk about her day.

His imagination, it seemed, was his worst enemy.

“You are delusional Cassian” he mumbled to himself “Delusional”

Sighing, he touched the pressed daisy chain again. He had taken it out of his drawer and left it in front of him as he worked on some papers regarding his properties, thinking the numbers, reports of complaints or requests would help tire him out enough to make sleep come.

Cassian had no such luck. He worked until the entire pile had been properly looked through, and even three glasses of his strongest brandy could not make his thoughts of Nesta go away.

Nesta, who was currently sleeping in one of Pemberley’s guest rooms after much freeting from Mrs.Potts and her friends about catching a cold. Cassian had made sure to have her room properly warmed and a glass of hot chocolate delivered to her first thing after they arrived from the greenhouse.

Her friends had been delighted to spend the night, and he had almost asked them to forego the inn completely and just stay at Pemberley for the rest of the month. But he did not want to mess their schedule and ruin their trip. He knew that Gwyn was on a short vacation, as were Emerie and Balthazar, and Nesta could not stay away from her younger sister, Elain, for too long, given that they had no male relative to look after their household and wellbeing in the meantime.

Maybe a trip to the kitchens would help him. A midnight snack was bound to make his sleep come soon, and he was sure he had heard one the maids saying that Chef Ramsay had baked chocolate cookies.

Safely putting the bookmark back in his drawer, Cassian only bothered to throw a robe on before quietly making his way down the hallways. He was not worried about being shirtless, given that most of the house was for certain sleeping.

Deciding to take the long way to the kitchen in hopes of tiring himself, he was surprised to pass by the library and see light coming from underneath the doors. Thinking that maybe someone had forgotten to check the place in their rounds, Cassian opened the oak doors to find the candle light. He could not risk a fire happening in the library out of all places.

He followed the faint glow until he found himself with a most surprising — but very welcome — sight.

Nesta was currently curled up on his favourite chair reading a book in nothing but a thin nightgown and he momentarily forgot to be annoyed at her for not covering herself after being caught in the rain if only because by the way she was seated he had a privileged view of her bare legs.

Cassian knew he should announce his presence, his conscience yelling at him how improper and scandalous it was to see her in such a private moment. But he let himself stare at her for another minute, commiting to mind every single detail, from the way the ribbons in her nightgown accentuated her waist — he recalled how small it had seemed when they had danced at Feyre’s ball, his hand spanning nearly halfway across — to how the white colour made her eyes look more grey than blue in the candlelight.

“Fancy seeing you here” Cassian said in greeting, clearing his throat.

Nesta nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him, quickly scrambling to straighten herself up when she realised she was not alone.

“I am sorry, you had said I could come whenever I wanted and I—”

"Could not sleep?” he asked, and Nesta only nodded.

Oh dear Mother, she wanted to crawl into a hole on the ground and disappear. Why was it that she was always finding herself in embarrassing situations when it came to Cassian?

It was true she could not sleep, her mind replaying her evening with Cassian, from the moment she stepped on the library to when he kissed her temple in the greenhouse.

She had tossed and turned in her bed for hours, her creative mind conjuring images of a future with him.

Of long strolls in the garden and picnics by the lake.

Of hours spent reading quietly side by side in the library.

Of running her hands in his silky hair, coming up with new ways to style it.

Of Cassian’s coat around her shoulders and her head on his as they came back from a late evening of dancing or parties with their friends.

Why could she not stop thinking about him? Why had he not left her mind since they had first met each other and why did her heart skip a beat whenever he was nearby?

She looked at him, flushing all over when she noticed that he would have been completely naked from the waist up were it not for a robe, which had loosened up a bit, revealing a bit of his naked chest.

For Cauldron’ sake, did he not own a shirt?

“What are you reading?” he inquired, and she quickly averted her gaze from his chest.

Little did she know he was also trying very hard to not stare at her bare shoulders or her chest, cursing once again whoever had gifted her such nightgown.

He could bet his fortune it had been Emerie, recognizing the modice’s preference of off shoulders designs.

“Oh, it’s a romance” Nesta felt her ears getting even hotter “By Sellyn Drake. You have a rather large collection here. Some are even first editions”

“She was a dear friend of Pemberley’s previous Lady” Cassian said, motioning for her to take a seat as he told her the story “The Lord sponsored her, both because he saw how her writing brought joy to his wife and also Lady Drake’s talent.”

“She soon became extremely famous and still kept sending the previous Lord her books even after his wife passed away” Cassian smiled faintly “He sold Pemberley and moved, but I kept the library as it was, just adding my own books here. Lady Drake comes once a while to visit and get inspiration for new novels, although she says she is to retire soon.”

“Y-you know her?” Nesta’s voice had gotten an uncharacteristic high pitch “You know Sellyn Drake personally?!”

“She is a very annoying old lady” Cassian said rolling his eyes “Always asking me if I will not take a wife so she will have someone more interesting to discuss her books with whenever she visits.”

“I cannot believe you are friends with one of my favourite authors” Nesta said in disbelief.

“But I would not have pegged you for a romance reader” she added, arching an eyebrow.

“I could not very well leave those books here to gather dust, could I?” he answered, squirming on his seat.

“Tell me, did the scary General Commander of the British Armies shed a tear in any of them?” her voice had a teasing tone and Cassian was almost left speechless by that fact alone.

Nesta inclined her body in his direction, apparently having forgotten she was not wearing modest attire at all and that Cassian was desperately trying to keep his eyes on her face instead of her chest.

“I promise not to tell anyone if you did”

And then Nesta Archeron gave a little sideway smile that made Cassian lose his breath.

He did not know what he had done that made her take such liberties with him, but he for sure was not going to complain.

“I did not cry” he finally managed to answer, angling his body in her direction and smirking when he saw a faint blush adorning her cheeks “But I will not be heartless and say it did not move me a little.”

They were close once again. So close Nesta could see that his eyes had little green speckles on them and that the brown looked like molten chocolate.

They were eyes one could drown and all she wanted to do was to indeed drown on them.

“Next time Lady Drake plans on coming to Pemberley I will make sure to invite you too” Cassian said softly, straightening himself “It is quite late. I will accompany you to your room.”

As if on cue, Nesta yawned, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“I only have one chapter left” she tried to argue, suppressing another yawn.

“Such a headstrong lady you are” he smiled and took the candlelight “The book will still be here tomorrow.”

Nesta followed him begrudgingly, twisting her nose in annoyance even though she was yet again holding back another yawn. Cassian thought she looked like a tiny angry kitten, laughing internally.

They walked back to her room in a comfortable silence, and sooner than he would have liked they had arrived.

“Well, then, here we are. Delivered safe and sound”

“Thank you, your grace” Nesta opened the door but did not get inside, as if she too did not want to part with him.

“Have a goodnight of sleep, my lady” he said, dropping a kiss on her hand before he could dwell too long on it.

“Goodnight, your grace” she breathlessly answered, finally getting inside and leaving Cassian standing outside her door.

Needless to say, both fell asleep quickly after that.

~•~

“For Cauldron’ sake are you incapable of sending prior notice of your arrival? And it is way too early to be drinking wine Morrigan, even for you”

Cassian had arrived to have breakfast and found Rhysand’s cousin casually seated at table, twirling her glass of wine at nine in the morning.

“I came here straight from Vivian’s. It was a long journey and I needed the wine. Besides, I am family! I knew you were going to like my surprise visit” Mor blinked at him.

“Always a pleasure to see you” Cassian answered, sitting beside her and promptly dumping a large portion of bacon and eggs on his plate “I take you introduced yourself to my other guests?”

“Of course” she snorted, making Georgiana laugh “Except for Miss Carynthian and Sir Oristian, that is. It seems they went into town early to see something in relation to their business.”

As if on cue, the dining room doors were open and Balthazar and Emerie walked in.

Emerie had opted to wear trousers today — Cassian thought it was to not be belittled by some stupid mercants and show with just who they were dealing with — and a white shirt with long sleeves with a forest green vest. Her curly brown hair was down and she had a gleam in her eyes that told him her business transaction had been a success.

She really was a sight to behold but it still startled him when Mor spat out her wine.

Mor never wasted wine.

“Sorry for our late arrival, Balthazar was being a weakling” Emerie said, sitting in front of a very much flustered Morrigan.

“I was not. You are the one who never lets the other have the upper hand” Balthazar pointed out.

“Please, you know that piece of silk was not worth that much!” she spread jam in a piece of toast, waving the knife in a rather aggressive manner.

“Maybe, but if you keep that up you will gather more enemies than business partners”

“Good thing I have you as my bodyguard” she batted her eyelashes innocently, making Balthazar roll his eyes.

“You are Miss Carynthian. The Miss Carynthian?” Mor asked in awe, her coughing fit finally over.

“The one and only. I take you know my shop?” Emerie asked with a smile.

“I absolutely adore your designs!” Mor gushed, and they fell in a very excited talk about gowns and fashion trends.

“Did you have a goodnight of sleep?” Cassian whispered to Nesta, who was seated beside him.

“I did, thank you for your concern, your grace” she answered, grabbing a chocolate cookie “I hope you also had a pleasant sleep?”

“The best sleep I had in years” he winked at her, that sideway smile of hers appearing again.

“Lady Nesta, my brother has told me how brilliantly your dancing is” Georgiana butted in, and Cassian resisted the urge to throttle her.

His younger sister was lucky there were other people present or he would do just that.

“He is too kind, my dancing is not that memorable” Nesta said, a bit embarrassed.

“But my brother never lies!” Georgiana exclaimed, receiving a glare from Cassian “He told me how the whole ballroom stopped to watch you as you danced.”

“Oh, thank you for the compliment your grace”

“It was nothing but the truth” Cassian assured her, sending daggers at Georgiana, who was sweetly seated by his other side as if she had not just told Nesta how infatuated with her he was.

“I wish I had your talent” Georgie sighed “I am really shy at balls and never really want to dance even if I am asked to. I usually throw my dancing card in the trash in fear someone will write their name there.”

“But I love to watch my brothers running from the scary mammas” she added with a devilish grin, failing in a brotherly bickering with Cassian.

Nesta felt her heart break over Georgiana’s fear of dancing. Apart from reading, dancing was one of the few things that brought Nesta joy. It made her feel alive, the music allowing her to get lost on the moment and forget the pressures high society placed upon her.

Dancing made Nesta feel empowered, in control of her own destiny.

Georgiana deserved to feel like that too.

And that is why when Emerie, Gwyn and Mor went shopping together while the gentlemen went horse riding, Nesta proposed that she teach Georgiana how to dance.

“Are you sure of it?” Georgiana asked nervously, glancing around the music room as if someone was going to appear out of nowhere and laugh at her poor performance.

“Rest assured. You will be dancing flawlessly at the end of the day” Nesta gave her a reassuring smile “I am going to take the male role, so please place your hand on my shoulder.”

Georgiana did as instructed, and soon they were dancing.

“You just need to have fun and relax” Nesta said, making Georgiana twirl “Even if you do not know the steps but act like you do nobody will blink. Dancing is not something that is supposed to be suffocating, but to free you.”

“You mean like this?” the young girl asked, and did a step completely opposite of what was expected in a waltz that made Nesta laugh and follow her.

In no time they were not dancing the waltz but just messing around, their laughs and delighted screams filling the room. They were having so much fun that they were oblivious to Cassian watching them from the door.

The gentlemen had returned to Pemberley and decided to move to the game room, their initial amiable horse riding outing transformed into a racing competition whose draw made Balthazar and Azriel — who revealed themselves to be extremely competitive — propose a rematch in a billiard game.

Cassian soon grew tired of watching them betting who would win, deciding to fetch a book to help distract himself. He was called to the music room by the sound of loud laughs, his heart threatening to burst when he saw Nesta and his sister having so much fun.

“When are we to expect a proposal, my lord?” Mrs. Potts said to him, having stopped to welcome him back when she noticed just who he was watching.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” he answered, a soft smile on his face as Nesta dipped Georgiana, making her laugh even louder.

“It is clear as day to all of us how much that lovely lady means to you” the old headmaid replied “I have never seen you happier since she arrived here.”

“I assure you, there is nothing going on between us.”

“Do not let your fears stop you from being happy” Mrs.Potts motherly said, noticing his bitter tone “You more than anyone deserve to be happy and feel loved. And I noticed how she looks at you, I do not know why you cannot see it.”

“Such busybody staff that I have” was all he said, Mrs.Potts smiling and leaving him alone to continue his watch.

But it appeared their talking had warned them of his presence.

“Brother! Were you spying on us?”

“Far from it Georgie. I thought nobody was home but your laughs made me want to investigate” he stepped inside, closing the door behind him “Balthazar and Az are so competitive they were giving me a headache”

“Nesta was teaching me how to dance” Georgiana said, a bright smile on her face.

“I saw it. She is a great teacher” Cassian said, and Nesta had to look away lest he saw how much happy his words had made her.

“I have a great idea!! Why don’t I play music in the pianoforte and you two dance? That way it would be much easier to see how to dance properly”

Nesta panicked at Georgiana’s words. Last time she had danced with Cassian it had been out of spite for his comment. She would not deny that she had found him a pleasant partner or that she had had fun dancing with him, but Nesta doubted he would want to dance with her again.

However, little did she know Cassian could not have been happier than the moment his sister suggested such a thing.

“That is a wonderful idea Georgie” he said to his sister, all the while planning to write to Rhysand concerning an increase in Georgiana’s dowry.

He had already forgiven her words earlier at breakfast.

Didn’t she say she wanted a new horse? He could arrange for one to be delivered first thing in the morning tomorrow.

Georgiana clapped her hands in excitement, leaving them standing in front of each other as she sat by the piano.

“You are not dancing!” she called out, her fingers moving expertly on the piano keys.

Cassian cleared his throat, offering his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Nesta accepted his hand, placing her other on his shoulder.

“You may”

They fell in that pleasant and calming atmosphere as Georgiana played, Cassian leading her effortlessly, but she felt he was cautious, even a little stiff.

“I do not bite, your grace” Nesta said, daring to tease him “You do not have to be afraid.”

“I would not mind if you did” he said back without thinking, his eyes widening as he realised he had said that out loud.

“I beg your pardon. I did not mean—” Cassian made to release her hand and step away but Nesta gripped his shoulder harder, stopping him.

“Do not tell me the great General Commander is left without a strategy when it comes to some defenceless lady” Nesta appeared to be nonchalant on the outside, but inside she was apprehensive.

What if she had gone too far? What if he did not see her as a friend? What if he was bothered by her teasing?

But to her relief he gave her that smirk of his that made her blood boil, stepping closer to her, their chests touching.

“For you, I have no strategies.”

And they really began to dance.

The music was still there. Georgiana played beautifully and on another occasion Nesta would have wanted nothing more than to just sit and listen all day to her playing.

But the music was no longer the most beautiful thing in existence.

Nesta got lost on him as they danced, the music a faraway background sound.

She got lost on his bright smile and noticed he had dimples.

She got lost on the way he moved with her, a body made for brutality which now moved with grace, keeping up with her.

She got so lost on his warm eyes — more green than brown at the moment — that she felt herself moving even closer, her breath mingling with his.

“Cassian—” his name left her lips without her consent, and she almost froze when she noticed she had not used his title.

Cassian did not care, his smile only getting brighter.

“You may call me informally. We are friends, are we not Nesta?” he said quietly.

“Yes, we are.” she answered, her body tingling all over at the way he said her name, as if it was a prayer to the Mother.

Georgiana — having taken notice of the rather romantic mood — started a new song as soon as the other finished, neither of the pair paying her no mind.

Next morning, Cassian gave her a new horse, the fastest and most sought out in the market. No one had the barest ideia how he managed to get hold of it so fast, or why he was gifting it to Georgiana.

Neither explained the reason, just shaking on it as if it was a business transaction.

•

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#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #pride and prejudice AU #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

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tentimesthecourage · 3 years ago

Text

It’s Time

Summary: FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY

There was so much sound around them, so many people milling about. And of course! It was finally the day. The day these two (aha) were finally joining as one under Hylia. Were they nervous? Of course. Did they regret this? Absolutely not.

Rinku took a deep breath, forcing himself not to run his hand through his hair which had been brushed back and tied in a long braid, ending with a few feathered charms from his fiancée. He readjusted the white suit he was wearing and took another deep breath to try and calm his nerves.

“Everything alright?” He glanced over to see a softly smiling Sky. Rinku nodded slowly, biting his lip as he responded to the older, “Nerves, but I’m excited too. I’m looking forward to this. Thank you, again, for letting us use this place.”

“I should be thanking you!” The Skyloftian chuckled softly in amusement. “Sun and I are honored you wished to hold the wedding here.” The younger male gave a slightly embarrassed smile. It had been difficult, going through the varying ideas of where the wedding could be held. It had to be big enough to hold everyone, but they also wanted it to be a meaningful spot. Finally they ended up agreeing with Skyloft, both surprising and delighting the Chosen hero and his wife.

A knock at the door had both of them perking, Wild opened it and poked his head in. -Almost time to start, brace yourselves.- He shot a grin at his twin. -Time’s coming.- Rinku nodded, flushing lightly. It still baffled him that he managed to get the courage scrounged up to ask the older male to walk him down the aisle. He could have sworn there was a tear in his eyes as he nodded, saying he would be honored to do so.

He had yet to see Four since the night before, which bothered him. But those around them had insisted on the tradition of the “bride” and groom not being allowed to see each other before the ceremony. What a pain, that was even a tradition for either of their Hyrules.

Not too long after Wild had ducked out, the door opened again and Time smiled gently, “Sky, you’re needed at the altar. I’ll stay here with Rinku.”

Sky smiled faintly in return before turning to give Rinku a quick hug, giving a quiet ‘stay calm and good luck’, and heading out. The ex captain hugged back before letting his shoulders slump with a small sigh.

“Everything alright?” Time asked him gently, taking a seat beside him. Rinku nodded slowly, smiling weakly. “Just nerves. And I miss him… is that silly?”

“Not at all, I felt the same during my wedding.” The older male chuckled softly, smiling in reminiscence. “My Hyrule has similar traditions so Malon and I weren’t allowed to see each other either before the ceremony.” Rinku nodded slowly in understanding and easy conversation soon flowed between them. Before they knew it, both perked at the sound of chiming. It was time.

“That’s our cue.” Time stood up and held out his arm to him. “Are you ready?” Rinku smiled softly, even as a small flush crossed his face as he took hold with a deep breath to calm his shaking nerves.

“Yes.”

They headed out of the room, arms linked together.

The area was beautiful, decorated with gorgeous lights, ribbons, and flowers, but Rinku could hardly pay attention to it. The music wrapped around them like a soothing blanket, soft and warm, but again, he barely noticed it at all. He could feel so many eyes on him and a chill ran down his spine. He wasn’t used to the attention and it almost made him want to turn around and run.

Almost.

And then his gaze landed on Four and everything disappeared.

He was beautiful… And that smile, soft, encouraging, loving. The chill vanished and a loving warmth curled up in its place in his chest. He could barely keep a steady pace next to Time as they went down the aisle. Every part of him was dying to pick up the pace and run to the end and he was pretty sure Time knew it as he kept a tight hold on his arm to keep him at an even pace. Eventually he was let go and found himself standing in front of his fiancée, smiling brightly as a deep blush crossed his cheeks.

Warriors cleared his throat as the music soon faded out, before beginning to speak.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today out of morbid curiosity!”

Rinku staggered while Four bit his lip to keep from laughing. The rest of the Chain failed to hold their own laughter as did many other guests. Rinku huffed, mouth twitching as he shot the older blond a look. Warriors grinned, clearly not sorry at all as he resumed speaking.

“No, but seriously. We are gathered here today to join these two as one under Hylia from now until the end of time.”

Rinku tuned the words out as Four reached over to gently take his hand. He could feel him trembling, just like him and surprisingly, it eased his heart. Four was just as nervous about this as he was. It made him feel a little better. He squeezed his hand gently and smiled as he saw him relax minutely. Tuning back in, he heard Warriors mentioned that the two of them had decided to create their own vows before falling silent with a light gesture. That was his cue.

Clearing his throat, Rinku took both of Four’s hands and smiled.

“When I first met you, I wasn’t sure what to think. I know I was smitten the moment my eyes laid on you, but I had no idea it would lead to this moment. Just being around you brightens my day and I can’t imagine life without you. I hope I never will have to. Even when time passes and Hylia calls us both to the heavens, I will still love you and I will always be by your side, no matter what it takes.”

He could feel his trembling resume again as well as see a sparkle of tears building in his eyes that now were shining with several different colors. Four took a deep shuddering breath before speaking.

“You always seem to know what to say to leave me speechless. I’ll be honest with you, I never thought our journey would lead us to this moment, but there’s not a part of me that regrets it. I’ll love you until Hyrule falls into ashes and even then, I don’t think I could ever stop.” A shaky laugh escaped him as he squeezed his hands gently. “I… am so glad I got to meet you, that I get to be by your side. I love you.”

The rings were brought over by a grinning, suspiciously red-eyed Wind who held out the silvery blue pillow. They were works of art, thin bands of gold with Hylian writing along both in each other’s specific dialect, but meaning the same; ‘Forever bound in love’. Both smiled at him before taking the respective rings and sliding them onto each other’s fingers.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

“If anyone has any objections, speak now.” Warriors’ voice was almost dangerous, as if daring anyone to object to their union. If the two looked around, they would have noticed that all their brothers had that look in their eyes. A look promising retribution to anyone who protested. It was silent for a couple minutes before Warriors broke it with a chuckle.

“Right then! By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husbands! You may seal the promise with a kiss.”

He certainly didn’t have to tell them twice as Rinku swung Four into his arms causing him to gasp before the sound was muffled by a tender kiss. He melted into it, wrapping his arms around him tightly as the audience burst into cheers and whistles. Almost reluctantly, Rinku pulled away to rest his forehead against his husband’s, smiling widely.

“I love you…”

“I love you too… now put me down, silly~”

Rinku chuckled softly before doing as he asked. He perked as Four reached toward his bejeweled belt to grab the Four Sword. He still hadn’t been sure why the other insisted on wearing it during the ceremony, but then the answer was obvious as he raised it high, allowing the magic to activate and soon one was four.

And he found himself pounced on by Red.

Anything he was about to ask was muffled by a tender kiss, which was unfortunately brief, but made up for by Blue claiming his next in a slightly rougher manner. Vio followed soon after and then Green, leaving Rinku totally dazed and kissed senseless. Almost absently he could hear his brother laughing with the rest of the Chain while it seemed most of the other guests were just as caught off guard as he was.

Still thought, he couldn’t help grinning as his arms managed to ensnare the four in a tight hug. “You guys are rascals, I swear to Hylia!”

“You love us anyway!” Red chirped innocently, flushing faintly as he got a kiss on the head.

“Oh no doubt about it~” He promised with a wide smile.

Warriors cleared his throat again to gain their attention. Blue’s eyes narrowed as he shot a warning stare at him, daring him to say something stupid again, but the captain merely grinned and waved towards the audience.

“For the first time, I present to you the Smiths!”

It had already been agreed that Rinku was taking their last name, but it was still strange to hear it. Rinku couldn’t help laughing softly, tightening his hold on the four of them. He was so deliriously happy, nothing was going to bring him down today.

A mischievous sparkle shone in his eyes before he managed to pick the Colors up causing a few squeaks and yelps before he booked it away from the altar. “Meet you at the reception!” He called over the laughter.

---

The reception soon was in full swing and the four colors had merged back into Four who looked a little windswept, but delighted as his eyes shone mischievously. He made no protest as Rinku pulled him onto the open floor as the band struck up, led by Legend, pressing close to his new husband.

“By the goddesses, I love you so much…” Rinku murmured, holding him tight.

“I love you too.” He hummed softly, sighing in content as he rested his head against his chest. Honestly, he never thought this day was going to come, but he was so happy it did.

A small blink escaped him as he felt Rinku trembling. Four looked up to see tears spilling down his flushed cheeks and reached up to cup his cheek, “Rinku…”

“S-Sorry…” He mumbled bashfully. “I’m just so happy… I can’t… I just… I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find someone who would love me so thoroughly. I thought… I thought that I was just destined to be alone, as silly as that sounds. Because… so many looked at me and saw just a quiet scarred man. But then… then the adventure happened and I got to meet you and… I think deep down I knew… I knew you were the one. I know that sounds strange, but I swear something was pulling me towards you…”

“It’s not strange at all.” Four assured him gently. “You remember that night, when you sang for us for the first time?” At his husband’s nod, he continued. “I realized something. For as long as I could remember, I had this empty strange feeling in my chest. It never really bothered me, it was just there. But then I met you and I got to know you and before I knew it… it was gone. You filled that emptiness and I couldn’t be happier.” He smiled softly, wiping his tears away, “I’m so glad everything turned out the way it did… There were trials and trouble, blood and tears shed, but we’re here. We’re married and we’re never going to part. I promise you that.”

Rinku took a deep shuddering breath before he took his hand and kissed the top of it. They were barely dancing anymore, merely holding each other and swaying. “I’m going to spend the rest of my days proving to you how much I love you. Showing you that this was the best decision you ever made… I promise you that, Link.” Four shivered faintly before his smile widened.

“You’ve already done that, Rinku…”

The music faded out and Dot called out to the couple.

“Hey you two! It’s time to throw the bouquet!” Both perked and Rinku raised an eyebrow when he saw the mischievous look in Four’s eyes as they suddenly took on a brighter blue shine.

“Blue…” He warned playfully. The other smirked and waved a hand, “Don’t worry, I’m not planning anything bad, I promise.”

“I’m sure.” He kissed his knuckles, taking pleasure in the blush that crossed his cheeks. “Just don’t hurt anyone too much.”

“Right…” A dazed mumble escaped him before he reluctantly pulled away. “And after, you owe all of us a dance. Not fair if just Four gets one.”

“Of course.” He chuckled, watching him head over to Dot to take the bouquet. The crowd watched eagerly as he lifted it…

And then threw it as hard as he could at Warriors. It smacked him dead in the face causing the captain to yelp and topple over among the laughter. Four rested a hand on his hips, eyes back to faded blue.

“That’s what you get for that morbid curiosity quote!”

“Rest in petals, Wars!” Wind cackled beside his giggling sister. Wild’s shoulders shook as he covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Rinku snorted softly, making his way over to his husband and wrapping his arm around him.

“Really, Four? Guys?”

“He deserved it.” Four hummed, leaning into his side. “You can’t deny that.”

“Guess not.” He chuckled, squeezing him close. “Are you ready for the next dance?”

He shrugged lightly before gripping the Four Sword and tugging. Immediately he split apart and Blue took his hand, pulling him back to the dance floor. The other three hung back for a moment before Wild went over and grabbed Green’s hand.

-Mind dancing with me?-

He blinked before laughing softly, “Not at all.”

Vio and Red shared a look before joining the two pairs on the dance floor. The band resumed, this time with Wind conducting them, though Legend still played the lead. They even got Marin to join them with her beautiful voice, the veteran looking far more relaxed (and love struck) as she sang.

In the dips of the song, the partners switched as they twirled around the dance floor. If the others didn’t know any better, they’d swear this had been planned and practiced. (It hadn’t been, Wild was just spontaneous and his twin along with the rest of the Chain learned to just go with whatever he had planned.)

The final switch ended with the four colors pressing the tips of their blades together, coming back together as Four who swayed a bit only to be gently caught by his husband.

“You alright?” He asked gently.

“Yes… just need a moment.” He assured him with a small sigh, leaning against him with a gentle smile. Rinku kissed his head before guiding him to a seat.

“Let’s rest a bit, that was quite a bit of dancing, was that planned?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “They were willing to wait their turn, but you know how spontaneous Wild is.” Rinku chuckled and nodded in agreement. That was very true. His twin was just as wild as his nickname.

Four settled against Rinku with a quiet sigh of content as other couples moved to the dance floor. “Think you’ll do any more dancing? Maybe with…” He trailed off, his gaze moving over to Time and Malon as they swayed together, the honeymoon phase never seemed to have left them.

Rinku chuckled softly as he followed his gaze before nodding and humming. “Yeah… I was thinking of asking one of them.”

“Which one?” Four tilted his head in curiosity causing Rinku to blanch bashfully. “Ah, well…” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as his cheeks lit up. The smith laughed softly, knowingly even, and leaned against him again.

“It’s okay to dance with both of them you know, I’m sure they’d love it.” Rinku blushed deeper at being read so easily. “Yeah… I know. I’ll wait though, let them enjoy their dancing right now.” His hold tightened around his husband. “Besides, I don’t want to leave your side right now.”

Four smiled faintly, resting his head against his chest, “Fine by me, I don’t want you to leave either…”

The two watched as friends and family spun around the dance floor, settled at tables to eat and talk. Speeches would be later and Rinku would be lying if he said he wasn’t partially dreading what his twin would have to say about this whole thing. At the same time, he trusted Wild. When it came to serious things, he definitely did not fall short.

Eventually Four got pulled away by Dot to dance, the two of them laughing as they twirled around with the others. Rinku shook his head fondly before blinking as a shadow soon draped over him. He looked up at Time who gave him a small smile.

“Seems your husband’s been stolen for the moment.”

“Mm-hm. Curse that Maid of Honor.” He chuckled before standing. “Actually, this is perfect timing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I um…” He rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks burned. “I know it’s not really tradition… more so for the bride than the groom but uh…” He fiddled with his hands. “Would you consider a father and son dance?” His blush deepened at the amused chuckle before blinking at the hand held out to him.

“I’d be honored. Shall we?” Embarrassment fading, Rinku matched the older’s smile before taking hold of his hand. “Yeah.”

Time was an unexpectedly good dancer, it shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but here they were. Rinku took a deep breath before allowing his shoulders to relax.

“I wanted to thank you again. It… it means a lot to me for you to have done this for me.” He could have never pictured his father being at his wedding, hell, even meeting his partner. He knew if it had been all those years ago and the man had the gall to say anything negative about Four, Rinku would not have hesitated to kill the bastard.

He snapped out of his negative thoughts as he felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. His attention lifted back to the older male who smiled softly at him.

“There’s never a thanks needed between family, Rinku.” Time assured him quietly. “You’ve certainly been family for longer than this and I’d happily do anything for my family. Remember that, alright?” Ignoring the burning sensation in his eyes, Rinku swallowed heavily and smiled, brightly and full of relief, thankfulness and familial love.

“Yes.” The dance devolved to him clinging to the only good father he had in his life that he could remember.

“Are you making our son cry, Link?” Malon’s teasing voice caused the two to pause. Rinku’s cheeks flared to life again, his heart fluttering. To him, this is what a complete family felt like. Mother and father being warm and kind with so many siblings you’d do anything for.

“Never.” Time chuckled lightly. “But, I’d expect he has something to ask you.” He nudged Rinku lightly causing him to jump out of his thoughts.

“O-oh yeah…!” He smiled bashfully, before holding out a hand to her. “Might I have this dance?”

“Well aren’t you a gentleman.” Malon giggled softly before taking his hand and giving a gentle squeeze. “I’d be honored.” Time stepped back to let the pair spin out onto the dance floor.

“Are you happy, my dear?” The redhead woman asked softly, seeing the sparkle in Rinku’s eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. He nodded, “So happy…” he whispered. “It feels like my heart’s going to burst… I still can’t believe I’m not dreaming. This is real, I’m married to someone I love with all my heart and who loves me back. My family has grown more than I could ever dream and I just… I can’t describe how happy I am.”

She hummed softly, the gentle smile on her face as they swayed together. “I’m glad for you, dear. You deserve this happiness, don’t ever forget that, alright?” He nodded, reaching to hastily scrub at his eyes. “I promise.”

“Mind if I cut in?” A gentle request came. The two turned to see Vio. Rinku blinked, opening his mouth to question before the other raised a hand. “Four thought that spontaneous dance wasn’t enough, so he decided to let us out again.”

Malon chuckled softly before giving him a gentle push. “Go on darlin, go dance with that husband of yours.” Rinku smiled bashfully before turning and taking hold of Vio’s hand as they went back to the center. The music slowed into a gentle ballad and the younger wrapped his arms around Vio, pulling him as close as he could. A small sigh of content escaped the smaller male as he leaned against him.

“Ever thought we’d be here?” Rinku murmured as they swayed in a slow and steady rhythm. “I had my hopes…” Vio admitted, sounding surprisingly bashful as his grip tightened slightly on him. “But I never dreamed it’d be as wonderful as this.” Rinku chuckled lightly, pressing a kiss to his head. “I know exactly how you feel.”

The music faded eventually and reluctantly the two parted. Vio gave him a faint smile, fighting back a blush as Rinku playfully kissed his knuckles. “Stop that, you sap… you still have three others waiting for a dance.”

“I’m ready and willing, always~” He chuckled before letting go of his hand and watching as he headed off to sit down. It didn’t take long for Green to join him, smiling softly as a light flush crossed his cheeks.

“Hey you… enjoying yourself?” He asked softly, holding out a hand to him. “More than you’ll ever know.” The older male responded, taking hold of his hand as they fell into step with each other. “Is it strange that this still feels like a dream to me?” “If it is, chalk it up to me being strange too.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head with a grin. “Part of me is still a little afraid that I’m going to wake up back in Hateno with all of this being just something my mind came up with to cope with the chaos that was my previous journey.”

“Guess we’ll just have to keep reminding each other that this is real.” Green smiled faintly in return before reaching to gently grip his tie and tug him down. “Guess so…” Rinku agreed softly before humming as the smaller male pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Goddesses… we are so lucky to have you…”

“Hah… don’t say that, it’ll go straight to my ego.” His cheeks were burning as Green scoffed playfully. “What ego?”

As the melody came to an end, Rinku brought his hand up to kiss the back of it, smiling as he stuttered softly and blushed. “Goddesses, you’re gonna make me melt with all that.” He playfully pushed him. “Blue’s waiting… don’t keep him for too much longer.”

“I hear you.” He hummed softly, letting go of him to let him leave before heading to find Blue himself. Said male was leaning against the wall, watching people with a neutral expression. His gaze lifted when he saw the shadow appear over him, a faint smirk on his face. “Yes?”

“Seems like you’re a little lonely over here. Mind honoring me with your company?” Rinku held out a hand to him causing Blue to snort softly, but took his hand nonetheless.

“Sure.” He followed him back to the dance floor, but he was definitely insistent on taking the lead. Rinku didn’t mind, following him carefully in movements. “Are you happy, Blue?”

“How can you ask me that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course I am.” His voice softened as Rinku met his gaze. “I’m so happy it feels like my heart’s gonna combust. I… I really thought we would never… find someone who’d accept all of us, you know? We’re not exactly… normal.” That was putting it lightly. “But you… you didn’t even bat an eye. You accepted us, treated us like any other person. Heh… guess I could say that’s when I, when all of us, when we knew you’d be the one for us… I’m just glad you agreed on that.” He was smirking, but Rinku could see the genuine love in his eyes and his heart melted. Blue jolted as he was pulled into a tight hug.

“I love you, Blue. So… so very much. All of you are my heart and soul and I will be by your side forever. Not even death is going to part us.” Blue forced back a shudder before he buried his face against his chest.

“Goddesses, you’re such a damn sap…” If his voice sounded damp with tears, neither of them said anything. Rinku smiled softly and tightened his hold, pressing a loving kiss to his head. “Perhaps… but you wouldn’t change me for anything.” “Damn right I wouldn’t.”

Almost reluctantly, Blue pulled away from him and cleared his throat. “Red’s been patiently waiting…” Rinku smiled softly before he kissed the back of his hand. “We can dance again later, I promise.” Blue flushed darkly before averting his eyes and nodding, “Yeah… I’d like that.” He pulled his hand away before hurrying to join his chatting brothers.

Rinku watched them with a smile before perking as he felt someone take his hand. He gently squeezed before turning his attention to Red fully. “Ready?” Red returned the smile with a beam and nodded. “Of course.”

The music had picked up a little in pace, but neither paid it any mind as they swayed slowly and peacefully in the middle of the dance floor. Red rested his head on the younger’s chest, humming softly as he felt a hand stroking his back.

“You’ve made all of us so happy, Rinku… You have no idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got somewhat of one…”

Red giggled softly, “Not as much as you might think… Four… all of us… for the longest time we just went along in life, day after day after day… Everything was monotonous. It was dull, like the color was fading out of everything. But then we met you… and it felt like a new spark. Like color was just bursting back in, excitement filled our lives again and it just… it’s amazing.” A bashful yet genuine smile crossed his face as he sighed. “You’ve changed our lives for the better… and I can’t thank you enough.”

“I should be thanking you…” Rinku murmured, tightening his hold on him. “I’ve never felt so loved and cherished in my life..” He smiled gently as he heard a small sniffle from Red before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you…”

“I love you too…”

When the song came to an end the duo headed over to join the rest of their little group and settled down. Now came the ‘fun’ part, the speeches.

Wild looked a little nervous as he cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention.

-Many of you already know me well by now but for those who don’t, my name’s Link though now I go by Wild. I’m Rinku’s younger brother and I have only been to one other wedding before this so forgive me if I’m a little off.- He smiled sheepishly. -I’ve been told that I should start with embarrassing childhood stories and I’d love to! ...If I actually remembered any.- His smile widened at the light hearted chuckles from his joke before it turned into a grin. -That doesn’t mean I don’t have stories at all however.- His shoulders shook silently as Rinku gave him a look of ‘Don’t you fucking dare’ while the Colors silently laughed beside him in varying levels of success. -I might not remember our childhood, but I'm sure you were as much of a mess as you are right now.- Rinku scowled at him playfully while Blue lost the battle with his silent laughter becoming audible soon followed by the rest of the Colors and everyone else’s. -How did you even manage to get a wedding?-

“I had the courage to propose unlike a certain someone.” Rinku replied in a snarky manner causing Wild to stick his tongue out at him. Shaking his head fondly, the younger male’s expression softened into something more genuine.

-I’ve known Rinku obviously for all our lives, but unfortunately most of it I can’t remember. What I do know is he’s a wonderful big brother and a good man. He’s someone anyone can rely on and I’m so proud to be his twin and to be here today.- He reached down to grab his glass and continued. -I’d like to offer a toast to the newly weds- His gaze fell on the quintet and he smiled so softly, so tenderly, it made their hearts swell. -May you have an everlasting love and marriage. May your days be filled with joy and whatever problems might arise, may you face them together and come out stronger-

There was a murmured agreement as everyone raised their glasses in honor to the now blushing couple. It was Dot’s turn and all four Colors both looked forward and dreaded what she would say, since unlike Wild, she remembered everything about their childhood together.

The princess stood with a smile and began to speak. “Good afternoon everyone, my name is Zelda but you may know me better as Dot. I wanted to thank you all for joining us on this wonderful day and for all the work everyone has put in to make everything so wonderful.” She glanced at the group with a warm smile. “I knew Four since childhood and unfortunately for him, I remember all of it.” She looked to Wild in a teasing apologetic manner causing the other to snicker and wave a hand. “I guess my favorite tale for him would be the one I’ve heard from the Minish, the first time he became one-”

“DOT DON’T YOU DARE!” Green was out of his seat in an instant to shut their best friend up, while Red tugged his veil down and hid his face, the tips of his ears shining his namesake. Vio coughed softly into his fist, averting his gaze as his cheeks burned while Blue buried his face in his arms with a groan. Rinku raised an eyebrow at the immediate response, catching Vio’s gaze causing the older male to wave a hand and mouth ‘Later’ even as the embarrassment was clear on his face.

Dot managed to get away from Green and shoo him back towards his husband before smiling at the amusement the crowd clearly had for their shenanigans. “Well anyway! As I was saying, Four, Link, has been my best friend since we were kids and I’m so happy that he, that all of them, could find such happiness. I hope that happiness will be forever lasting and may the goddess smile upon you all forever more.” She took her glass and raised it in cheers. “To the happy couple.”

“To the happy couple.” Everyone intoned before taking a sip. Dot took her seat, smiling in a dainty manner despite the looks she got from her four best friends. “Oh don’t give me those looks boys, I could have easily gone on even with Green trying to stop me.”

Said male pushed her gently, a grumpy expression on his face despite the bright red blush on his cheeks. “It’s inappropriate! And we were a kid!”

“Doesn’t really excuse it, but whatever you say.” She chuckled softly. Green huffed and leaned against Rinku with a muttered halfhearted grumble. The younger male chuckled and wrapped his arm around him, giving a gentle squeeze.

Dinner and desert flew by and before anyone realized it, it was time to part. The portals leading everyone home had been reformed by the goddess statue, patiently waiting. Four sighed softly before stretching lightly and leaning against Rinku.

“Thank you, everyone…” He smiled faintly as their attention turned to him. “We’re so glad you could join us on this wonderful day.”

“We’re grateful for everything.” Rinku added, wrapping an arm around his husband’s waist. “For your help and your company.”

As much as they wanted to stay together, it was time to go home. The portals would stay for only so long. With one more tight hug of thanks to Sky and Sun, the two headed through the portal leading home.

It let them out near the forge and Four had to smother a squeak as Rinku lifted him bridal style, hurriedly wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he gave him a baffled look.

“What are you-?”

“What, is it not the groom’s job to carry their bride over the threshold of their home?” He teased lightly. Four rolled his eyes with a quiet scoff before he leaned his head against his chest.

“You are such a dork…”

“Well, you’re stuck with this dork now.” Four smiled warmly and settled in his arms with a content sigh.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The door shut behind them, ending that chapter of their lives and beginning a new one.

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 4 years ago

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Trinkets, 37: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A blue steel mask that resembles a face at rest, emotionless and cold to the touch when not worn.

A small silver orb with the word "McGuffin" acid etched into its surface. It is coveted by all who look upon it.

A jar filled with potpourri that smells like their childhood home to each person who smells it.

A charm made from small pieces of whale bone fastened together by metal and leather and etched with strange sigils. The object has been treated with mixtures of rare herbs and other substances and the entire bonecharm hums with power, creating a faint but distinctive ‘song’ that the spiritually perceptive can hear.

A small, polished, fossilized cross-section of wood. The interior cracks have filled with some opalescent material in shimmering blues and green. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as opalized wood.

A double recorder hewn from a strange, pale ivory not of this earth.

An iron pocket watch with the chain extruding from an eagle's mouth mounted into the top of the watch. The clasp at the end of the chain is a talon.

A small, handheld harp made from the wishbone of a celestial griffin. It was alchemically treated with elemental fire, laminated with entsap, and enameled with scenes from myth and legend. The instrument is translucent and slightly opalescent in coloration and strung with mithril wire.

A dozen glass roses are arranged in a lovely bouquet. A ribbon of purple silk around one of them has an ivory card attached. The words on the card say, “Glass thorns cut more deeply, my dear.”

A glass bauble with no visible means of opening it contains blue sand and white insects that resemble ants but have iridescent wings. When they fly, a pleasant and soothing song emanates from the bauble.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A blue steel mask that resembles a face at rest, emotionless and cold to the touch when not worn.

A small silver orb with the word "McGuffin" acid etched into its surface. It is coveted by all who look upon it.

A jar filled with potpourri that smells like their childhood home to each person who smells it.

A double recorder hewn from a strange, pale ivory not of this earth.

An iron pocket watch with the chain extruding from an eagle's mouth mounted into the top of the watch. The clasp at the end of the chain is a talon.

A dozen glass roses are arranged in a lovely bouquet. A ribbon of purple silk around one of them has an ivory card attached. The words on the card say, “Glass thorns cut more deeply, my dear.”

A white ceramic mug with an unknown substance or creature that has excess of writhing gray tendrils coming out of it.

A dartboard that has a picture of the local regent on it. The eyes currently have darts sticking out of them.

A dark, mahogany box roughly the size of a dozen coins. The box does not appear to have any obvious hinges or opening mechanisms. A perceptive PC will discover a tiny hidden latch that opens the box. Inside and laid together are a matching set of ten gold coins. Each coin is ornately crafted, but slight variations in the coins suggest that they may have been individually handmade.

A smoky black precious stone. When held up to the light you can see the back of a devil pressed against the gem, but no matter how you turn it, you can never see its face.

A small pouch with a moist eye within it. When you bring it into the light, you see the pupil quickly constrict. A PC well versed in religion can tell that this is the living eye of a dedicated follower of the god of orcs. The original owner can still see from this eye.

An ink dip pen made entirely of tiny bones, complete with matching ink pot.

A mummified baby wrapped in funerary wrappings with a solid silver and gold scarab on its neck on a very tight dried leather thong.

A basilisk egg, tightly bound within a leather pouch and swaddled in a bundle of furs.

A small sack filled with eight gears and springs of incremental sizes that appear to be of the same make or set.

A Gnome’s skull that possesses a distinct odour of wine and gnome blood, faint to a human, but strong to a race with keen noses, like elves or kobolds. Rough garnets the color of clotted blood have been pounded into the skull, along with nails of silver and gold. Around lower edges of the brain-case, the tails of giant weasels have been attached, giving the item a furry fringe. The jaw has been wired to the skull with silver wire and a wispy fringe of beard and mustache cling to the bits of dried skin around the skull’s mouth. Runes of foul power have been chiselled into the bone.

A small bag made of chainmail, tightly tied closed and locked. Found inside is a heart made of glass.

A grossly oversized fist-shaped gauntlet that is a fused amalgamation of plates, spurs, gears, and rivets. It smells of grease and machinery.

A child’s toy chariot with the face made from a stuffed growling dog.

An unsettling ceramic figurine of a whale with a mouth full of victims.

A pair of repulsive metal bells designed like bloated women eating fish.

A drum, set with stretched gargoyle hide and woven with choker sinews. It requires a strong arm to pound the instrument but the sound is unique, like a deep thumping of stone.

A black fan made of kobold skin with graphic images of kobold torment.

A worn-looking box of dark wood, fitted with simple hinges of brass, is roughly the size of a man’s head, and rattles when moved. The interior contains a collection of tiny humanoid bones. The underside of the lid bears writing that appears in the primary language of anyone reading it, and states that the most recent reader is attuned with the box. No further explanation is to be found within.

A masterwork steel lute with a triangular body and a headstock that resembles a carved demon’s skull.

A strand of ten flat black stones on a knotted leather thong, each carved with the “Yr” rune and roughly the size of a typical gold piece.

A gleaming crystal shard that shifts its coloration every few seconds, hurting the eyes of witnesses as it does so.

An eel-hide leather pouch filled with an unspeakably foul-tasting coarse salt.

A grey leather vest is made of the rough, tanned hide of a goblin shark.

Orb of forgetfulness. When touched the orb you will remember the last thing you tried to think about but forgot. You will however forget why you wanted to remember it.

A small silk pillow has split open here to reveal that it has been stuffed entirely with brilliant golden hair.

A handwritten note which reads, in part: “She keeps it in the vanity. Without it, there’s no proof.”

A porcelain mask resembles a skull with its mouth sowed shut.

A box made to resemble a heavily pregnant woman with fangs instead of teeth. Her copious belly contains a rather grotesque image of an infant with three heads, each with an open mouth like a key-hole.

A large hourglass labelled "The World Entire." There isn't much sand left in the top bulb.

A clay pipe with the name "Underhill" inscribed on the side.

A copy of Playdrake magazines. Its pages are filled with lewd images and salacious stories of draconic females. It is not suitable for minors.

A small wooden bowl engraved with the heads of a snarling lion, bear, a screaming eagle, and a fish's face.

A vial of scented oil that can be burned as incense of worn as a perfume. Everyone smells something different but, always something nostalgic and a bit sad.

A cube three inches across, made of thin glass of six different colors, one on each face. When it is placed on a side, the colors shift until they finally settle with one color on top (sometimes the same color that was placed, often a different one). There doesn't seem to be a pattern to which colour ends up where.

A leather vest with one hundred pockets, divided between the outside inside and a number of secret hidden ones. One of the pockets contains a four leaf clover.

A guitar that, regardless of what string is plucked, will always produce the same set of notes in the same order. Only the speed at which these notes are produced can be changed.

An iron orb that always rolls against gravity, but only while in contact with a solid surface. If not in contact with a solid surface, it has no unusual properties.

A gemstone that takes on the appearance of the birth stone of the last person to touch it.

A chess set that animates and attacks people who attempt to cheat at the game.

A vivid, deep purple crystal that appears to consist of a random assortment of thousands of tiny cubes bound together. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as fluorite.

A small hood for a trained falcon. Any bird wearing the hood does not need to eat or drink as long as the hood remains on.

A pair of small metal rods, each about five inches long and a half inch wide, with bulbs at one end. When held, the bulb transmutes into the proper utensil needed for the current meal.

A glass jar that automatically separates any liquid poured into it into multiple layers of individual substances, as though a centrifuge had been employed.

A braided lanyard bearing the words "BEST FRINEDS". When the wearer of this braided lanyard closes their eyes, they experience the sensations of having warm sun shining on their face and a gentle breeze tousling their hair. The scent of campfire smoke can be smelled, and the laughter of children can be heard.

A pen of exquisite craftsmanship with a body like smooth, polished marble and gold trimming. The pen has a small golden leaver where in the tip of the pen can be touched to the shadow of an individual's head and enough ink for a full sheet of paper is extracted.

A leather wallet stamped with the symbol of a mousetrap, containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the ratcatcher's guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

Mirror of Self-Interest: A small steel mirror that doesn't reflect anything but the face of the person holding it. However, this image of the person is perfect, devoid of any flaws or incongruities with the holder's appearance as though they were the most attractive person in the province. This image is also only visible to the bearer.

A black and purple scale of some enormous horror of the far realm.

A velvet coin purse containing half a dozen egg-sized polished stones in various natural hues.

A skull carved out of charcoal. When burned, the skull will turn into a pile of ash. Within an hour, the skull reforms into charcoal.

A thick caribou skin frontier jacket covered in mythological scenes.

A perfectly preserved human brain, encased in a large dome of clear glass.

Apple of Doubt: A fruit that looks like an apple, it tastes like an apple, it smells like an apple, for all intents and purposes it appears to be an apple, but you are certain it is not an apple.

A blood red mask made from carefully sculpted bone, shaped to look like the face of a grinning demon. The eyes of the mask are the only parts that are open, with the eyes of the bearer appearing bright crimson while looking through it.

A suncatcher in the shape of an evil deity literally catches the light of the sun, forming a hazy space of shadows around it.

A large, round-bottomed flask containing a faintly golden liquid which smells sweet, but overwhelmingly of alcohol.

A deck of cards carefully organized within a small box. The card faces are beautiful but contain a great deal of seemingly meaningless text beneath hand-painted pictures.

A set of windchimes that move though no wind is present. The mellow sounds of their chimes bring back memories that make you ache with anguish and despair.

A scroll that repeats these words endlessly; “Seek out the Gilded Glade and place me upon the pedestal.”

A large painting portraying the wonders of underwater life. The viewer see merfolk, sea elves, and all manner of aquatic creatures going about their lives. The edges of the driftwood frame around the canvas is dripping seawater.

A simple silver fork. Embossed into the handle are the letters “JA.” The tines of the eating implement give off a slight green glow. A crowded inscription on the back of the fork reads: “To King Ragnis, may venom never touch thine lips.”

A small envelope sealed with a wax sigil. If unsealed the letter inside reads: “Meet me at the Red Rose at 7 in the eve. Kill the bearer of this note.”

A tightly rolled cloth that unfurls into a solid black banner, with a faint, hard-to-look-at pattern shimmering in the weave.

A rough-hewn, rust-colored stone filled with half-buried flakes of dark blue crystals forming the semblance of a rose. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as azurite.

A statuette of a six armed man, holding shields in each hand. With a ring-loop for a head, which is looped onto a necklace.

A large obsidian sphere with jutting shapes carved in and sticking out. Each surface is intricately carved with a complex script composed of squares. It is wrapped several times and held inside a smooth pottery sphere.

A squat metal cylinder of brass that resembles a small compass. When opened, it reveals a dull blue gem.

Neverspill Mug: Any drink poured into this mug can never be spilled accidentally. Someone can be struck upside the head with it, without a single drop escaping.

Unending Chalk: A stick of chalk can be used to draw, but never gets shorter or breaks.

A rolled up canvas painting of a dreary field with dark uninviting woods beyond. The leaves of the trees in the background of the painting seem to sway and there appears to be something moving through the field.

A hilt of what once must have been a magnificent sword but the blade has been removed. When the hilt is picked up, the wielder feels the weight of a whole sword and when the hilt is whipped around, the wielder can hear a blade slicing through the air. But it is just a hilt...

An apple that is the most mouth-watering, beautiful apple you have ever seen...but when you approach within three feet of it you begin to see it rot and spoil right in front of your eyes and even touching it and smelling it confirms that it is indeed rotted. As you back away you see the apple's rot and decay reverse and it becomes the same beautiful apple you saw seconds earlier.

A set of sky blue robes made from a high quality cotton with the Order of Deacons symbol sewn into the chest.

A set of bagpipes made from a rich mahogany wood, artfully carved and well balanced.

A hooded lantern with an adjustable iris to control the light level. Its adamantine casing is covered in stars and concentric circles, as well as text no one seems able to read.

A set of robes primarily red in colour, with subtle green highlights, as well as silver thread embroidery and grey fur lining around the collar, hood and sleeves. Overall it seems to border a fine line between looks and utility, given that the sleeves feature each a strap allowing them to be rolled up and secured, and several leather belts attached to the inside of the robe fill in the role of pockets or holsters. Under direct sunlight, the robes have a very faint, barely noticeable iridescent sheen to them.

A long and pale wand engraved with several horizontal slits,

A bleached white jawbone once belonging to a dwarf. It shouts insults in dwarven whenever it is touched by an elf.

A pair of golden earrings, with sapphires set in the center. The sapphires always appear to be as if they are catching light, no matter the light condition, giving them a false, glowing appearance.

A marble statuette of a scowling woman with octopus tentacles for arms emerging from dark ocean waves.

A well-made holy symbol of the minor God of Random Domain that when carried or worn by a bearer who is not a devout follower of that God, fills its owner with a sense of dread

A pair of war drum clubs whose handles are made of a dark brown wood with human skulls bound with leather strips on the ends.

A heavy iron mask, intricately carved patterns and runes.

A white porcelain mask, smooth and beautiful, except for the tears of blood coming from the eye sockets.

A small, palm-sized mass of interlocking carvings. The carvings on closer examination resemble five interlocking crescents. The icon is fashioned from what looks to be ancient bone and knowledgeable PC's can determine that the object was fashioned from the knuckles of five different dragons.

Coin of Indecision: A gold coin with the word "YES" on one side and the word "NO" on the other. If it is flipped while asking a question, the coin always lands on edge.

A thin chisel wrought in the shape of a stylized finger, with a perpetually flaking lacquer of dark green.

A leather wallet acid etched with the symbol of an alembic, containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the alchemists and apothecaries guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

Wand of False Life: An elm wand that if set down on a solid surface, will sprout tiny legs and arms, and move around like a living thing, spontaneously wandering around in a small area and sometimes dancing, particularly if there is music being played. It isn't actually alive and will not move more than three feet from where it was placed. The arms and legs will fold away if the wand is picked up, but it always seems to have an elongated face as part of the grain of the wood at one end.

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