#but no he means honor used like. dishonor on you dishonor on your family dishonor on your cow

[skadren]

late night thoughts.

i've always wondered just what angeal meant by "honor", given the strange example of it he gives in the beginning with the apples. it always carried too many hints of pride in it for me to buy it at face value

but now. now i fucking realized. he doesn't mean "honor" like a strict moral code. he means honor like face

he even says it outright. the buster sword represents the family's honor. holyyy shit i am boo boo the fool

[absurdthirst]

Riduur in Training {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Sexual training/grooming, mentions of creeds and honor, cults, playing fast and loose with Mandalorian traditions, removing helmets, forced weddings, nudity, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, dishonor, pregnancy

Comments: You arrive with the Armorer to take your place as Din Djarin's riduur, one that he had no warning of. Trained to be the spouse of the next leader of the covert - you will be dar'manda if he rejects you. And Din is horrified to learn that you have been trained for his pleasure.

A/N: We leaned into the cult-like mindset for this fic. Beware.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“It is your duty to wed Din Djarin.” You have heard these words for weeks now, nerves settling in your belly even though nothing of your anxiety is reflected in the dark visor of the beskar helmet covering your face. You swallow as the ship bringing you to Nevarro starts its descent into the atmosphere and you hear the comm tower direct the Armorer to a docking bay near the town, but she ignores that and turns to the north of the city. Making you chew your lip as the lava flats pass underneath and you see the rockiness of the desert starts to appear. This will be your home, where you will make your family. With Din Djarin, as his riduur, only he doesn’t know it yet. 

Another day in Nevarro and Din is settling down to clean his weapons when there’s a knock at his door. Grogu is at school and he is immediately on edge. Working fast to put his blaster together, he stands up and slowly makes his way to the door, pressing the button to open it just as he aims the weapon. “Din Djarin.” The Armorer greets him and he lowers his blaster but keeps it in his hand. His eyes flick beneath the visor between the Armorer and the mysterious Mandalorian beside her. “Can I help you?” He asks, a little perturbed at being disturbed in his solitude.

The mandalorian in front of you does not seem to be expecting you. Your stomach bottoms out and the Armorer speaks again. “We have some business with you.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside the house and you reluctantly follow. You’ve heard of him, seen him from afar but his beskar is impressive upclose. Taller and broader than you imagined, you feel your cunt clench as you imagine this warrior bedding you. He steps back and you look around the little house that he has been living in since the retaking of Mandalore. It’s suitable, but you can tell that he’s not frivolous or used to creature comforts. You can change that for him. 

Din is tense, his shoulders back and his legs spread evenly in case this is some kind of trap. He trusts the Armorer to an extent but his upbringing means he doesn’t trust anyone, not even himself. “The business?” He asks, not offering a refreshment like his fellow Nevarrians would. He is a Mandalorian through and through.

“It is time that you take a riduur.” The Armorer tells Din with a hint of irony in her clear voice. You can tell that he’s shocked by the way he rears back and you know that he had no clue what the covert and Mandalore had planned for him. “I have brought you the woman you will enter a riduurok with, create warriors. She is fertile.” 

Din can’t help it. He lets out a shocked chuckle and he shakes his helmet, “I do not want a riduur. I have said this many times.” 

Your helmet tilts towards the Armorer who shakes her head, “you have avoided the responsibility long enough. As a Mandalorian, it is your duty, your creed, to protect the covert and that includes breeding to add to our numbers. This one is made for you. She will do as you say. You simply have to breed her after your riduurok.” 

Din’s fingers flex against the side of his blaster, “I am not ready.”

Still, you don’t speak, even though your head turns towards the Armorer when you are so obviously being rejected by the man you have been raised to marry. “You are ready.” She insists, motioning towards the other rooms where the child that Din has taken under his wing is obviously napping. “Your young charge would do well with having brothers and sisters to help him.”

Din sees you step forward and he shakes his head, “she’s not staying. I do not want a riduur. You need to take her back to the covert.” He demands and shakes his head. “I am not suitable for a riduur. I never will be.”

“If you do not take her as your riduur, you will be dar’manda once more.” She insists. “Part of your creed was to the covert and the covert requires this of you. Mandalore requires this.” The Armorer tells him and you feel ashamed that you are obviously lacking whatever quality that Din requires in a riduur. 

“I will be a good riduur.” You tell him. “Trained vigorously for one day giving life to the next generation of Mandalorians.”

Din recoils, not wanting a bride who hand picked for him, reared for him. It is a practice he knew of back when the Mandalorian fled Mandalore and had to recoup their numbers. He doesn’t want to be dar’manda again. He had to find the waters to redeem himself before and it’s not a journey he wishes to repeat. He swallows harshly and takes a moment, “fine. Join us now.” He demands, wanting to get this over with.

The Armorer nods in approval but you almost wish to protest. He does not seem happy. However, you do not say a word, being trained that this is your fulfillment of the Creed. Your duty to Mandalore is to marry Din and have his ad. Your gloved hand reaches out to join with his, only to be ignored by the bounty hunter. You drop your hand, happy that you have not removed your helmet yet due to your embarrassment. “Repeat your vows.” The Armorer insists, turning her head towards you to start. 

Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You recite softly, hoping that Din just needs some time to adjust to the idea of a riduur.

Din inhales deeply as you recite your vows and he isn’t sure what he could say to prevent this. All he can do is take you as his riduur, offer you shelter and make sure you’re well kept. He won’t touch you to consummate the riduurok. He sighs and looks at you. Wondering what you look like beneath the helmet. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” He repeats, back stiff.

Once the vows are repeated, you reach for the locks on your helmet. The Armorer had warned you that Din was also a part of her sect, he did not remove his helmet as you might, in front of others. You only hope that he might remove it once she leaves and you are alone. Slowly slipping the Beskar off your head, you look up into the visor of your now riduur. “Hello, Din.” You greet him softly with your name, since that hadn’t even been exchanged.

His eyes widen under the helmet. You’re gorgeous. He is taken back by your beautiful face and it is a few moments until he recovers. “Hello.” He says your name but doesn’t take off his helmet. “Is that all?” He turns to look at the armorer.

“I will leave you to become better acquainted.” The armorer seems pleased as she clasps her hands together. “She has never had a man, so take care her first time.” 

You bite your lip, embarrassed that she would be so casual with that information, although he is now your riduur. “Thank you for bringing me here, safe journey back to Mandalore.” 

The Armorer nods. “This is the way.” You repeat the phrase and soon she has disappeared out of the house to leave you alone with Din.

Din sighs as he makes his way back to the table, disassembling his blaster so he can continue with the work he was doing before he was interrupted. “If you have things…you can take the spare room.” He jerks his helmet towards the door across the cabin, opposite of his room and Grogu’s. He doesn’t plan to consummate the riduurok. He plans to leave you untouched. He did as the Armorer asked and he has fulfilled the requirement of his creed.

Tilting your head, you stare at the Mandalorian that both the Armorer and Bo-Katan have talked about with pride. He is uninterested in you. “Do you wish that I had a cock instead of a cunt?” You ask bluntly, wondering if he preferred male companionship. “I know that we must have sex to breed and if you prefer, you can take me from behind.” You offer. “I can use my mouth to arouse you?”

Din snorts, he can’t help it. “No. I don’t wish you had a cock. I don’t wish - I do not wish to take you without us - I don’t know. We don’t know each other and now you’re my riduur. I am not consummating this riduurok. You are welcome to live here but I will not touch you.” He says with finality.

You stare at him in shock. “But we have to.” You insist. “Part of our vows are to create warriors.” You are panicking slightly since this is what you’ve been trained to do. Be a Mandalorian spouse and to bear his children. “We cannot have warriors if you don’t fuck me.”

“I do not desire warriors. I have a foundling. I don’t want ads.” He tells you and you appear gobsmacked. “I’m sorry, riduur. I did not ask for this. I was perfectly happy on my own in my cabin here. The Armorer wishes for more than I can give.” He says, grabbing the cloths to start cleaning his blaster.

It’s clear when he doesn’t speak again and refuses to look your way that he is ignoring you. Speechless, you turn and walk towards the door that he had motioned to. The spare room where you were supposed to sleep. Your pack with all your belongings was still on your shoulder and you felt like giving him some time might be best.

Din diligently cleans his weapons, taking more time than necessary to do so. He sighs when he hears the door open and he looks up after putting his last blaster together to find you standing before him. “Why- dank ferrik what are you- why are you naked?” He demands to know, turning his helmet to avoid looking at you to give you some dignity.

You are used to your own nudity, spending hours naked in the covert while other Mandalorians barely undress for their showers, or don’t undress at all if they use a sonic shower. “So you can breed me.” You answer, moving closer to him. “I wish for you to breed your warrior into my belly. I can provide great satisfaction and pleasure to you.”

Din recoils, confused by your desire for him to get you pregnant, for you to pleasure him. “Riduur. Why…you act like you’ve been raised for this?” He offhandedly comments. “I don’t want to fuck you, to breed you. Please. Get dressed.” He pleads, unable to look at you.

“This is my purpose.” You are so confused and distressed by his attitude. Has he not been taught that for breeders to keep to the Creed, they must exhaust all efforts to bear warriors? “I have no wish to be dar’manda.” You shake your head. “I will learn however you wish to receive pleasure and make sure that you are satisfied every time.”

Din can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I don’t - that isn’t what you are here for. Your creed…it’s not to be my baby machine, riduur. I will not breed you. You will not pleasure me. I will not touch you. Please get dressed.” He says coldly, deciding that acting like he’s indifferent to you would make you do what he says.

You start shaking, terrified of breaking your creed and you can’t help the tears that start falling. “I’ve - I’m going to be- I can’t- I’ve failed.” You sob, turning around and rushing back into the room that you had undressed in. The Armorer had assured you that Din would breed you and now you are being rejected.

Din sighs, closing his eyes beneath the helmet, and he knows he has hurt you but he cannot breed. His life has only just settled and he has the kid. He doesn’t need another one, or several, distracting him from doing what is needed to keep Grogu safe and healthy. That’s his creed. He hears you sobbing and decides to give you some space, heading out to pick the kid up.

It takes you some time to stop crying, but you know that you cannot force a warrior like Din Djarin to bend to your will just because of your creed. He must want this as much as you do, so you set about to make sure that he understands how you will improve his life. Your armor laid aside, you do not need to wear it inside your home with your riduur and you put on some of the outfits you had worn while you were in training for comfort. Leaving your room and making your way to the small galley style kitchen to fix him and his foundling a proper meal to enjoy when they return. 

When Din returns home with Grogu, the kid coos in surprise at the smell, always hungry, and Din can’t deny that his own stomach rumbles as the scent wafts through his filter. He opens the door and finds you in the small kitchen, wearing tight pants that cling to your ass and he muffles his groan. Din has always been an ass man when he picks his holos and Maker, yours is gorgeous. He can’t let you know that. “This, uh, this is Grogu. My foundling.” He introduces you to Grogu who tilts his head and offers you a smile.

“Hello, Grogu.” You tell the child your name and smile in delight when he waves his arms for you to pick him up. “I hope you are hungry.” Din scoffs. “The kid is always hungry.”

Din watches as you pick up the child and his back straightens a little defensively as you hold the kid he’s fought so hard and sacrificed so much to protect. You notice but don’t say anything as Din watches you. Grogu lifts his hand to your cheek, cooing, and Din watches the awestruck look on your face and he can’t help but think about how pretty you look.

The kid has some powers, the Armorer had warned you about it. The kid was a Jedi. But you didn’t realize he could show you things. You see Din, saving him, protecting him.

Din wonders what Grogu is showing you but your awed face makes his stomach twist and he sighs, “come on kid. Let’s sit you down for dinner.” He says and takes the child from you to put him in the high chair so he can have his food. He won’t eat in front of you. Even if you are his riduur.

“You are allowed to take off your helmet in front of me to eat.” You remind him softly, fixing Grogu a plate and then one for Din. “But I can go into the bedroom if you wish to have some privacy.” He might eat in front of the child but you want to show him that you can bend to some of his ways like a good riduur should. Perhaps it will help him become more comfortable about the situation.

Din shakes his head, “I will eat after. Sit. Enjoy the meal you cooked.” He orders and you set the plate down in front of Grogu. He doesn’t want you to miss out on enjoying the meal you spent time cooking.

You feel bad, knowing the food is better when it’s hot, but you listen to him. Using the plate you had fixed for him and sitting down at the small table. “I will be quick.” You promise.

Din doesn’t argue, he sits down and watches you and Grogu eat. It’s unusual, having another Mandalorian around him, but you don’t seem to have the edge that most Mandos have. You are softer, less hardened by war and survival. “You have known the Armorer for a while?” He asks, wondering how long this has been planned.

Nodding, you look up at his visor and then back down to your plate. “I was a foundling, like you.” You explain. “But I was raised by a sect that removed their helmets. When I was of age, I was sent to your Armorer for training.”

Din frowns under his helmet, watching you eat. It's strange to see someone eating in front of him that isn't the kid. He never sits down to eat with others. "Training? For - for battle?" He asks, glad you can't see the confusion on his face.

“No.” You shake your head. “I was training to be a proper riduur to a leader.” You tell him quietly. “To be able to pleasure you and stand by your side as you guide our people into the light.”

Din is half glad you can’t see the horrified look on his face beneath the helmet. “You mean you…you’ve been trained to be mine?” He asks, “or for - for a leader in general. I’m not - I gave up being Mandalor. I don’t understand why you’re mine. If you’re mine.”

“Yours.” You clarify. “The Armorer had chosen me for you when you were still bounty hunting for the covert here on Nevarro. Actually….” You wipe your mouth and set down the napkin. “I was supposed to be joined with you three years ago. Before the covert fell.”

To say he’s shocked is an understatement. Din inhales sharply at the news and he doesn’t know how to react, grateful once more that you can’t see his face. You’re meant for him. You’ve been trained to be his. “Why me? Why- why not give you to another Mando?” He asks, confused now he’s no longer the Mandalor.

“I don’t know.” You shrug slightly. “The armorer made her decision and that was enough for me.” You know that the armorer would not give you to someone who wasn’t worthy. You were trained to be a good riduur, you cannot be a good riduur to a bad one. “Do you wish that I had been given to another Mandalorian?” You ask, looking up at him under your lashes. His broad frame nearly overwhelms you as you sit while he stands and you wish you could show him some of the pleasure you can provide.

He doesn’t know how to react. Any way he reacts will hurt you or him and he doesn’t want to do that to you. You deserve more than him placating you. He sighs and shakes his helmet, “I never asked for a riduur. I never asked for you.” He confesses, “I don’t know how to feel. We are bound now so I will do my best by you. You will stay here. Fed and clothed and you’ll have whatever you want but I cannot give you me. I’m- I can’t do that when you are only performing a duty.”

You frown, unhappy with his answer. You gesture to the child who is smearing his food over his face. “You do your duty towards your foundling, do you not?” You ask softly, standing up. “You did not love him when you first found him, yet you would seemingly break your creed to save him.” Din stiffens and you quickly shake your head. “He did not show me your face. He keeps that for himself.” You assure him, knowing that it would upset him to know you know what he looks like, even if you are his riduur. “Your fondness for the child grew.” You collect your plate and sigh. “I hope that can be the same for us.”

Din decides to not continue talking with you. He sighs and watches you as you clean the dishes. Grogu coos and tilts his head at him and he raises his eyebrows at the kid despite him not knowing his facial expression. “Don’t.” He murmurs before he looks over at you. “I have a duty to you but that duty does not include taking sexual pleasure from you without cause.”

“Cause?” You snort and set the plate of Din’s food on the table after you finish cleaning up. “I didn’t think there needed to be a cause beyond wanting to give and receive pleasure.” You hum, moving over to the child and picking up the foundling. “Eat your meal, Din Djarin. I will make sure that Grogu is cleaned up.”

He doesn’t say anything else as you leave the room and he is tense when Grogu looks back at him but he doesn’t comment, wanting you to feel like he trusts in your riduurok even though he hasn’t trusted anyone for a long time until he met the kid. He listens for several moments as you take Grogu into his room until he decides to unlatch his helmet and he sets it down on the table. He scratches his cheek and picks up the fork, digging into the meal you made. He groans softly at the taste. Maker, you’re a good cook.

Cleaning up the kid, it’s cute how easily he settles into your arms. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I was tasked with raising warriors.” You murmur to yourself and to the heavy eyed little one. “But I hope that I help, rather than be a burden. Your dad doesn’t want me here.”

Din finishes his meal and washes up his plate, setting it on the side to dry. He secures his helmet just as you knock on the hallway to come back into the kitchen. “I’m covered.” He declares and you walk in. “The kid asleep?” He asks and you nod, sitting down on the chair opposite him. “The meal was good. Thank you for cooking. I don’t remember the last time I had a meal cooked like that.” He confesses, “maybe my mother.” He winces at the unlocked memory.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You tilt your head, watching his body language and realize he must not like to talk about his past. “If you don’t mind, I will take over cooking.”

Din chuckles, “I won’t argue that, cyar’ika.” He promises and clears his throat as he watches you. You are beautiful. In and out of beskar. He wouldn’t tell you that though. You’re here because of the Armorer and he needs to remember that.

“Well….I have a feeling you won’t be comfortable removing your armor if I am awake, and you probably need some time out of it.” You are guessing he’s like a lot of the Mandalorians from the Nevarro covert. “Let your skin breath.” With that, you stand and give him a small smile. “Good night, riduur.”

“Good night.” He murmurs, watching you go and when the door to your room closes, he sighs and rubs his helmet. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s bound to you now but to know that you’ve been bred for him makes him anxious and uncomfortable. He’s never been “in love” or anything close to it. Never allowed himself to get close to anyone. Emotionally or physically. He has seen holovids of sex but he is painfully inexperienced in that department. He has paid for oral, has had a few women he’s fingered behind a cantina, but he’s never experienced penetration.

In your room, you strip down naked, comfortable with your form and lay down. The fullness of Din’s shoulders and his trim waist has you dripping and it should be a sin for his voice to be so sexy through the vocoder of his helmet. Raspy and shooting straight through you. Your fingers slide down your stomach and you moan quietly, imagining that they are his fingers, even with the gloves on. They slide down, circling your mound before delving into your slit and whimpering quietly when you rub your clit.

Din swallows harshly, walking into his room to strip out of his beskar, and he is annoyed with himself that he’s half hard at the thought of you in the other room. You’re beautiful and he hasn’t been around a woman this much since Omera and he isn’t sure if what he felt was attraction to her or protective. He sits down on the edge of his bed, torn until he grips his now hard cock in his hand.

“Oh Maker.” You moan softly, slowly rubbing your bundle of nerves and letting your legs spread apart as you massage your breast. “Fuck.” You hiss, feeling your nipple harden and you slide your fingers down to dip into your slick cunt. Imagining what Din would look like under his armor.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, now hard and aching. It’s been so long since he touched himself, too preoccupied with the events that happened before he settled on Nevarro. He imagines your lips wrapping around his cock. It’s so wrong but you’re beautiful and meant for him. It’s hard to stay away. He will but for tonight, he will indulge in the thought of having you.

With your hand between your thighs, you imagine all the ways you would pleasure your riduur. All the ways you could learn to share pleasure. You’ve never taken a man before but you are well acquainted with a cock, wondering how impressive he is beneath the flight suit he wears. “Din.” You moan softly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your lips.

His hand pauses and he thinks he heard his name. He shakes his head, knowing he's imagining things, and he continues pumping his cock. He imagines pushing into you, seeing your face as you take his cock. He groans as he imagines filling you with his cum, watching it drip out of you.

Your fingers dip inside your cunt again, making you moan louder and brace your feet on the bed as you push them deeper. Wishing that you were sealing your vows with your riduur instead of fingering yourself. Even being in the training room was preferable. “Fuuuuck.” You hiss in frustration, not feeling as good as you know you could.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, getting closer and closer. He hisses as he squeezes his cock and he can't hold back anymore. He cums, spurting onto his chest and hand, groaning your name softly as he imagines taking you as his riduur but he can't do that. He closes his eyes as he rides his orgasm until the guilt hits him. You're innocent and pure. He isn't. He doesn't deserve you.

Sighing when you finally find that spot that feels so good, you rub your clit. Pinching your nipple and moaning as you imagine it’s Din. He’s a warrior, one that can also be tender and you imagine him taking you apart with his cock and his fingers, his helmet on in your imagination. “Din, Din.” You moan softly, getting closer to that peak and your thighs start to shake.

Din soon settles into bed after cleaning himself up and he swears he heard his name again. Sighing, he closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep without his helmet, the door is locked and he needs to process the day. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do but he’s bound to you now so he needs to care for you but he won’t touch you. He can’t. Not when you are doing it out of duty, of obligation.

Your peak is satisfying, but you know would be so much better if it were with Din. You had been trained to want sex, to crave it and yet now that you could have a man, he was rejecting you. Getting under the covers, you wonder if it is just a matter of him getting to know you before he gives in and touches you. You hope so.

The next morning, Din is dressed and feeding the kid by the time you wake up. "Good morning." He greets you softly and the kid coos at you before he digs back into his porridge. "I could've done that. You should've woken me up." You huff and Din shakes his head, "you are not here to serve us."

Your shoulders slump and you can’t help but feel like a failure. “I don’t know what to do.” You whisper quietly. “I- my creed- my purpose- you don’t want me here.” This is nothing like the armorer had told you it would be, and you feel like a failure. “I will no longer be mandalorian.”

“You are my riduur. You’re not failing. I - I don’t mind you here but-” He says your name, “you aren’t my servant. You’re my equal and I can make our foundling breakfast.” He declares and your beautiful face turns down.

You frown slightly and sigh. “Even if I am your equal, you would have me do nothing, contribute nothing.” You are stubborn in some ways and now you are clawing to find your place here. “I cannot share your bed, I cannot care for you and your foundling, I cannot share your burden.” You turn away and shake your head. “I am not allowed to share your life.” You walk back to your room quietly to put your armor back on.

Din sighs, looking at the kid who clicks his tongue at him in reprimand. “I know.” Din sighs and Grogu finishes his food. After he’s finished eating, Din cleans up and takes Grogu to school, wanting to give you some space.

Once you have your armor on, you pull your weapons out, intent on cleaning them. Knowing that Din would be happier if you weren’t here, you decide to leave your bag packed. Bringing your weapons out to the table to start disassembling them.

Din returns home without Grogu to find you sitting at the kitchen counter, back in Beskar and even wearing your helmet. That disappoints Din a little, already missing seeing your beautiful face. He can still imagine you naked. Wants to even if his conscience won’t allow it. He sighs and makes his way onto the porch, deciding to look through his holos to see if anything new has come in

You finish cleaning your weapons, reassembling them and sliding them into the holster on your hip. Your helmet tilts slightly when Din comes back into the room. "I am going into town." You tell your riduur, giving him more consideration than he had given you when he left.

Din nods, not wanting to show you that he’s a little bothered by you leaving but he grunts softly, “be careful.” Despite knowing you’re more than capable as a Mandalorian to look after yourself.

You nod, turning and walking away from the small dwelling and checking your map that is pulled up on your bracer. You try not to take his warning to heart, it doesn’t mean that he cares, probably that he would just prefer not to have to provide any backup. 

**** 

It’s been a week since you arrived and Din has tried to keep his distance. It’s clear to him that you’re not happy to not be fulfilling your duty but he doesn’t try to rectify that. He needs to keep away. It’s hard though. Every day he’s spent around you is making it harder to not touch you. You are beautiful. Inside and out he’s discovered. He spends his nights touching himself, jerking himself off to thoughts of you.

It is probably the longest time that you have spent in your armor in years. When you were training, you had kept to fitted clothes, with your helmet on as you moved through the tunnels, but when you were in your training room, you didn’t have it on. It wasn’t needed. Now, in deference to your riduur, you were wearing your armor and helmet unless you were sleeping and it’s driving you insane. Chaffing and making you feel too encapsulated. You had been eyeing the hot spring that was behind the living quarters, knowing that a soak would go a long way to restoring your spirits. 

Din just dropped Grogu off at school when he is walking across the sand and sees you. He knows it’s you. His visor zooming in to see you getting into the hot spring. Naked. He should look away. He should go inside. He can’t. His cock twitches and he changes direction to hide away from your line of sight so he can watch you. It’s so wrong, but fuck, his hand is sore from jerking himself off. To know you’re his in name, in creed, has him hard and aching for you. Especially now he knows what you’re like. You’re sweet and kind, gentle with Grogu and he knows he is getting more and more lenient with his strict vow to stay away from you.

Moaning at the heat and how good it feels on your skin, you settle down onto a little rock ledge inside the spring that acts as a natural seat. You wonder if Din has ever soaked in the spring, but figure that he is so ridged, he would not for fear of someone coming up on him. Throwing your arms back, you close your eyes, sighing at the freedom and sense of pleasure you get from being out of your armor.

Maker. He is aching in his flight suit, watching you as you arch your back to expose your breasts over the swell of the water and he groans at the way your nipples harden. He moves closer to watch you, knowing this is wrong but he wants to see you.

You had reached out the armorer to talk to her, only getting the advice to stay firm and not let Din drive you away. So here you are. Right now, the problems that you have with Din feel minute, the sun isn’t too hot today and there is a nice breeze coming from the city that seems to temper the weather. 

Din watches you from the shadows. He feels guilty for watching you but he can’t help it. He groans softly, reaching down to squeeze himself through his flight suit, his eyes drinking in your form as you relax.

The steam rises around you and it strikes you that this is a really romantic spot. It would be very sensual and you decide to push off the wall and submerge yourself completely, going under the water. Imagining being here with Din and having him naked in the water beside you. 

When you get out of the spring, Din inhales sharply, and he loves the way the water slides along your skin as you stand up. He groans softly, squeezing his cock through his pants and he watches you, caught under your spell as you stand there naked and glistening under the sun.

You don’t want to get dressed again. You don’t want to go back into the little house where you don’t fit into any role. Instead, you sit on a stone on the edge of the hot springs and stretch out, letting the sun bake your skin dry. 

Din knows he shouldn’t be watching you like this. He swallows harshly and closes his eyes, making his way back into the cabin, working fast to pull his aching cock out of his flight suit. He sits down on the edge of his bed and forgets to shut the door as he grips his cock and starts to pump himself.

The door closes and your eyes open, lifting your head to look around. “Din?” You ask, sitting up and standing quickly. If he is back home, you should go back in the house with your armor on, but you don’t. Quickly walking inside nude and calling his name again. “Din? Are you here, riduur?” 

Din pants as he gathers the pre-cum from the tip of his cock, working his length as the sight of your figure burned into his retinas. He will never forget it. He groans and doesn’t notice you coming into the cabin, calling his name. His usually razor sharp senses are dulled by the pleasure and lust racing through his veins.

“Din?” You can hear him grunt in his room, pausing near his door. You shouldn’t go inside, you’ve never been in his room. Respecting his privacy - but what if he’s hurt? You bite your lip, reaching for the button to open the door and rush in as soon as the door slides open. “Din, are you-” You stop in shock, seeing him grip his cock. A thick, long cock that has you instantly dripping wet. “I-”

His eyes widen as you enter his room and he gasps your name under the helmet. “I- riduur. I didn’t - I’m sorry.” He lets go of his cock and starts to tuck himself away from your sight, you shake your head, moving fast to kneel before him and take his cock in your hand and then within seconds, you’re taking his cock into your mouth. “Dank Ferrik.” He hisses, “you don’t- you don’t have to do this.” He chokes out, not wanting you to do this if you feel obligated.

You swallow around him before you pull off with a small pop. “I want to, Maker, I want to.” You promise, squeezing the base of his cock as you look up at him with a lustful smile. “I’ve found you sexy from the first moment I saw you. Even in your old armor. I want to touch you.” You repeat before you duck your head again to take him deep into your mouth. Loving how thick he is and the way his vein throbs on your tongue. 

He can’t argue, not when your lips are wrapping around his cock and taking him deeper. Maker, you’re gorgeous. Your eyes look up at him and he reaches out to caress your cheek with his gloved hand. “Riduur. You - fuck - your mouth.” He pants, refusing to close his eyes as you take him into your mouth.

You wish you could see his eyes. To mark how he looks when he cums rather than the expressionless visor. Instead of focusing on it, you decide you want to pull moans out of him. Swirling your tongue around the head and bobbing up and down until you are taking him deep into your throat and the fabric of his flight suit is against your nose. 

“Fuck. Cyar’ika. I- shit. You’re so good. So good.” He rambles slightly as you take him deep enough to push him down your throat. “Fuck.” He chokes, unused to this. You are taking him without issue and it’s pushing him closer to orgasm quicker than he’d care to. “Riduur. You’re - I’m going to-” He grunts as he twitches in your mouth.

You want him to cum. Want him to spill down your throat to taste him. To milk him dry. You hum around his length and start swallowing, knowing that he will enjoy the pressure and buck into your mouth if he wants to be deeper.

He lets out something between a cry and a moan as he starts to cum. Spilling down your throat as you swallow around him and he clenches his fists beside his thighs as you work him dry. It’s more than he’s ever experienced and it’s intoxicating.

You don’t let up, not pulling off until he stops throbbing. Swallowing every gloriously salty drop of his release and listening to the laborious pants that slip from underneath his helmet. You slowly start to pull off his cock, humming as you rock back and look up at him innocently. “Good, riduur?”

Din gulps, trying to catch his breath as you look at him with wide eyes and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest. “Maker, riduur. I- fuck. You need to get on the bed. I want to touch you.” He says as he tucks his cock away and he reaches for his gloves, “I want to see how wet you are.”

You are thrilled that he wants to touch you. Watching him strip off his gloves as you move to the bed and spread out. There’s no shame as you spread your thighs to reveal your dripping cunt. You had leaked onto the floor when you were sucking his cock. “Dripping, riduur.”

He groans at the sight of your folds. Maker, you are beautiful. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, reaching out to slide his fingers through your folds. Fuck, you are dripping. He groans and moves his fingers up to rub your clit.

You bite your lip, moaning in pleasure as your nipples hard in desire. Finally feeling your riduur touch you has your cunt throbbing. “Din.” You whimper, rolling your hips down, greedy for his touch. “Please, Riduur.”

He loves the way you moan his name. So sweet and so needy. He slides his fingers down to push two thick digits inside of you. He groans as your walls surround his fingers, wet and tight, and he imagines how you’d feel around his cock. “Fuck. You’re so wet.” He rasps, voice modulated but you can hear the lust.

“For you.” Your fingers dig into his flight suit as you hold onto him. Rocking your hips up and clenching down around him when he strikes something gorgeous inside. “Wet for you. I want- I want you to fill me.” You beg quietly. “I want to experience it- you. Your cock inside me.”

Din groans at the way you beg, "cyar'ika. I've never - you'd be the first. I don't want to disappoint you." He confesses as he works his fingers inside of you. "I've done this. That's it." He reveals, working his fingers and his thumb presses against your clit.

“I- I’ve never- you would be my first.” You remind him, whimpering and jerking your hips up to his touch. “I have no- no expectations. We would learn together.”

"Maker." He hisses as you reveal you're a virgin too. He had tried so hard to forget that. "You'll be mine. All mine." He growls and works his fingers a little faster. You are made for him. You are his riduur and that makes him feral.

“All yours.” You moan, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Fuck, Din, please. I- oh fuck.” You cry out when he pushes against that spot again and your entire body lights up. “It’s so good, please, cyar’ika.”

He wants to watch you fall apart around his digits. "That's it, mesh’la. Cum for me." He demands, pushing his fingers against that spot that makes you gush around him. "That's it baby. Cum for your riduur."

Whimpering, his words flash through you and make your body light up in pleasure. Pushing you over the edge and your walls clamp down around his fingers. Body shaking as you cry out.

Din groans as you soak his fingers, working you through it, and his cock is hardening again at the thought of you being his, completely his. Something switched in him when he saw you in that spring and his previous qualms and morality have gone out of the window. He’s spent too long alone and he wants you. He craves you.

Your whines finally give out to breathy pants and you close your eyes. Expecting your riduur to pull away now that you’ve both been satisfied. “Riduur…” you murmur quietly. “That was- was so good. Your fingers are so good.” You praise quietly.

"I want to taste you." Din declares, knowing he can remove his helmet in front of you as your riduur. He is nervous, hands shaking as his damp fingers unlock the seal of his helmet and your eyes carefully watch him as he removes the last barrier between you. He's still in full beskar but the helmet is his most precious protection against the galaxy - not just physically, but emotionally.

Your eyes widen when he actually lifts the helmet up. So sure that he would never break that barrier with you. Watching as a strong jaw, sharp now and soft brown eyes are revealed to you. “Maker.” You whimper softly. “My riduur is the most handsome man in the galaxy.”

Din blushes, actually blushes as his emotions are on clear display without his helmet. Unused to censoring his facial expressions. “Riduur. You don’t - we are already bound.” He mutters, setting his helmet down on the side.

“And I am lucky.” You smile, biting your lip at how demure he is being. It’s very appealing since he looks so intimidating with the helmet on. “Only I get to see you.”

His heart skips a beat in his chest, making it feel like he can hardly breathe as you look at him like he’s the only one in the galaxy. He swallows and nods, reaching out to caress your thighs. “Wanna taste you, cyar’ika.” He murmurs, shifting you down the bed until he’s lying between your spread thighs.

You know that he’s never tried something like this, so you nod. “Whatever you want, riduur.” You promise, Reaching down and running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. He groans and you know it’s a good sound. You always want to scratch your head when your own helmet comes off.

He groans as he leans closer, breathing you in, and he tentatively slides his tongue through your folds. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s seen this in holovids he’s watched late at night but he’s never done it. The tangy taste makes him smack his lips and he does it again, sliding his tongue through your folds until he’s flicking your clit.

“Oh!” You gasp, shivering at the contact and you want to close your thighs together. You can’t because of the broad shoulders and armor between them. Looking down at him is the sexiest sight and your cunt bottoms out around nothing, making you fling your head back against his pillow. “Maker, oh fuck, how- it’s- keep going.” You beg.

Din doesn’t want to stop. The breathless cries coming from you have him ravenous. He doesn’t know what he’s doing so it’s sloppy and uncoordinated but what he lacks in skill, he makes up for with enthusiasm.

You love how eager he is, devoting himself to the task with a singular determination. “Din!” You cry out and roll your hips down to meet his eager tongue. “So good! Fuck, you’re so good.”

He groans at your praise, sliding his tongue through your folds again until he sucks your clit into his mouth. His hands squeeze your flesh, pushing your legs back so he can access more of your flesh.

You keen at the way he devours you. Completely gorging himself and not being shy about it. Greedily sucking and licking at you like it’s his only task. “Oh fuck, right there!” You gasp out.

He follows your gasped demand, repeating the motion that makes your thighs tighten around his head and his cock is aching against his flight suit. He grinds into the bed as you thrash and he throws his armored arm across your stomach to keep you still

It doesn't take you long, just a few more minutes of his tongue swiping through your folds, until you are flying. Crying out a loud "Din!" before your entire body locks up and you clench down on his fingers to soak them with your release.

Din groans as you clench around on his fingers and he sucks on your clit until you’re pushing his face away from you. He kisses your mound and rests his chin there, mustache glistening with your cum as he offers you a small smile.

“I can’t- that was so good.” You admit breathlessly. “I could be addicted to that, to you.” You admit, reaching down and caressing his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away, leaning into your hand and letting you touch him. “I want you to claim me.” You tell him. “Make me your riduur completely. Let me give you what no one else has experienced.” 

Din nods, shifting off of the bed to work on removing his armor. If you are to be his, he will reveal all of himself to you. He swallows harshly as nerves threaten to grip him and he works methodically to remove the beskar until he is shrugging out of his flight suit.

“Mesh’la.” You whisper, looking at the scars and imperfect skin that makes up the body of your riduur. A warrior who has survived every battle he has faced. He is a Mandalorian, and you are proud to be his. “Come to me.” You beg him.

He can’t deny you. Shifting onto his hands and knees, he crawls over your body and leans down to caress your waist, his hand grabbing your tit as he leans down to kiss you for the first time. The first time he’s kissed anyone. It’s messy and he hits your nose with his at first. “Sorry.” He murmurs, feeling unsure.

You giggle and cup both of his cheeks with your hands, cradling them and try again. “It’s okay.” You promise, moaning softly when his lips land like they are supposed to on yours. Closing your eyes and sinking into the sensation. You love it, could live with his lips pressed to yours. 

Din groans, pecking your lips several times, and he slides his hand along your leg, "tell me if it hurts." He murmurs, unsure and lacking confidence as he grips his cock and squeezes, positioning himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, riduur?" He asks softly, nudging his nose against your jaw.

“Yes, Din.” You moan softly. “I am ready for you.” It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him that you’ve been waiting for him your entire life. You don’t think that he would believe you, but you have been waiting for him and now that he’s here, you are eager to have him inside you. 

He nods, shifting closer and he locks eyes with you as he starts to push into you. This moment - it’s one that Din never imagined having. Naked in bed with his riduur. It’s almost enough to make him cum. He groans as he pushes into your tight, wet heat and he swears he sees stars.

You whimper, the thick length of him stretching you out in ways that you could have never imagined. So much bigger than the fingers you had earlier, your eyes roll back. You can feel his body tense and from your training, you know that he will cum before you do. “So good.” you coo, caressing his back. “Move, riduur, please.” 

He grunts, clenching his jaw to control himself as he starts to move inside of you. You’re his dream. The woman he’s always imagined when he jerked his cock was faceless but now he knows who she is. It’s you. You belong to him. He groans and leans down to kiss your neck, biting down on the flesh like he’s wanted to do since he saw your face as he starts to move inside of you.

Whining, you can’t help but tighten down around him. Loving how he had sunk his teeth into your skin. “Din!” You cry out, holding onto him desperately while your entire body rocks up on the bed. 

He loves the way you moan his name, rocking into you over and over and it’s too much. “I - fuck. Mesh’la. I- Maker.” He pants and grunts as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and within seconds he’s painting your walls with his hot seed.

You moan, loving how hot it feels inside you. How full you feel as you roll your hips down. You caress his back and sigh happily, kissing along his shoulder as he rides out his pleasure.

Din groans at the way you take all of him. "Fuck." He pants, coming to a stop as his cock twitches inside of you, turning his head to press his lips to yours. "Riduur." He murmurs, "thank you."

Din gathers his senses and his eyes widen as he looks down at you, “I- riduur. You didn’t - I’ve failed you.” He chokes, feeling guilty and he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he took your innocence and you never got to climax from it.

Frowning, you shake your head, unsure of what he means. “Failed me?” You huff. “You didn’t- I didn’t make you cum.” Din chokes out and you are astonished. “Riduur, I will not cum every time we have sex. I know that. It’s okay. You made me cum before and it was better than any pleasure I’ve ever had in training.”

Din frowns, carefully pulling out of you and he looks at you as you offer him a doe eyed look that has his stomach twisting with confusion and guilt. “Training? As in - as in fighting?” He asks, his brow furrowed and he’s not used to his emotions being on full display.

You tile your head in confusion, sure that he was aware of what was involved in your training. “I was trained in fighting when I was younger, but I am talking about the training for pleasure.” You correct him.

Din’s eyes widen and he shuffles away from you in shock. “Plea-pleasure? But I thought - you said you were-” His brow furrows once more, “you said you were a virgin and I- shit. I’m confused.”

“I was.” Sitting up, you ignore your nudity and look into his eyes. “While in training, since I could remove my helmet, oral sex was the focus of my lessons.” You explain. “No one was allowed to penetrate me. Not even fingering me. They could rub my clit, but most just wanted their own release.” You smile at him. “You are not a selfish partner.”

Din doesn’t know how to feel. You’ve been trained to be his riduur, even trained to please him sexually. He feels sick. Not because of you, but because of what you’ve been through. For him. Because of him. “You- oral sex? With who?” He asks, unsure of what to do other than ask questions.

You shrug casually, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed and standing. You need to clean up since his cum is starting to drip out of you. “Whoever came into the training rooms.” You say simply. “Sometimes the armorer would turn away some, but there was always someone willing to let me train with them.”

He feels violated on your behalf. The armorer essentially forcing you to train in oral sex for his pleasure. “Maker.” Din shuffles off of the bed, immediately reaching for his flight suit to pull it on. “Because of me. You went through that because of me.” He chokes and stumbles out of the room.

You frown as he rushes out of the room, wondering why he is so upset that you would be trained. Cleaning up quickly, you realize you are in his room and have none of your clothes so you walk out to find your riduur.

Din is panicking. He’s just taken your innocence, given you his, and he’s found out that you were trained to be his by members of the covert. Men he knows. Men who would know you. He is fuming at the thought of those men knowing what his riduur is like, what her body looks like. He stalks through the cabin back to his room to find you gone and he takes his Beskar to put it back on.

Upset that he has left, you put your armor back on. Wanting the comfort of the physical shielding between you. It’s like you’ve been rejected all over again and it’s even more painful now that you know what he looks like, what he feels like.

Din doesn’t know how to handle the knowledge, deciding to take his blaster outside to do some target practice before he picks up the kid. Not that he needs target practice but it will take his mind off of things.

Waiting is the worst part. Sitting around and not knowing what is happening. You hear blaster fire in the distance and sigh. Deciding to send a message to the armorer, hoping she will know what to do.

Din tries to process what just happened. He had sex with his riduur who has been groomed to be his. It makes him sick. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out, and if he’d known you in the covert, he would’ve liked you naturally, but to know you’ve been raised to be his has him on edge. Grogu senses it when Din picks him up and when the duo arrive back at the cabin, Grogu toddles over to you and coos.

“Hey.” You choke out the word, grateful for your helmet so you don’t show your tear stained face. Bending down, you pick up the little one. His presence and obvious adoration makes you feel a bit better and you concentrate on that instead of the man behind him. “How was your day?”

Grogu coos again, lifting his hand up to press to your helmet, showing you his day including Din picking him up and bringing him home. He had picked up the distress in his father and Din is just as tense now as he watches you and Grogu interact.

You manage to grin, bolstered by the child’s antics, including sneaking a cookie from another kid and you chuckle. “You had a good day then.” You hum. “Do you want to go chase frogs while I make you some dinner?” You aren’t asking Din if you can, knowing he would have some objection to it.

Grogu waddles off after you set him down and Din calls after him, "don't go too far." He is glad Grogu keeps the door open so he can keep an eye on him and he sighs as he turns towards you. "So...how was your day?" He asks, knowing that he took your innocence today but he's trying to make some kind of conversation.

You don’t look at him, but your visor is turned towards him. Instead of answering him, you just turn and walk towards the galley kitchen to start making a meal for the young foundling. He had been upset by your training, so you don’t think that having a conversation is a good idea. 

Din suppresses the sigh that works its way up his throat and he heads outside to sit down on the porch to watch Grogu chase the frogs, floating them up in the air. “Don’t torture them, kid.” He shouts out and Grogu trills as he lets the frog drop into the water. Din fiddles with the edge of his beskar, unsure of what to say to you. It’s him, he’s the one who has made this awkward and he doesn’t regret that. He doesn’t know if you’re doing this out of obligation and duty. He doesn’t want you to want him because of duty or creed.

You move around the kitchen quietly, heartbroken that Din doesn’t want you anymore. You had done everything that you had been taught. Tried to please him and be the partner, the riduur, that he deserved. And still he doesn’t want you. The armorer told you that no one could come for another three weeks. Until then, you are stuck on Nevarro, with a man who doesn’t want you.

**** 

It's been four weeks since you arrived on Nevarro and Din has kept his distance, sleeping in his own bed, and he hasn't touched you. You've mainly avoided him, taking over caring for Grogu and spending time in your room. He feels guilty, for you being bound to him and him not fulfilling his duty as your riduur but how can he when you were trained to be his? Groomed to be his? It's too much to handle and he has kept away.

Today is the day. The armorer sent you a halo message, telling you that Kledo, another mandalorian from the new covert on Mandalore, will be here by the time the sun is setting. After Din leaves to take Grogu to school, you pull out your bags to start packing your things. Over the week before you had slept with Din, you had spread your things out, so now you methodically pack them away. 

Din drops Grogu off and comes back to the cabin, entering with a sigh as he expects to see you in the kitchen preparing lunch but you’re not there. He calls out your name, frowning under the helmet. He calls your name again, a little more frantic, and he rushes through the cabin to try and find you. He enters your room and finds it empty of your things. “Dank Ferrik.” He curses, grabbing his blaster and he tries to figure out if you've gone to the transporter station. He makes his way there and looks around, trying to find you but you’re gone.

When you break atmo, you start to cry under your helmet. Silent tears that stream down your cheek and gather at your chin. Dripping down onto the fabric of your flight suit and absorbed into the fabric. If Kledo had questions about why he was picking up Din Djarin’s riduur and bringing her to Mandalore, he never voices them, just concentrates on your trip there. 

Din interrogates the ticket staff who tell him no Mandalorians have come through the ticket hall and he growls, stalking off to the cabin and he immediately calls the Armorer. "Din Djarin." Her cool voice makes him vibrate with annoyance. "Where is my riduur?" He demands and she shakes her helmet, "you rejected her. She is returning to the covert with Kledo." She declares and Din doesn't waste another second. He hangs up and rushes to the school to collect Grogu, getting into his ship to make his way to a place he swore he'd never return to: Mandalore.

You sleep for most of the journey, after you cry yourself out. Waking when you feel the engines change, approaching Mandalore. “We are here.” Kledo tells you, preparing for landing. “The armorer is waiting for you.”

"You've returned." The Armorer declares as you enter the welding room. She stands tall and you shrink into yourself. "You failed. You have failed your mission as a riduur to the Mandalor." She says without sympathy.

“Yes.” You swallow under your helmet and try not to cry. “Din Djarin rejected me, but not before taking my innocence. I was not good enough.” You tell her. “I have come to ask that you break the riduurok. He should not be bound to someone who is dar’manda.”

The Armorer shakes her head, "you have failed and he has not succeeded in getting you with child?" She asks, wanting to confirm this before you are made dar'manda.

“I-“ you frown slightly, faltering because you don’t know if he had planted his seed in your womb. “I have not bled.” You admit quietly, “but it has only been three weeks since I shared his bed.”

"You will not be dar'manda until we confirm. If you are indeed pregnant, you shall remain with the covert until you give birth...then you will be sent away. The babe would remain." She declares and you nod, despite screaming inside. Din has never traveled faster in his life through the galaxy until he is landing on Mandalore. Many of his kin greet him by bowing their helmets but he doesn't pay attention, rushing into the lower sects of the covert to find you.

Your hands shake as you start to strip your armor and flight suit. Feeling shame for the first time as the armorer had ordered you to prepare to be examined. You have become used to being covered in your time with Din, feeling exposed as you reveal your skin and sink down to your knees to await the covert doctor with nothing but your helmet on.

Din is rushing through the halls, demanding to know where you are. His heart pounding as Grogu swings from the satchel he’s in at Din’s side. Din pushes people out of the way, some shouting at his back as he rushes through the halls to find you and eventually, he discovers you and the Armorer in her quarters. “Riduur.” He rushes over to you, your helmet on and your body covered in a blanket. “What is going on here?” He demands to know.

The Armorer looks at Din and then back down at the piece of steel she was crafting into a cuff. “We are waiting to see if she will be dar’manda now,” She intones. “Or if carrying your child will delay her exile.” Your head lowers even further, shamed that you have failed and unsure why Din is here, unless it is to demand the shuk’la riduurok himself. 

Din's eyes widen beneath the helmet, horrified at what you are going through and all because of him. "Is this necessary?" He demands and the Armorer nods, "this will be the next leader of Mandalore, we need to see if she is with child." Din shakes his head, "with an audience?" He hisses as you are naked and he wants to cover your body with his. "This is the way." The Armorer declares and Din's upper lip curls in disgust even if no one can see it. "She will not be dar'manda."

There is a hushed silence and your head lifts slightly. “Then you claim her as your riduur?” The Armorer asks loudly, and there is shuffling behind you, other mandalorians filing into the chamber to witness your shame. “She is under the impression that you wish to break your riduurok. That you regret taking her innocence.” 

Din is horrified, shaking his helmet. “I do not regret taking her innocence because of her. I regret - she was groomed. Forced to be what I need and I- she should have freedom of choice. To not be forced to be my riduur because she’s been trained to be so. To find out she has given oral sex to most of the men here…she’s been violated and I feel guilty that I was the cause.” He confesses, “it’s my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” The Armorer tilts her head curiously. “This is her path, she could have chosen not to walk it.” She informs him. “She chose to take the oath and to train, it is just as honorable as the path you have walked.” 

Din stutters, “she didn’t - I didn’t ask for my riduur to be trained for me. She deserves freedom of choice. To be allowed to be who she is and love who she wants. She - I don’t want a riduur who is ordered to want me. I want her to want me because she wants me.” He explains, his hands sweaty in his gloves.

“She does love you.” The Armorer tells Din, motioning to you as you kneel on the ground in front of her forge. “If she did not, she would have stayed. Keeping you bound to vows you didn’t not wish.” There is a smug sense of rightness in her tone and you wonder if you are so obvious in your motives. “Shuk’la riduurok would not affect you. You would continue to be as you have always been.” She tilts her head and hums. “Perhaps you have your heart on the line as well, because why are you here, Din Djarin? If not to fight for your riduur.” 

Din rears back as the emotional impact of the past month hits him. He is here to fight for you, the same way he'd fight for anyone he loves. He fights for the people that mean the most to him and suddenly that includes you. Between the distance and the closest he's ever been with another, blurred in those lines, Din Djarin has fallen in love with you. He swallows harshly, "I am here to claim my riduur...and my ad...if that is the situation." He adds and Grogu coos from his satchel, gesturing to you.

Your helmet slowly lifts, shocked to hear that coming out of Din’s mouth and you swear you are imagining things. He wants to claim you? “You claim your riduur?” The Armorer demands once more, finishing with your name. “I do.” Din nods, untwisting his cape from around his cowl and draping it over your shoulders to cover your body. “She is mine by vow and creed.” He adds.

Your helmet tilts up towards his and he shifts to kneel, Grogu jumping out of his satchel and Din leans in to press his helmet to yours. “She is mine and I am hers.” He promises and the Armorer nods. “Very well. Let us see if she is with Ad.” She demands and Din shakes his head. “No. Not like this. Let me take her to her room and we will find out in private.” He says and helps you stand up with his cloak still wrapped around you.

Still in shock that he’s here, you let Din lead you out of the forge room and off to a secluded hall. “Din?” You whisper, reaching out to touch his cloak, wondering if you are imagining this. If you are living inside a little fantasy. “Are you- you claimed me?” 

Din doesn’t answer you as he looks down the hall, Grogu following his steps. “Where is your room here, cyar’ika?” He asks, wanting to get you somewhere private before he talks to you.

Your heart sinks, sure that he is just getting you alone so that he can reject you. Keep it private and publicly have the illusion of claiming you. “Through here.” You motion down the hall to a door next to the training room. 

Din swallows harshly, guiding you into the room and Grogu follows at your feet. Once you're inside, he takes a breath and turns to face you. "Why did you leave?" He demands, wanting to know why you left him without even saying goodbye.

“You did not want me there.” You remind him. “You left me after- after we had sex.” You pull the edges of the cape around you and bite your lip under the helmet. “I did what was needed to give you back your freedom.” Shaking your head, you shrug. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Din's stomach twists, guilty for being so scared that he ran as soon as he touched you. For ignoring you after the event until today. "I- riduur. I have been alone my entire life until Grogu came along. He was my only purpose and I never imagined finding someone. I accepted being alone and then you came along and you - you changed everything. You took care of us - of me. You loved me. It was more than I could handle especially when you were doing it because you were groomed to be mine. I hate that you never had a choice."

“I did have a choice.” You tilt your head and frown under your helmet. “I - Din…the Armorer told me who I would be joined with if I took the Creed.” You explain. Maybe you had messed up by not clarifying before. “She had already chosen you to be the next leader of our covert after her. I knew this. I want this, I wanted you.” You bite your lip. “You were the one who didn’t have a choice, I guess.” 

Din shakes his head, "maybe I didn't have a choice but I do now and I- I claim you, riduur. I want you. I - I love you. If you want me, I am yours. If you want me to leave, I will go. I won't force you. You pick your path, you choose your destiny."

Letting go of the cape, you reach up and unlock your helmet. Slipping it off your head so you can look your riduur in his eyes. “I want to go back to Nevarro with you.” You confess softly. “If I am not carrying your ad, I would like to. Soon. I want to raise warriors with you. Not just because of my creed but because I want to have children with my riduur.” 

Din looks into those beautiful eyes and doesn’t hesitate to reach up to remove his own helmet, setting it down before he cups your cheeks so he can look into your eyes without the visor. “Mesh’la. I want you to come home with me.” He declares, leaning in to kiss you softly.

Your lips melt against his and you sigh in relief. Tears started pouring out of your eyes again even though you had sworn you couldn’t cry anymore. “I want to come home with you.”

He caresses your cheek and rests his forehead against yours, “good. Let’s go home, riduur.” He is so pleased that you want to be with him. “Are you- do you want to find out if you’re carrying our ad?”

As if to answer his question, there is a knock on the door to your room. “That would be the covert doctor.” You tell Din. “You should put your helmet back on.”

Din nods, placing the helmet back on his head. Just because he loves you, doesn’t mean his habits will die. He locks the latches just as the doctor comes in and Din stands straighter, suddenly defensive of you.

“I hear you might be expecting.” The tone of the mandalorian doctor is chipper and you’ve always liked her. The chipper purple armor of her Beskar makes you smile. “I am hoping you can tell us that.” You admit, gesturing to Din. “My riduur.”

Din nods, his stomach twisting with nerves as the doctor pulls out the holopad and what looks like a scanner from her satchel. “Din Djarin.” Din introduces himself and the doctor nods, “Mand’alor.” She bows her head in respect and Din shakes his head, “please. Just Din.”

You bite your lip, knowing that it’s futile to argue that while most of the Mandalorians follow Bo-Katan, they view Din as the real Mand’alor. Even Bo has wished Din would come back to the planet to help her lead. “Will you be able to tell? It’s only been three weeks.”

“We have advantaged technology to be able to tell.” She promises, “please lay down.” She says and you shift to lay down on the bed. Din follows, hovering over you and the doctor asks you to remove your cloak, “just so we can get close enough.” She explains and Din is tense as she pushes buttons on the holopad before the scanner whooshes to life and she hovers it over your lower stomach.

You reach for Din’s hand, hoping that will help him relax. You are used to the doctor, so you are comfortable with her and bite your lip as you look for any indication from the doctor’s helmet. She hums and moves it around, making you shiver at the slightly energetic feel of the scanner above your skin.

Din squeezes your hand, anxious and feeling a little nauseous until the doctor smiles, pointing out the small dot on the screen. “There they are. It’s - it’s very early but you are with ad.” She declares and Din inhales sharply. He’s terrified. He’s nervous but he’s happy. So happy. “Our ad.” He murmurs, a little in shock.

“Our ad.” You repeat in wonder, feeling more tears welling up in your eyes. “We are going to be buirs.” You whimper, squeezing his hand. “The very first time you touched me.”

Din leans in to press his forehead against yours, wishing you could see the wonder on his face, but that will have to wait for later. Grogu coos and Din turns to look at him. "Big brother." Din tells his foundling who straightens up as if ready to take on the role.

You choke out a happy giggle when you see the little foundling’s happy stance and look back at Din. Reaching up to caress his helmet. “I want to go home, riduur.” You tell him quietly. “Tomorrow. For now….i want to rest and celebrate.” Your eyes widen as you realize what this pregnancy means. “The first child born after retaking Mandalore.”

Din smiles under his helmet, “our first child.” He says and rests his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian you know, Ele, comes in about ten minutes later after the doctor leaves to ask if you want anything to eat or drink. “She will eat. And so must Grogu.” Din says and Ele nods, “I will take him for food and will bring him back with some for you. I am certain you wish to celebrate the news.” She says and your eyes widen at the fact that the news has spread so fast. Din hesitates, anxious to be separated from the kid but you know this woman so he will trust her. Grogu coos as he is willingly escorted to where the food is and Din wastes no time unlatching his helmet, throwing it down so he can lean in to press his lips to yours.

“We are having a baby.” You whisper against his lips, giggling. “I cannot believe it.” You are amazed that it happened so quickly. His seed is potent apparently.

Din nudges his nose against yours and kisses your forehead. “We are having a baby.” He murmurs, grinning as his hand caresses your stomach. “I love you, riduur.” He murmurs, “want to show you.”

“You do?” Your brows lift in surprise and you bite your lip. “How? How do you want to show me?” You don’t want to assume that he wants to touch you, although you have been told that men love to show their affection through sex.

Din slides his hand a little lower until he’s cupping your bare cunt, “I want to make you cum. I want to cum inside of you.” He murmurs, “claim you again. I want - I want you to ride me. Ride your riduur.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck.

You whimper quietly and tilt your head. This is a very different side of your riduur than you’ve previously experienced and you like it. “Ride you? You’ve imagined that?”

“Yes.” He confesses, his hand sliding lower until his fingers slide between your bare folds. “I want you to take your pleasure from me.” He murmurs, rubbing your clit with his fingers.

You moan softly, arching your hips up to his touch. “You will pleasure me.” You decide with a groan. “Strip your armor off, riduur.”

He nods, pulling his hand away from you to work diligently to remove his beskar until he’s in his flight suit. “I’ll look after you, riduur.” He promises and moves to remove the flight suit, his hard cock bouncing as he kicks it aside after removing his boots.

“You are- excited….” You murmur, sitting up and reaching out to wrap your hand around his hard cock. “What has you so worked up, riduur? Do you like your baby in my belly?”

He nods, a grunt escaping his lips. He never imagined he'd be so turned on by the idea of you round with his ad but he is. He pants when you start to pump him and he leans in to press his lips to yours, "yes, mesh'la."

“Then lay down.” You order softly. “I’ll show you how you planted your ad in me by riding your cock until you fill me up again.” You squeeze him gently before you let him go.

He groans and nods, quickly shifting to lay down on the bed beside you and his hands caressing your sides as you shift to straddle him. “Mesh’la riduur. My riduur.” He murmurs, proud of his claim over you. His hands slide up to gently squeeze your tits.

You moan quietly, closing your eyes as you shift to letting him lay down. Straddling his waist and grinding down onto his hard cock.

Din groans as you grind onto him. “That’s it baby. Keep - keep going. Want you to fuck me.” He murmurs, his dark eyes flicking up towards you. “Take what you need, cyar’ika.” He tells you, wanting you to be pleasured.

It’s different, keeping the control instead of giving it up to your riduur. It might be intoxicating because of how much it turns you on. Having your riduur submit to you and want you to take your pleasure from him. Reaching down, you line up with his thick length and slowly sink down onto him with a moan of his name.

Din watches you in rapture as you take his cock inside of you. He’s groaning your name and watching his length disappear inside of you. “You’re so right, mesh’la.” He murmurs, his eyes flicking up towards you and he reaches up to caress your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, riduur.” You whisper back, leaning over once he’s fully seated inside you and kissing him softly. Gazing into his eyes and watching him with wonder. He's here, he’s claiming you and you’re going to have his ad.

His hands slide down to caress your body, taking in your beauty and he loves you. “You’re mine. I will protect you with my life.” He promises, thrusting up into you as you grind down onto him. “After this, we will return home.” He promises and you nod, “home.”

He wants to return to Nevarro with you. To have you in the little home he has on the edge of the desert. You have fallen in love with it, with him and his foundling. Even the strange friends he has with the people there. “I love you, riduur.” You promise, having to kiss him again and caresses his cheek softly. “My riduur.”

Din smiles against your lips and he slides his hands along your back. “Baby, you - you are so good to me.” He murmurs against your chin and he kisses along your jaw. “My riduur.” He sighs, his hands sliding down to your hips and he helps you rock on his cock.

This time is just as sweet as the first. Just as awe inspiring. Even if you are slightly stiff as you find what position is best for you to ride him. Finding that you love it when you are pressed against his chest most of all.

He caresses your back and down to your ass, squeezing and smacking your cheeks playfully to get you to move on his cock. “That’s it baby. Ride my cock. Wanna feel you cum.” He says, groaning at the new position. It’s more than he could ever imagine. He’s clenching his jaw to try to hold off his orgasm, wanting you to cum for him.

“Rub my- oh rub my clit.” You beg, grabbing his hand and moving it between you to the sensitive little bundle of nerves. “Oh fuck, Din.” You hiss when he presses and starts to quickly rub tight circles.

He follows your order, rubbing your clit a little faster and he loves the way you flutter around his cock. “That’s it, riduur. Maker, your cunt is so tight.” He groans and thrusts up into you, his feet flat on the bed and you’re pushed up his body as he works to make you cum.

Your chants of his name start to get loud, filtering out of your room and you know that anyone nearby would hear it. Making you gasp as you realize everyone in the covert, everyone on Mandalore would know that you are his. It throws you over the edge and you cry out in pleasure when your cunt clamps down on his cock.

He loved the way you cry out. It’s intoxicating and he knows that you are going to keep him on his toes. His eyes squeeze shut as you clamp down around his cock and he leans in to press his lips to yours, smothering the rest of the cry of his name and he squeezes your hips. “Baby. I- I’m going to - shit.” He hisses, “I’m going to cum.” He chokes and thrusts up into you three more times before he twitches inside of you, filling you with his hot seed.

Your eyes close and you smile as you lean down to burrow your face into his neck. “Fuck, that feels so good.” You whimper. “I hope you want many ads. Because I feel like you are going to keep me pregnant.”

Din chuckles, “we have nine months to make you feel good while you grow this one.” He says as he caresses your back. “Then we will make another. And another. And another.” He says as he kisses your neck over and over. “I love you, riduur. We were made for each other.” He murmurs, leaning back so he can cup your cheek. “Now, let’s get dressed and get you home.”

You reluctantly pull off his cock, dressing in the clothes that had somehow been brought back to your room after being stripped in the forge room. Reaching for your helmet and turning to look at your riduur one more time before his own helmet goes back on. “Let’s go home, Din.”

After you both redress, Din finds Grogu and escorts you to the dock where his ship awaits. The Armorer stands there, hands behind her back. “You will be back Mand’alor. The covert needs you. We shall see you when you are ready to return.” She says and Din stares at her for a second before he nods. After settling his family in the ship, he gets in and begins the journey to Nevarro. He isn’t sure what the future holds, if he is going to return to Mandalore. One thing is for certain, he will be spending his days with his riduur, raised his ads, his foundling, and he will protect them with his life. That is his creed. This is the way.

[hindahoney]

If you want to code-switch so often that you are nearly incomprehensible to goyim, here is a list of my favorite and most-used Jewish terms:

Schvitzing - Sweating. (Ex: "I'm schvitzing so much it's showing through my clothes.")

Schlep - A tedious and long journey, depending on usage it can mean that you were carrying something. (Ex: "I had to schlep all the way across campus, my backpack was so heavy." Usually denotes a long walk, but other forms of transportation are acceptable too. "You drove all the way to New York from Florida? That's quite the shlep.")

Shtati - Something really cool. (Ex: "I visited my friend's place and they had a shtati mezuzah!")

Neshama - Soul. (Ex: "Mazel tov on your conversion, you have such a strong Jewish neshama!")

Balagan - A big mess, chaotic, confusing (Ex: "Moshe forgot to bring challah for shabbat dinner, and it turned into this big balagan")

Achi/Achoti - "Achi" literally means "my brother," but can also be used like bro or dude, "achoti" is the feminine equivalent meaning "sister"

Yalla - Come on, let's go (Ex: "Yalla yalla, you're going to make us late again")

Mishpacha - Family. Doesn't have to be literal blood relatives, usually a sign of warmth or friendship. (Ex: "I care about every Jew, they're all my mishpacha.")

Pshhh - Interjection sound, to express respect or agreement with what someone is saying, but can also be playfully poking fun at someone taking themselves too seriously, can be used sarcastically.

Achla - amazing, awesome, great, the best (Ex: "You graduated from university? Achla!")

Sheina Punem (Shayna Punim) - Pretty face (Ex: My bubbe kept pinching my cheeks and calling me a sheina punem) Can be used ironically, in which case it means "a disgrace."

Ahavat Yisrael - to love your fellow Jew (Ex: "I firmly believe in ahavat yisrael, even if it's hard sometimes.")

Schande - Shame, dishonor among the nations, meaning a Jew who represents Jews badly, a serious insult. (Ex: "He's a schande, he feeds into antisemitic stereotypes.")

Schmutz - Dirt, stain. (Ex: "Use your napkin, you've got schmutz on your face.")

Amalek - Any enemy of the Jewish people. ("[Fill in blank] is the modern Amalek, they hate the Jews.")

Lanceman/Landsmen - Two jews from the same place, a point of connection between two Jews who now live far away from their hometown. (Ex: "Your grandma is from Crown Heights? Mine too, our grandparents are landsmen!")

Goyisch - Something not Jewish (Ex: "I don't listen to Taylor Swift, her music is too goyisch for me.")

Goyischekop/Goyische-kop - Goyisch head, a jew who thinks/sounds like a non-jew. (Ex: "How could you say about your fellow Jew? Do you have a goyische-kop or something?")

Kindaleh/Kinderlach - Little children (Ex: "I passed by the school and saw the kindaleh on the playground, they're so cute!")

Chamud/Chamuda/Chamudi - Sweetie, cutie, usually aimed at children, but can be a term of endearment between a couple. Can be condescending when said rudely to another adult, like "Sweetheart" can be in English. (ex: "Goodnight, Chamudi. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.")

Daven - to pray ("Are you going to join us for davening?")

Frum - A religiously observant Jew. ("He's frum, he davens three times a day.")

Treif - Unkosher, generally something not good, doesn't have to literally refer to a food. ("I trained my dog to stop barking when I say 'treif!'.")

Bubkis - Zero, nothing, nada ("Moshe got a gift from bubbe and I got bubkis.")

Kvetch - To complain ("I'm just kvetching, I'm not that upset about it.")

Kvell - Extreme pride. ("I heard your daughter made it into her top school, you must be kvelling!")

Mensch - A good, admirable person. ("He volunteers every week, he's a mensch.")

Chillul HaShem - Disgracing God's name, someone who does something that makes Jews look bad.

Kiddush HaShem - Something that sanctifies God's name, brings honor to God. ("I love seeing you wear a kippah, it's a kiddush HaShem!")

Bubbe meise - Little white lies ("He told his teacher a bubbe meise about his dog eating his homework.")

I should acknowledge that these are mostly Yiddish words, as my experience is primarily with Ashkenazi Jews. If you would like to add common slang from your community (like Ladino phrases, Judeo-Arabic, Italki, etc) I would love to learn about them!

[phoward89]

Happy (late) 420! I tried to get this out yesterday, but that didn't happen. Anyways, here's some Dealer!Coryo x Reader in honor of 420.

Weed, drugs, guns, cussing, Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow, p in v, slight degradation?, um that's bout it

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1:

“Your brother's drunk again?” Coryo, your weed dealer and fuck buddy, asked as he flung the door to his section 8 apartment open as soon as he saw you thru the peephole. 

He knew what was wrong with you just by the sullen look on your face. Anytime you had that look on your face it was because your brother was either drunk and fighting with you or your ex (who Coryo nearly beat to death after the last time he cheated on you- which if you ask the dealer shouldn't have happened cause only a fucking idiot would stick their cock in a skeezy cunt when they've got your perfect, tight cunt to fuck on the regular) did something (like cheat) to upset you. 

After getting beat within an inch of his life, your ex skipped town. Rumor has it that he went to California. So, Coriolanus knows that there's only one reason you're on his doorstep looking like an anxious mess: your brother, Rein.

“Yep.” You popped your tongue.

“Come in.” Coriolanus ordered, moving aside to make room for you to enter his shithole. As you walked by him and into the apartment that smells heavily of cigarettes, weed, incense, and rose scented glade plug-ins, your favorite drug dealer announced with a lopsided smirk, “I was just ‘bout to roll a joint.”, while shutting and bolting the door.

“It's been a while since I smoked. I could use a few hits to calm down.” You admitted, making a beeline to the lumpy couch and in extension the glass coffee table nestled right in front of it.

A glass coffee table with chipped corners that was cluttered so much that the glass could barely be seen. It was a cluttered mess of magazines, rolling papers, plastic sandwich baggies, large bags of weed, a scale, a few empty beer bottles, an empty chip bag, a red solo cup, zippo, and a cheap ashtray.

Sometimes you wonder about Coryo, who could be a dead ringer for Eminem. Hell, his looks got him the nickname of Paneminem. You know, cause he's the Slim Shady of your small bumfuck Colorado town of Panem. 

A town that both you and Coriolanus Snow, known to a very small select few as Coryo, hate with a passion. 

But, anyways, sometimes you wonder about the dealer with the platinum buzzcut (which you were shocked to find out was his natural hair color) that lives alone. He doesn't have a lot of friends and the only family he's got is a cousin, Tigris, that's a stripper at Pluribus’ club. But they had some kind of falling out after he got a dishonorable discharge from the army and barely talk anymore.

And you only know about Tigris and his brief stint in the military cause you curiously asked him about his dog tags, chewing on the corner of them during a half-high afterglow while cuddling with him.

“What dumb shit did Rein do this time, baby girl?” The hardened drug dealer asked, following you over to the sofa. A sofa that has a board under it to level and prop up the saggy seat cushions.

“He’s pissed that I got laid off and can't find another job.” You told Coryo as the two of you sat down on the couch, making it dip under your combined weight.

“So, does that mean you're gonna start helping your favorite dealer sling shit for cash?” Coriolanus slightly chuckled, slipping his hand underneath the hem of his oversized white T-shirt and pulling his gun out of the waistband of his baggy jeans; placing it down on the coffee table.

You've seen the black Glock so many times, gosh it must be at least 50 by now, since you started buying weed and hooking up with Coryo. Him handling the weapon around you doesn't even phase you anymore. It should. It really should, especially since you weren't raised around guns or violence- but apparently the more time you spend around Snow (Coryo's surname and one of his street names- the other being Snowball) the more you're being corrupted by him.

Unknown to you, Coryo doesn't want you to become corrupted by him. He thinks you're a really sweet girl that had some shit luck of being abandoned by your mom and raised hovering above the poverty line by your much older half-brother and his girlfriend. Despite your crappy conditions, you’re as sweet as honey. Or at least to Coriolanus you are.

For some reason, the hardened drug dealer that's a couple of years older than you wants to keep you safe from any and all dangers in the world. Hell, Snow's not supposed to have feelings for you, a girl that occasionally buys weed from him; comes over to his place to vent about her life, but he does.

And that's not good because feelings are dangerous in his world. The drug underworld. The side of town, hell life, that decent people don't see. 

Coryo's got people that would love to put a bullet in him; the cops also want to lock him up for at least half his life too. Having you around him so much, getting wrapped up in shit isn't good at all. It's not good for you or for him. It'll only end up bad and in heartbreak.

And Snow can't have that. Oh, he has to protect you from his world. The world of drugs and all other illicit activities that transpire in the criminal underworld. You're just too sweet to have as a permanent fixture in his life, which is why he doesn't hang with you unless you're buying weed from him. He won't actively seek you out, despite the fact that you always bring a smile to face and warm his cold, black, dead, frostbitten heart.

“Coryo, you're my only dealer.” You dryly remind him, watching as he perches on the edge of his couch; leaning forward to grab the items he needs from his chipped coffee table to roll the joint with. “And no, I'm not gonna help you deal.”

“Only dealer, favorite dealer: same thing from how I look at it.” Coriolanus retorts while his long fingers nimbly work to fill and roll a joint for the two of you to share. “It was a joke, baby. I wasn't serious.” Your dealer dryly told you before giving out a lecture of, “My line of work’s dangerous, babe. I'd never send you out into that shit just to make a buck.” Waggling a long weed scented finger in your face, he added in, “And I would've fucked some goddamn sense into you if you’d agreed to my fake offer.”

You’re not stupid, you know that Coryo’s not just a weed dealer, but that he sells some hard shit and it makes his job- hell his life- dangerous. But you don't care. You accept him as he is. You're not trying to fix him; you're fine with him the way he is. You're also fine with being his customer/sorta friends with benefits.

You know that Coryo has a lockbox full of various pills and coke that he deals. The box is shoved in the side table, that looks like a weird ass octagon, caddy cornered between his sofa and a heavily duct taped easy chair. You saw it once when you were over, crying about being cheated on by your ex and needing some weed (and maybe some big dick) pronto to make you feel better and calm you down. 

Coryo had a customer he needed to meet and sell some powder to, so he prepared the crap right in front of you. After cutting the white powder finely with a credit card (that you're sure he stole from somebody) and portioning it up in a baggie, he made you swear to never touch the hard shit. He even said that he'd shoot whoever dares to give you the shit right between the eyes if he ever found out that you dabbled in the hard shit.

And then he sent you on your way with a few joints and a promise that he'd stop by to check up on you; see if you need anymore post getting cheated on weed to help feel better with. He kept good on that promise, he stopped by and took you out for a ride. A ride that ended with you desperately riding his cock in the backseat of his car- which was parked in some alleyway in a seedy part of town.

“Calm down, Coryo. God, don’t pop a vein over there.” You sarcastically tell the platinum blonde while he finishes rolling the joint. Watching him pick up his zippo off the table, you assure him.“You don't need to worry about me being in danger from the big bag drug dealers; I'll only make my money legally.”

“Y/N…” Snow mumbled warningly, slipping the joint between his lush lips and lighting up. Taking his first hit, he sighs, “The more you hang ‘round here, baby girl, the more you might be putting your sweet lil ass in danger.” 

“I’m a big girl, Snowball. I can take care of myself, plus I trust you and know that you'd never hurt me.” You said, watching him take his second hit. 

Passing the joint over to you, he dead ass says, “I got enemies; if they think we're a thing they'll fuck you up to get to me.” Shaking his head, he leans his elbows on his knees (of course he was manspreading- he always does when sitting on the sofa). “Cops would haul you in; jam you up just to try and catch my ass.”

Your brows furrow at his words. At their implications.

“So, what, you don't want me coming ‘round anymore?” You asked, brushing your fingertips against his rough, calloused ones as you took the joint from him. “Want me to find somebody new to buy weed from?” You took your first hit, coughing slightly. “Maybe I'll drive a couple hours to Denver and buy from a regulated dealer: from the man.” You threatened, taking your second hit and passing the joint to the broad shouldered man next to you.

“You're not driving down there for weed. You hear me?” Coryo sternly ordered before taking a deep hit off the joint.

“Then don't say you don't want me around, Coryo.” You countered, watching your dealer sexily blow a large billowing cloud of smoke from his perfect O shaped mouth.

“I didn't say that, babe.” Coryo snapped, his voice a bit hoarse from smoking weed all day (or at least you think he's been smoking all day). “I don't wanna have a heavy talk while smoking. Let's table this for now, yea?” He told you before taking a second, even longer hit from the joint perfectly pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yea, my life's stressful enough.” You agreed, taking the offered joint from Coriolanus as soon as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

Coryo didn't say a word, just leaned back into his couch and snaked an arm to rest behind you. He gave you a lazy thin lipped smile as you took your hit. His icy eyes, usually void of emotions, were shinning with fondness as he watched you instead of whatever bullshit was on his tv. 

A very nice large flatscreen that somebody gave him for payment. Fuck, the damn thing was worth nearly a grand since it was some top of the line Samsung smart tv. Snow knew it must've fallen out the back of a truck, but he didn't give a shit. Meant he didn't have to use he crappy tablet to watch stuff anymore.

But instead of watching tv, his attention was on you. God, Coriolanus loves watching you smoke. He thinks you're so sexy when you smoke. This cute, lil sweetheart taking in a large burning lungful and letting it waft out of your mouth expertly. 

It turned him on.

“It's not polite to stare, Coryo.” You remind the menacing man next to you, your tone a bit teasing, while passing him the joint after finishing your hits.

“I'm not staring, so don't know what your talking about.” He firmly denied, acting like he wasn't just caught ogling your gloss coated lips, while taking the joint.

You're starting to feel a bit hazy from the weed, unlike Coryo you don't smoke around the clock so a few hits mellows you out quickly, and lean your head against his shoulder.

“Your such a fucking lightweight.” The platinum blonde chuckles, shaking his head with a hint of an taunting smirk on his lips. 

“Not everyone can smoke and fuck all day, Snowball.”

“I don't smoke and fuck all day. I'll let you know that if I don't sling my shit then I ain't making any bank.” Coryo sneered, sounding a bit insulted by your remark, before taking a quick hit and holding the joint out to you.

Your fingertips brush over his, sending shockwaves through both of your buzzed bodies, as you take his offering. “You know, I'm still having a dry spell.” You reluctantly sigh between taking your two puffs and passing him back the joint.

Coryo's not stupid, he knows why you've been having problems finding somebody to hookup with let alone date. Word on the street is that he's sweet on you. That you’re Snowball's baby. Or at least Plinth and Creed, his only friends that are also dealers, told him that's the word.

Been the word since somebody saw you and him at some house party few weeks back- disappearing into a bathroom together for a good 15 minutes or so (yea, long enough to fuck).

“Maybe I can do something ‘bout it then, yea?”

“Maybe.” You coyly shrugged.

Even tho both you and Coryo knew that as soon as the joint turned into a roach; was snubbed into the ash trash, you'd be making out and undressing each other on his sofa.

“Hmmm…Coryo, that feels so good…” You loudly moan, feeling your cunt twitch and grow wetter, as you ride Coryo's cock.

Coryo's sucking on one of your titties while roughly squeezing the other in his large, calloused hand. His other hand is holding onto your ass like it's the most prized jewel into the entire world. 

“God, Coryo, I needed your cock so bad.” You admit to him, your voice nothing more than a pathetic mewl, as your wrap your arms around his neck- one hand pressing into the back of his platinum buzzcut while the other holds the back of his neck- while you leverage yourself to bounce faster on his dick.

His cock, very long and thick with veins that catch every velvety piece of your walls, fills your cunt up perfectly; turns you into a whinny mess. His tip hits against your cervix, causing the coil to begin to tighten inside of your lower body with every move. And the way his cock presses into your g-spot just right- oh fuck he's completely ruined you for men.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you're addicted to Coryo's cock. He's the only man that can fuck you just right. God, you would be all hot and bothered over your dealer.

Your nipple falls from Coryo's mouth with a loud, wet pop. He looks up at you, baby blues smoldering midnight with lust, and slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby. Ride my cock, ride my cock like the lil slut you are.” His hand slides over your chest, leaving one tit and going to kneed the other, as he lands two quick slaps to your ass. “Baby, your cunt feels so tight and good. Ride me, baby, ride me.”

“Fuck…Coryo…think I'm gonna cum.” You breathing tell him, forehead pressing down against his; hair curtains around your faces, as you grind your hips faster against his.

“Yea?” He asks, his voice heavy from lust and hoarse from smoking weed, as he places his hands on either of your hips. “Hold on, baby. I'll make ya cum.” Coryo tilts his chin up, sloppily kissing you, before digging his fingers into the meat of your hips and thrusting fast and hard up into you.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling your insides literally getting rearranged, as Coriolanus’ cock plunges deep inside of you. Deeper then you’ve ever felt it before (and that's saying something since the man’s cock always leaves an imprint in your lower stomach everytime you fuck) and it's making you see stars. 

Your arms are tightly wrapped around Coryo's neck in a vice grip as he pounds up into your cunt at such a strong, punishing pace. He's fucking you so hard and good that you can feel the rubber band inside of you get ready to snap. “Coryo…I'm gonna cum.” 

“Cum, baby. Be my good lil slut and cum on my cock.” Coryo orders, his baritone rough and raw, as he presses you against his chest while bucking his hips at lightning speed.

And you do. You cum hard, moaning a string of curses mixed with Coryo's name, before leaning limply against him and panting to catch your breath. Your head's pressed into the crook of his neck and he's now holding holding your back to keep you afloat while chasing his own high. Coryo pistons his cock in and out of you quickly before groaning a couple fucks and your name while shooting his hot load of thick pearly ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

“Damn…” Coryo trailed off, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Your head's still resting in the crook of his neck as you unwrap one of your arms from around his neck. Running your hand up and down his toned chest, you blurt out, “I'm hungry.”

“Of course, you get the munchies now.” Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. “I got some pizza rolls in the freezer, I'll nuke us some in a lil bit. Okay, babe?” He offered while trying to enjoy his blazed out afterglow moment with you. 

Honestly, he just wanted you to cockwarm him for a while because he didn't know when you'd be in that position again. 

And Coryo knows that he's going to have to cut you loose eventually. You're a liability in his line of work. Snow, the cold hearted drug dealer that doesn't think twice about popping a cap in somebody's ass, has a soft spot for you. Hell, to be honest he cares for you.

He cares a lot.

And that's dangerous. Feelings are a weakness that he can't afford in his life. The thought of you being used against him makes him sick.

And Coriolanus will never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him.

He knows that he'll have to cut you loose soon. Put his combat boot covered foot down; lay down some rules for the two of you to abide by. Something like he'll drop your weed off at your house then leave type of deal.

But right now, for a few minutes, he just wants to bask in your warmth.

And for right now, you're Snowball's baby.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[bonefall]

Clan Culture: Names and Titles

A guide to the meaning behind warrior names in Better Bones, including when a kit receives their first suffix, what happens in the case of a conflict, and honor and dishonor titles.

Edit 1: More added to FAQ!

Clan cats ferociously value their titles through life. It is a symbol of their honor, the proof of their rank, and a sign that they are a blessed warrior of their Clan.

Famously, a warrior name consists of a prefix, and a suffix. The prefix is given by their kin, and the suffix changes at least three times within their lives. The first, -kit, is given when a kitten sees their first full moon with opened eyes. The second, -paw, is given at their apprenticeship ceremony. The last is awarded after completing their Warrior Assessment, as written in Law 12 of the Warrior Code.

Once a Clan cat has a suffix, to leave it out of their name is ONLY done by family, else it is a sign of open disrespect for their rank. To respectfully shorten a Warrior's name, one sound from the prefix and one from the suffix are combined.

Squirrelflight = Squilf / Pishkafsheek = Pishee

Hallowflight = Hawf / Shahafniooaw = Shaw

In Clanmew, some names can get quite long! The full title only has to be used during sacred ceremonies, so that StarClan will gaze down upon the warrior using their name as a vector. Nicknames are common; a full name is a holy incantation.

(Though, this works both ways. Some enemy warriors make a point to use the full name when they cuss you out in battle, so StarClan can watch them beat you up. It's especially funny when they do this and then get their ass kicked.)

Below the cut;

Fading Kits; The Promised Name and the First Name.

Journey to the Moonplace; Conflicts and Leader Choices

Pride and Shame; Honor and Dishonor Titles

FAQ

Fading Kits; The First Name and Prefixes.

It is a part of life, for cat parents of all cultures, that they will have at least one kitten in a litter who does not live past their first month. It's so normal that it is not treated like a tragedy, it's as expected as afterbirth.

In Clan Culture, these are called "Fading Kits" or "Faders," and the same word is used for the 'twinkle' of a star. It is believed that Faders are StarClan Warriors who get "caught" during their delivery of the souls of the other kittens, and briefly fall to earth before fading away again.

They're thought to be family, in most cases! It would be very insulting to tell your grandfather that you don't recognize him, so, kittens are not "named" until it's clear they are not simply faders.

The first rank a Clan cat has is "kit." They are given this suffix, along with their official prefix, after they witness their first full moon with open eyes. It is believed that a Fader would not be able to gaze upon the moon without bursting into tears and dying on the spot, desperate to return to StarClan's hunting grounds. This title is called the "First Name."

(Jaykit was slightly delayed in receiving his First Name, as there was some debate that he could complete this ritual. The matter was settled by the Cleric, Leafpool, describing the moon to him in detailed prose to which the 3-week-old replied, "ok")

Prefixes are taken from just about anything that Clan cats are familiar with. Animals, colors, plants, so on. The reasons these names are picked can range from it being a good physical description, to having an abstract symbolic meaning, to being in honor of another cat.

While no word is "banned," there are names that carry social connotations. Thistles, wildfires, and honeysuckles have political implications. Cuckoo birds are referenced as an extreme insult. Cooked food used in a name would be considered extremely silly. Parents may be talked to if the names they pick are considered bad or 'not serious.'

If the First Name is ESPECIALLY bad, to the point of being abusive, the Clan might refuse to honor it. This is rare, and subjective based on the culture at the time.

Fading Kit: A kitten that dies without an obvious reason before its first moon. Extremely common and expected within a litter; not named.

First Name: The first prefix a Clan cat has, earned after witnessing their first full moon with opened eyes.

Journey to the Moonplace; Conflicts and Leader Choices

According to legend, the very first "True Names" were given to the five founders, after the First Battle. Upon each leader, their ancestors bestowed the fragment of a star, so that they too would be able to bless their warriors with holy titles of their own.

This is a sacred responsibility. A leader is expected to put immense thought and care into bestowing a name upon their warriors. Part of this process is checking with StarClan to ensure that there is no spirit with the exact same name. Full titles are holy, an incantation that means you. It's EXTREME disrespect, both to StarClan AND the warrior, to make them share the same title.

If a leader is about to see a conflict when they're being given their -star suffix, StarClan itself will give them a new prefix... but they will always honor a meaningful personal request.

Though they act as an extension of StarClan, every leader is unique in the sorts of names they give! For example, Mistystar likes to "theme" litters with matching or similar suffixes, Brokenstar would pick names that sounded threatening and cool, and Bluestar preferred 'straightforward' names.

To challenge the name that a warrior has been given is a challenge against the leader that named them. You're calling into question something that they have the sacred authority to do-- and possibly even saying that they don't have StarClan themselves on their side. It's a very serious thing to do in public.

According to Law 12 of the Warrior Code, all apprentices must do three things before they can be considered a warrior. The Assessment, The Pilgrimage, and The Vigil. These are called The First Tasks.

These are typically done in order. After passing the assessment, the apprentice goes on a trip with their leader to the Moonplace, which is the Moonstone in the Forest, and the Moonpool at the Lake. There, the leader communicates with StarClan to present the name they've chosen, and to make sure that no spirit shares it. When approved, they return to the Clan where the Warrior Name Ceremony is held and the vigil is sat.

A warrior's first vigil will last for 12 hours. Since Clan cats are crepuscular, the apprentice may choose if they want to sit for a Day Vigil, or a Night Vigil. They must stay quiet for this entire time, unless interrupted by an incoming threat.

(However, this is a value so strong it can permanently impact a young warrior. Stoneclaw sat vigil on the night of the WindClan Massacre, and watched ShadowClan warriors kill her sister, mother, and father. She found herself unable to speak ever again.)

True Name: The full title of an adult Clan cat.

The First Tasks: Three actions that an apprentice must complete before becoming a full warrior, as outlined in Law 12.

Pride and Shame; Honor and Dishonor Titles

A full name is a holy incantation, calling upon StarClan itself to turn its gaze upon the warrior it describes. When that name no longer properly encompasses who that warrior is, the leader might choose to change it.

For outstanding achievements, a cat can earn an Honor Title.

There's many ways to earn an Honor Title. An act of inspirational heroism (Hallowflight), a huge discovery or contribution to Clan life (Leafpool), or even surviving an extreme injury that should have been deadly (Honeysnake). It's also common for them to be given for distinctive scars and injuries (Shredtail, Crookedstar), which are a point of pride for Clan cats and their battle-oriented culture.

Because it's totally up to the discretion of the leader, there are certain times in history where they become common, and others where they're rare. Some leaders believe that the first warrior name should be simple to encourage the quest for an Honor Title, while others believe that they should be spontaneous and sacred rewards.

For a crime or a terrible sin, a cat can be branded with a Dishonor Title.

Like their counterpart, Dishonor Titles can be acquired in all sorts of ways. Usually, they're given for codebreaking behavior, so that the whole Clan will address them by their mistakes for a certain amount of time and see them as an example. Some cats will even specifically request that their leader gives them a Dishonor Title after a serious failure-- it is thought that while they live under the shameful title to repent, their true, "holy name" can hide away until their pride recovers enough to wear it again.

Dishonor Titles are not supposed to be permanent unless the crime was severe, such as Darkstripe's poisoning of Sorrelkit. Before being cast out of ThunderClan, Firestar renamed him Belladonnaheart for what he'd done-- it would have served the double purpose of calling StarClan to witness the exile, AND of warning other cats of WHY he'd been cast out.

(though, it was undercut immediately by Tigerstar, who renamed him as soon as he had the chance. Debate rages on if Tigerstar had the holy authority to do such a thing, and what the 'true name' of the spirit now is.)

But, Dishonor Titles can also be used in cruel ways. When Swiftpaw was killed by the dogs and it seemed like his cousin Brightpaw wouldn't survive, Bluestar furiously challenged StarClan by giving her the warrior name "Swifthound." They would take TWO swifts to the stars, or leave her alone to recover. This was a terrible thing to do, to turn her into a pawn in Bluestar's war with StarClan and force her to wear the guilt of the gruesome death of her cousin as a holy title.

TigerClan also used Dishonor Titles in a shocking and sickening way-- by changing Stormpaw and Featherpaw into Graypaw and Silverpaw, to remind them that their birth killed their codebreaking mother, and that their traitor of a father was not here to pay for his crimes, so they would instead. Mistyfoot and Stonefur were also forced to take the names Festerberry and Heartworm.

Honor Title: A reward given for outstanding achievements.

Dishonor Title: A punishment given for breaking the Warrior Code or committing a sin.

FAQ

Q: "On conflicts; if a cat earns an honor title or becomes leader, does their old name get 'freed up' for a new warrior?"

Yes! Conflicts only apply to the final name; though the names of famous cats will be avoided generally (Tigerstar, for example.)

Q: "When a spirit fades away, is their name freed up?"

Yep. StarClan won't protest if a spirit is fully faded or forgotten; but they still won't allow cats to share names with famous individuals. For example, Tigerstar had been double-killed by Firestar, but StarClan still renamed Tigerheart to Heartstar.

Q: "Are there any outright banned prefixes or suffixes?"

Nope. Just use in-universe judgement as mentioned above. Every leader is different, and cultural views of certain prefixes shifts over time.

Q: "If conflict names are so discouraged, how do they deal with conflicting kits and apprentices in StarClan?"

Young cats that reach StarClan are called "cherubs." They unlock a full title based on the cat they "should have become" in life, and choose the age they wish to appear as. Cherubs are very special spirits that I'll get into with more depth another time!

Q: "Do Fading Kits exist in StarClan? Do they take up a name slot?"

No. If they weren't just a "visiting" spirit, the soul is young and clean enough to get immediately re-used for another Clan cat. They're not named.

Q: "I have a question about Tigerstar's authority to change names!"

These are ambiguous cases even in-canon, and actively debated within Clans and between individuals. Tigerstar had a lot of lives from the Dark Forest after being outright rejected by StarClan, and many cats wanted to discredit his rule on top of that, leading to some fractures in how Tiger-Titles work supernaturally.

Stormfur's strongly-held personal beliefs lead to him still referring to Stonefur by his Dishonor Title. Most Clan cats believe that Darkstripe's true name is still Belladonnaheart, so using his old name doesn't properly summon him. The most important factor is if the cat in question believes they're correct.

Q: "Can Honor Titles and Dishonor Titles be revoked posthumously? Can true names change after death?"

Yes, but it's difficult and rare. Either the leader who set the name can do it, or there would need to be lakewide acceptance of such a thing through a ritual or the slow turn of memory through generations. This is more controlled by mortal cat perception than StarClan's will.

[emblemxeno]

Something ironic is that even though 3H is a massive game with a very strong and consistent creative fandom, I have had no creative spark with that game beyond discourse lol.

Of course, my type of creative output is different from most people's; I like reading into things, analyzing dialogue to recontextualize characters as a whole, look for real world analogies, hypothesize potential non-canon interactions, etc.

E.g., the Nohr siblings and their relationships with their father, with each other, or the court is never explicitly laid out in detail as to what happened. At best, you get basic extrapolations such as "we were told not to talk to Azura" or "our mothers used us as tools to curry favor and to sabotage/hurt one another."

Put those backstories and character traits against events in the story? It makes you think. Elise, Leo, and Camilla are stressed tf out and panicking over Xander and Corrin's fight during chapter 2, cuz siblings hurting each other = one's gonna die to them. Corrin choosing Hoshido or even siding with neither kingdom is a strike against Xander's ego and his built up sense of normalcy as a stoic fraternal unit trying to hold together the last remnants of his family. Camilla intertwines violence and love because she was raised receiving love and affection from her mother only after being subservient to her mom's terrible actions towards the other concubines and royal children. Leo is on Forrest's case at first because he has his on warped sense of "bringing shame and dishonor" to his family, an amalgamation of his loneliness when the other sibs focus on Corrin despite his own accomplishments and his mom most likely drilling it into his head that he has to be talented to be an honorable prince; it's little wonder he lets up on Forrest when he sees his son doing something noble and selfless like healing and attending to an entire town. Elise is an outlier because she's so young, and that either manifests as reckless, well-meaning bravery, or blubbering, immature outbursts draped in ignorance; she knows nothing beyond her supposedly good family unit other than what's been told to her second-hand, so how is she supposed to react when the rug is pulled from under her?

With 3H I don't get that kind of stuff, partly because the game is just that packed with dialogue and auxiliary comments from characters (IMO, a big reason why things seem bloated), and partly because of the way the story is delivered; since Byleth is a silent protagonist, character dialogue seesaws between having a conversation and telling/expositing at you, which results in a restrictive writing style that's actively harmful to implicit writing or subtext. There's nothing to scratch your brain about, because the game pretty much does that for you. And while many think having characters comment on story events each chapter in Garreg Mach is a positive to world building and narrative depth, I actually think the opposite, because the medium in which this dialogue and insights are given-talking to them with a silent protag who can't ever have an actual conversation-feels like I'm a scientist putting variables against each other and extracting data and information from the results, rather than a story with believable characters with lives, dreams, and relationships.

...Though, writing this out, maybe that's why it's appealing to other creatives. Maybe it's the equivalent to getting a 2,000 piece lego set, and switching only a few things around without dismantling the entire base project. The product itself is seen as art that can be altered in specific, minute ways that inspire curiosity and creative reaction.

I, on the other hand, get the most fun out of thinking about why the pieces fit together in the first place and how well they do in practice. Different strokes, I guess.

[tinyozlion]

“Honor, Justice, Strength, Integrity” - Why Wufei’s 'Honor' is Different

Here’s an analogy: 

Someone stands up proudly in the debate club. They say “Today I’m going to be arguing strenuously for a topic I know almost nothing about and can barely articulate my stance on, but I’m going to opine about it at length and with great authority.”  

And you’re like: …Why?

Do you enjoy being humiliated? Do you like losing? Is this something you do often?

Why? Why stand up at all when you have absolutely no chance of making your point?

This is how Wufei feels about fighting. Wufei, after all, IS a debate kid. 

People who have no way of defending their argument should stay seated. They shouldn’t be here in the first place. If you’re too weak to win, you’re only a detriment to your own cause; when you’re weak, you make your cause look weak, when you lose, your cause loses.

So sit down. You’re in the way. You’re embarrassing yourself.

--If most of us look in our hearts and think of something that we would, honestly, truly, stand up and throw a punch / take a punch for, our ability to WIN the fight isn’t necessarily part of our criteria for doing it. If you gotta punch a bully, you gotta punch a bully. We view that as having integrity. 

Wufei would not agree– if you punch the bully and the bully wipes the floor with you, does it mean anything to anyone but you? And does your feeling of validation make it worthwhile to participate in a conflict that hands your enemy an easy victory? The bully is still Evil, he wouldn’t say otherwise. But you didn’t change that by getting your ass kicked;  the bully lives to bully another day. 

Why throw your life away for something you can't change? If the only thing you can do for you cause is die for it, then you need to get your priorities in order-- you should get better at fighting so you can WIN for what you believe in, or get out of the way of those who can, so you don't become a liability.

If a cause is worth fighting for, then as its champion you'd better commit to being strong enough not only to achieve victory, but to defend and enforce it– or don't you believe in your stance firmly enough to follow it through? If you can't bring yourself to implement it without hesitation, then your cause is not a worthy one. If you don't fully believe in the cause you're fighting for, then indecision will make you weak, and you will fail.

And it will be right that you fail. Because fighting without a unity of both commitment and moral authority is how you lose your way. It’s how unnecessary conflict and Evil are born: from the disorder left in the wake of those who fight without understanding of what they're trying to achieve or lack the resolve to implement it without compromise. To him, that internal unity of purpose is the measure of integrity. Never go to war without it.

“Honor” for Wufei is different from the “aretḗ” of Zechs and Treize. For Wufei, honor is a score you’re keeping with yourself and your family and your clan and your ancestors and your dead wife who’s spirit you idolize. It’s not glory, it’s not chivalry– honor is your reputation. It’s a designation of value assigned by your community; it keeps you accountable to them. If you are humiliated in battle, it disgraces you AND your community, and it is therefore their right to ostracize you. Honor is something you can lose-- not just by failing to meet your personal standards, but by by failure in general.

A circumstantial loss is one you can strengthen yourself against and bounce back from-- but a true defeat, one that ends with you knowing you've been bested by a far superior opponent? That is a failure. A deep and bruising mark of dishonor that makes you unfit to wield a weapon.

There’s an interesting, if perhaps cynical, description of “honor culture” that identifies it as a response to living in impoverished, tenuous, often remote conditions where there is minimal or no law enforcement. Your mileage may vary on that assessment, but one thing’s for sure, Wufei’s colony, the A0206 colony of the L5 cluster, fits all of those criteria. 

The Long clan’s reputation for great strength led them to be exiled by an insecure government to a decrepit, 200 year old relic of a colony teetering on the brink of extinction at the very edge of civilization. They have no money and few resources, their population is dwindling, the life support systems grow more tenuous by the year. The Alliance / OZ think of the people still living in L5 as vermin skittering around space trash. The Barton Foundation’s original plan for Operation Meteor designated A0206 as the colony destined for earth drop.  Both Earth and Space seem in agreement that his home is scrap metal waiting to be disposed of. The only resources of value Wufei's clan have are the few young people like him who are capable of fighting, and their honor as a people. (…And one Gundam with no ammunition.)

The Long Clan is depicted as being very strict, proud, and extremely conservative. They adhere to a Confucian tradition that values obedience to social hierarchies, and the acceptance of one’s social role within that hierarchy. It is understood that those with superior standing should maintain virtuous and moral conduct, and that those who are subordinate should obey them as long as this remains true. Civil order and peace is the expected result of maintaining this propriety. It is also expected that people strive for perfection and harmony in every aspect of life, with the understanding that perfection is a state that can be achieved. It’s very likely that the strict adherence to these very traditional precepts is what helps A0206’s small, endangered population maintain cohesion in the face of constant peril, and it would explain why these traditions have close to a religious significance for those living there, including Wufei. 

The hierarchies of this system are fundamentally patriarchal. Meilan is considered the “strongest in her clan”, but this seems to be something of a ceremonial designation, as she is repeatedly told not to fight in real battles on account of being a woman. In fact, it she seems to be the only woman with a visible presence in the colony. It’s possible that women are a rarity in the declining state of A0206, thus giving her increased value and status and making the rest of the clan overprotective of her-- but whatever the case, she must take on the spiritual mantle of Nataku to transcend her status as a woman and fight.

This is partly why Meilan finds Wufei so deeply infuriating when they first meet: she and Wufei are the strongest and perhaps ONLY members of their generation who are able to fight, and he (the one allowed and expected to fight by virtue of being male) refused to do so. Wufei did not see the point in fighting for a subjective concept– “Justice” lacks an absolute, universal definition, and therefore could not be defended.

--Like I said before: debate kid. 

Besides being an infuriating nerd, Wufei risks his whole clan’s reputation by refusing to commit to the fight against the Evil. (…Also, they were about to be exterminated by the Alliance, so choosing to let everyone die rather than be rhetorically incorrect was a bit of a dick move– as his mentor Doctor O astutely observed). When Meilan shames him, it is specifically for being a failure as her husband, as well as for shirking his duties as the most capable member of the Long clan. For both of them, propriety is of key importance.

But unlike Wufei, Meilan has no trouble reconciling her conviction to fight with her sense of justice. To her, it’s obvious that the universality of justice is infinitely less important than making one’s own idea of justice a reality. 

She isn’t having any of that what-about-ism bullshit– she is unhesitatingly ready to fight for what she understands to be true: that those who kill indiscriminately and oppress others for gain are Evil, and must be stopped so they cannot continue to do harm. And she fights also because… that is their way. The last and most enduring thing her people have is their identity, as ones who fight to uphold justice.

Ultimately, Meilan is killed while protecting the colony and Wufei. She is strong enough to win, but not strong enough to survive the victory. Their colony, their clan, and one the last few beautiful things they have managed to cultivate in spite of dereliction– their field of flowers, are safe for another day. If she hadn’t leapt to their defense first, Wufei would not have followed in the Gundam, and the population of the colony would likely have been killed en-masse by the Alliance, or decimated by OZ. She was directly responsible for their survival. Evil did not win, and yet, she died. She was strong, and yet she died. She was weak, and yet she was Justice embodied.  Such a contradiction meant the universe had gone insane. It lost its way, it stood in need of correction.

Wufei does not handle contradictions well. His ideology consists of absolutes and has no room for failure or extenuation. When the weak fight, they die, or they get in the way, so they shouldn’t fight. But Meilan– Nataku, was strong, and so, her spirit must live on in the Gundam, undying. It is her strength, her justice, which carries HIM to victory by lending him the strength of the mobile suit she died protecting. He must believe this, not only to honor her memory, but to preserve the structure of his ideology. 

When he encounters women in combat who remind him of her, he reacts with outbursts of sublimated anger and grief that is redirected into misogynistic vitriol. Women who fight will die, don’t they understand? They continue to pick up arms and fight anyway, even when they’re weak, even when they cannot possibly win. They’ll foolishly rush ahead because they believe in what they fight for, and it will kill them. But he will not be the reason for it. He will make them understand that they are weak, so they will stop fighting.

--But they don’t. And he has no idea how to deal with it. Just as he has no idea how to deal with his own defeat, until once again, a woman finds it worthwhile to help him regain his conviction and sense of justice, by demonstrating her own. 

He is a trad-i-tional boy, living in a trad-i-tional world.  

<-Back! —————————- Onward!->

[physicalturian]

[18+] Salvaged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 4

[The plot of this work follows previous works in this series] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] [Varied POV/chapter]

Words : 11 013

Playlist : link

Archiveofourown

Warnings : Reader-Insert // Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con // Canon-Typical Violence // Graphic Description // Graphic Description of Corpses // Dubious Ethics // Explicit Language // Blood and Injury // Necrophilia jokes // Slight mention of ED (not reader)

There was something uncanny in having two people looking for a new place, to perhaps even build a new life, while in a different part of the city something much more tragic was happening.

It was nothing remotely close to dramatic to those who were used to it, to people that had been desensitized to the show that was happening right now. To people like Mikey. He could watch the scene displayed in front of him for hours without a hint of regret, so people thought. What regrets could a man with a blank expression portray? His eyes bore intensely into every action, following each hit, each breath, each step—he was taking it all in, unflinching. Part of his brain would sometimes attempt to resurface, that part of him that was more caring, but he was fast to turn it off.  Having him vulnerable to any sort of thing would mean the end of it all.

Many would label their actions as distasteful, gruesome, illegal, and immoral. Even more would be happy should they stop. But what would happen then? Once all the wrongs of the world were not contained anymore? Once all that money that was being fed to the big cats—that was helping the economy flow as it should, that was helping desperate people get any sort of income to provide for their family because the society they were born in could not care enough to let them earn enough to live—was no more?

What would happen then? 

Then it would all come crashing down.

Earning money legally was a privilege that many seemed to bask in, along with their naivety, but so many more had to work with the risk of losing it all. Their money, their life, their freedom.

In some way, Mikey found it much more honorable.

And it all rested on his shoulders. 

Should he take the fall, everything would go amiss, with people fighting for their businesses, their territory, for power. He would not—no, he could not allow himself to be remotely vulnerable, that was why he relied on Sanzu to keep him in check for what was at stake. It seemed sad to think that the blond man needed to be reminded of what could go wrong if he dared to feel human, but it was necessary. Both men knew.

It needed to be done.

“See Ran, the guy isn’t talking. Let me beat him up, your technique ain’t it.” Rindou spoke a few steps away from his brother as he watched him beat a guy to the pulp with his baton, gritting his teeth and hissing insults, questions, everything. 

A sigh was heard next to Mikey. A man that had no need to be there stood by the leader’s side, arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head, “Why did you not call Sanzu or The Reaper in? The Haitanis are not extortionists at all. They have close to no patience–”

“I trust them.” Mikey stated, implying much more with these words. He then gave Koko a glance from the side, “And Sanzu was sent on another errand.” It was enough to be clear for the long-haired man that nodded, returning his attention to the fight in front of them. All that they currently needed was one crumb of information to go further in their research on Shibata. Bonten was not one for infighting, it was a dishonor to betray the organization and lay a hand on any other member, other than a stupid drunken fight. But some made exceptions, some were allowed to ignore the rules if it meant helping the greater cause.

It was the only reason why one of Bonten’s lower-ranked members was on the floor, facial features unrecognizable from the different layers of dried blood covering his skin. The situation was something everyone in the warehouse meant to keep a secret; it was something that shouldn’t have happened, and yet did.

“Who gave you the fucking order? It’s not that fucking hard, speak up and you go free.”

“No one! I did it on my own!” And another punch, perhaps too strong this time as his head hit the ground all too forcefully, the sound dull enough to quiet everyone in the room as Ran let go of the man’s collar and stood up. He grabbed a rag Rindou handed him and dried his hands the best he could before walking up to Mikey, uncaring of the dirt and dampness on his clothes from kneeling over the man. With a deadpan expression, he met Mikey’s eyes, “He’s not talking.”

Mikey hummed, taking his phone out as he sent a quick message to Sanzu, informing him of the situation before tucking it in his pocket and meeting Ran’s eyes, “Orders are not thought, they’re given.” Mikey started, only to have Koko speak up impatiently, “This man met up with someone external to the organization, in the dead of the night, with exec-level information at his disposal that he somehow got all on his own?” He scoffed in disbelief, clicking his tongue against his teeth while huffing another laugh.

“Yeah, so if one of our guys is connected to Shibata, what’s telling us there aren’t more of them?” Rindou asked, his face full of disbelief with his brows furrowed. The man would often be perceived as the happier, more jovial brother—or at least the one people would get along with more—but those who believed it were absolute fools. He would end up being the life of the party, however he did enjoy his ‘job’, if one could call it such. He cared about two things, Bonten and his brother, meaning that if one of those was at risk he’d pour all his energy into fixing the issue. He was not one to ask for intricate details, but if someone assigned him something to do, precisely informing him of the outcome, he would do it happily. Sometimes too happily—part of him itched to fight. After all, that was what he had known most of his life, and he also believed it was a good way to get his frustration out from time to time.

He didn’t care about losing or winning, as long as what he cared for was safe.

Mikey hopped off his spot and walked to the bashed body on the ground, the man whimpering and sniffling—Mikey took his gun out and pointed it at him. “Corruption in a corrupting organization, it was only a matter of time before the dog caught its tail…” Mikey whispered before grabbing the man’s collar and lifting him off the ground while pressing the gun under his chin, “I’m nice enough to euthanize a rotten dog when I see one, tell me who gave you the order.” If death had a face, it’d be this one. The one of a man claiming mercy at a moment of weakness, the apathy in his eyes contrasting with the softness of his features as he nudged the gun further into the skin.

To the three men standing back, nothing could be heard. They watched as Mikey lifted the man, cocked the gun, and approached his head. Koko had been with Mikey for a bit longer than the Haitanis, he had seen him get his hands dirty. Even if the sight was rare to behold, he didn’t care much—however, the brothers watched like hawks, leaning in to hear anything that was being exchanged until the gunshot was heard and the body dropped dead with a hard sound from Mikey pushing it before letting go of the collar.

They both watched Mikey wipe his bloody face with the back of his hand, only spreading it more over his cheek before tossing the gun to Koko who caught it without missing a beat, “Ran, Rindou, some loyalty must be tested.”

Rindou interrupted in panic, but to others, it was simply impoliteness, “Hey Mikey, my brother and I ain’t betraying anyone, alright? So whatever that guy said, whatever test you got for us–”

With a simple look, Mikey had Rindou closing his mouth, giving him time to speak, “Sanzu will be providing you with a list of people, our people, that need their…” He smiled, a short smile, a frightening smile to encounter, “Allegiance reviewed.”

Ran scoffed, his eyes glancing at Koko who was already walking out of the warehouse. It was evident that things had been dealt with and he had places to be—Ran’s focus returned to the smaller man in the room, “Ah yeah, beating up some weak-asses to make sure they stick with us instead of whoever that traitor is. Count us in, Mikey.” He was about to pull Rindou with him on his way out, but paused and called out Mikey’s name who was walking away. The white-haired man turned around without much surprise upon being called and set his gaze on the brothers.

“You’re not gonna tell us who he snitched on, are you?” Ran asked, confident about his statement.

Mikey shook his head, “No. Someone else is in charge of that.”

The brothers both laughed and started walking, holding back from nudging their boss in some sort of pettiness upon not being the ones to deal with the traitor, “And you want your people to trust you blindly? When you don’t trust your own execs? Maybe if you–”

Rindou pushed Ran away from Mikey, telling him it wasn’t worth it—Mikey only tilted his head forward, shaking it ever so slightly, “You’re smart Ran, you should know your impulsivity is of better use elsewhere.” A short sigh escaped Mikey’s lips as he looked up and met Ran’s eyes with nothingness, no tell of a joke even as those words poured out, “A smart fighter is key to taking care of this traitor, not a reactive one.”

The purple-haired man looked over his shoulder at his brother, asking under his breath if he had just been called dumb, but Mikey did not let them speak. He only walked out, but not without reminding them, “You’ll receive a text soon. If you delegate that to your divisions make sure you trust them, you never know what’s amongst your ranks.” Soon enough, the sound of the door slamming echoed in the warehouse, leaving the two brothers inside.

Both looked at each other before looking at the body on the floor, far away from them.

Almost at the same time, they spoke, “Not it.” and started debating on who was faster, arguing about the upcoming plans for today only for Rindou to give the final defense, “It’s your mess, I ain’t your mom, take care of it yourself!” He raised his hands, smirking at his brother, proud of finding a valid argument that had Ran clenching his teeth in annoyance. He pulled out his phone and shooed the longer-haired man away as he called one of the members of his division, “Yeah, write down the address. I’ll stay ‘til you arrive so you better get here fast, I got shit to do.”

As he proceeded to spell out the address, Rindou patted his shoulder mockingly and told him he’d see him later before leaving Ran alone in the warehouse.

A while later, neither of them had yet received the information from Sanzu regarding the manhunt task Mikey had assigned to them, but the pink-haired man had been busy since the early hours of the morning on his errand. Amidst dealing with the businesses he was responsible for, he had been taking care of Shiho who had woken up ill after the night with her. He’d stayed at home in the meantime, making sure she would make it through the day. His sleep had been restless, partly due to the couch not having the same level of comfort as his own bed, and largely due to having to endure a night of Hanma’s girl screaming through nightmares. He wondered if the poor sleep right next to that woman must have led to Shiho’s overnight health decline as well. 

For now, not one of his men knew the reason for him not being on site to make himself heard, but they didn’t need to see him to fear him. They even less needed to know his girl was asleep on his lap while he told off idiots for how much they could fuck up simple orders.

His voice must have risen too much since Shiho stirred in her sleep and turned around to look at him. Before she could speak, he shushed her with a small smile, pointing at the phone. She nodded and wrapped her arms around him, listening to the voice she had grown to find so soothing.

“You find him, it’s not that hard. You find him, get the info out of him and make sure he doesn’t talk.” He stated, listening to the reply he was getting, reacting with a dry scoff, “Twelve hours, you don’t want me to visit your boyfriend, do you?” Hearing him coerce people made her feel funny. She felt some sort of pride to be on his good side, to have the honor to see him soft when he was feared and known to be one of the worst men of Bonten. 

As he hung up, he tossed the phone aside and kissed Shiho passionately, “Thought you’d died for a sec there. You just passed out after they left.” He uttered against her lips before kissing her once more, both smiling and slightly dazed. The woman hummed and threaded her fingers through his hair, “I don’t go down that easily, come on!” She chuckled, holding onto his shoulder for balance as she sat next to him, her legs now resting over his comfortably, “I was just tired, I guess tidying up a body late at night isn’t made for me.” She chuckled, adding that her friend had had nightmares during the night, which added to her restlessness.

Sanzu hummed, making Shiho grab his face towards her, “When you guys talked… did you tell Hanma to do something about her being sent on fucked up errands? I hate seeing her like that, I don’t think he realizes–”

“I did talk to him, yeah. He’s insane and says she’s fine. Can’t do much about it at this point.” He pondered, helping her legs off him as he stood up, “Don’t wanna get too involved in their shit either, I have a weird feeling about those two.” He couldn’t tell her all that he knew, he couldn’t be as honest as he wanted to be, but he could be vague and be grateful that the woman by his side trusted him enough.

Shiho took his hand and brought it to her face as he hovered over her, “Your strangely specific gut feelings?” She asked supportively. He had something he couldn’t share, she felt it, but she played along. Time would help him come out of his shell, she had seen it, she was convinced of that. All she could do until then was support him and be as open and true as she could to make him understand he could be like that with her as well.

He laughed, “Yeah, those. So be careful baby, okay?”

“I’m not the one hanging around that tall, assless asshole—you are, so you be careful!” She chuckled, wrapping her arms around him before moving her hips from left to right enthusiastically, rhythmically, happily. Sanzu wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her, “Wanna eat something, I gotta go in a few hours so I got some time before meeting Mikey.” The man was already on his way to the kitchen, halfway through putting an apron on when Shiho stopped him, a serious expression in her eyes, “I’m not—I’m not that hungry right now.” The woman tried hard to make her voice light, unbothered, but it had close to no effect on Sanzu.

He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at her intently, remembering all too well what was happening and that he couldn’t stop it. It was all that fucker’s fault if everything was going to hell right now; Mikey told him everything would be fixed this time if they followed his plan and he had to fuck it all up. 

Sanzu loved deeply. It was hard to contain, it was hard not to metaphorically beat common sense into his loved ones, to have them around longer. It was even harder to lose people, over and over again. He hated that. Grief felt physically painful to him—he had gone through so many iterations of it, caused by his own hand or by happenstance. Enough times to consider it a normal occurrence in his life, something he had to wake up and go to sleep with. It was supposed to be fixed, it was supposed to stop. He should not have to go through it for the umpteenth time this time. So why was he starting to feel it again? Why was his chest heavy, his heart yearning for the lover still by his side to wake up? Why was he screaming to himself in his own head to do something, he had to do something, he should do something, he is a fixer, he is reliable. 

What was he worth if she never could truly rely on him?

His heart weighed so much even as she stood in front of him.

He felt useless yet again.

It was like trying to bring a concrete block to the surface of the water.

He was helpless.

“I’ll make your favorite, don’t tell me I bought all those strawberries for nothing?” He asked with a huge grin. Her eyes lit up and so did his heart as she pushed past him, tugging him along to get to the fridge, “I’m a little peckish at best. Who knows, some of these might get up my appetite.” She said, already bringing one of the fruits to her mouth. As she did, she held back from retching, afraid of worrying him. A grin filled with red juice spread on her lips, “Just what I needed,” She grabbed some eggs from the fridge and handed them to Sanzu, “We gotta make tons of it, I wanna give them to–”

“Hanma’s girl, yeah, I get it.” Sanzu sighed, taking the eggs and a bowl as Shiho brought him the rest of the ingredients, fighting her gag reflex as she swallowed. 

“Have you considered that I don't wanna hear about her when I’m at home chilling?” The man muttered. He knew he shouldn’t have said that, but it had slipped out. Whatever justification had to come about his distaste for the woman could not be spoken out loud, not to Shiho. And yet, she joined his side with an apron on and looked down at the counter, “She’s my friend, Haru. I want to tell you about things that we did and that she does.”

He did not wait for her to finish to interject, “And all she does is fuck shit up!” He spat, immediately whispering a ‘sorry’ under his breath as he stopped mixing the batter and looked over at Shiho with a serious expression, “I just—I don’t care about her.” He set the mixer against the bowl and reached out for Shiho’s face, his hands cradling her cheeks gently as he bumped his forehead against her, “I care about you, but she brings bad shit around.”

“We’re all in the same boat, how is she any different?” The woman did not hold onto Sanzu’s hands as she would usually do, she wanted an explanation at this very instant. He brushed her hair back, his hold on her tightening, pressing her cheeks as he kissed her forehead while a strained smile slowly grew on his face, “It doesn’t matter, it… ah, it doesn’t fucking matter because it’s–” it’s already decided. What's done is done. He’s not allowed to change anything. No matter what he so desperately wished to do right now, he would not sacrifice Mikey’s happiness and peace of mind for his own. 

Loyal to a fault.

Kind to a fault.

Selfless to a fault.

That’s what he was, that’s why he hated her. That stupid woman that got Hanma’s attention, who went and had that stupid butterfly effect on their carefully, painfully-crafted plan for the best possible outcome. She had to fuck it all up. She had to mess up his one shot at a semblance of normalcy, and he hated her for that. He couldn’t bear the sight of that woman, that wreckage of a woman that, after ruining everything for so many people, was also losing herself in the process.

He smiled.

“I don’t mind hearing about you and her, I love hearing how your day went, yeah? Just… I don’t care about Hanma and his girl.” Sanzu whispered, letting go of Shiho’s cheeks before kissing her softly, “Unless it’s important, I can do without knowing shit ‘bout their private life.”

Shiho nodded and deepened the kiss, placing her hands on his hips as she pressed him against her, “I guess there are people you just can’t stand, it’s alright. I’m just sad it’s her.” She mumbled, her hands sliding to his back as she hugged him tight, tears threatening to fall. There was something deeper to what Sanzu was saying, but he was not telling her. No matter how much she reminded herself that he would eventually come around and open up about this matter too, as he had done about so many others in the past, it was still hard to be this patient. But she would do it for him. She considered telling Sanzu to stop mentioning Mikey as a rebuttal, but she knew if Sanzu had to choose between the white-haired man and herself, she would be no match.

Then, she immediately thought that as long as she was by his side, she would be happy. He would never have to choose between Mikey and her, because no matter the choice he would make, she would stand by him. That was how inexplicably closely-bound she felt to him.

“I suppose she is reckless, it is something you don’t like much.” Shiho added as she brushed the stray tear away and huffed a laugh, “But hey!” She laughed a bit more, “We’re all still around for now, so it’s not that reckless, right?” As she grabbed the mixer and the bowl, she leaned in playfully, “Plus, remember when I told you about that one time I got into a car with a guy from the bar so he could show me around his weed farm? I’m also a bit of a reckless person, you know?” She commented.

Sanzu let out a hard laugh, short but effective, “You do have a tendency to follow druggies home, huh?” He leaned over the counter, elbows placed on it while his head rested in the palm of his hand.

“I don’t plan on doing that anymore, I think I found the right guy. Don’t know about you, but my man’s pretty cute.” She started, turning the mixer on as she mouthed to him over the sound: “Good in bed too!”

Sanzu couldn’t help but look at her with adoration.

Even if they were part of the biggest criminal organization in Japan—both labeled as criminals, both now outcasts of the society they so passionately helped grow from the shadows somehow, both pariahs for having committed crimes so unfathomable to the eyes of normal people—they were still, at the very core of their soul, human beings, human fools, that had found some serenity in all these horrors by finding each other.

By making each other smile.

A solace, some would call it. Solace in the midst of this incessant and unwavering brutality they could never run away from.

There was something uncanny about how human nature was prone to seek such peace while sowing havoc. And that almost contradiction of character would show more in some than others. 

Sanzu was selfless, but Hanma was selfish.

Even as he stood behind his girl’s chair while she talked with Mocchi about their new place, he was thinking of what he would do next to protect her. To keep her by his side. Shibata could not plant seeds of doubt in their ranks because those seeds grew so easily when being watered by fear and paranoia. He had to rely on the Haitanis to weed out those sprouts but hated doing so since it meant her safety depended on how good they would be at keeping those doubtful thoughts at bay. It depended on how good they would be at his fucking job—intimidation, taking care of renegades, that was his shit.

Being put on mole-hunting duty felt degrading to him. He wouldn’t speak it out loud, but he didn’t give a shit about the fucker that had betrayed them. No matter who they were, he wouldn’t do as Mikey said, he wouldn’t bring them to him. They had put her at risk, and after what happened, he didn’t care about Mikey’s plans for the future. He never did, but even less now, with his girl’s life at stake.

“Yeah, sure, you want something you like, but how many rooms? Where do you want–” Mocchi was starting to get annoyed at how vaguely Hanma’s girl was explaining what she wanted. Hanma reached for the file on Mocchi’s desk and handed it to the woman sitting down, “Give her a catalog of whatever’s available, she doesn't have any expectations—see, that’s all she needed.” He brought their attention to her as she happily looked through it.

From his spot, he saw a figure outside that immediately disappeared, which alerted him. That’s all he needed to have his interest piqued as he patted his girl’s shoulder and addressed everyone, “Be back in a bit, gotta deal with something.” He looked at Kakucho who stood in the corner on a seat, busying himself but aware enough to look up from his phone and meet Hanma’s eyes. The latter did not need to say that he should keep her safe, they knew that while Hanma was responsible for her, all were aware of the target that seemed to be on her head.

Grabbing his coat by the door, the man left the building with a determined stride as he took in every detail of his surroundings. Sometimes he wondered why sellouts were so bad at spying, there was nothing discreet about wearing all-black and a cap—it seemed to be their go-to attire. He thought movies had used the concept enough times to make people use their common sense and not wear that, but clearly common sense was not as common as the name led to believe.

After the countless times he was sent on errands, years after years, he had learned the layout of the town. He knew each nook, each turn, each shady street and dead-end; and having followed people around for even longer, he could guess where they would run out of their first instinct. His walk was inconspicuous, the only thing that made people look at him was his height, and perhaps at times his tattoos, but considering his hands were currently shoved in his pocket, there wasn’t much for people to gawk at. His long legs meant he was fast, faster than the fucker that he could now see from afar as he looked over his shoulder, noticing him.

A satisfied smile made its way onto his lips as he grabbed his phone and quickly texted Kakucho; not that he had saved his number under any name—he simply recognized the recent text conversation.

It read, ‘found a shitbata rat, take her home when she picked what she wants’

He didn’t care for an answer, none of them would let her go home alone—out of politeness or chivalry, whichever it was he could count on it to drive them to take responsibility for his girl while he was gone.

The smile on his face couldn’t falter as excitement filled his being; this one wasn’t dead like the previous one, he was going to have a blast. Quickly, he took a turn before the idiot did and made sure to take a dark street that was not frequented, one that, while having two entries, led to a dead-end. With faster steps, Hanma stopped right where the light shone like a spotlight from the main street and hid behind the wall, waiting patiently for the man to walk in.

It took all but one minute for the rabid beast to fall into his trap, phone in hand as he panically spoke, “The gigantic one!” he waited, “I don’t know! Fuck, fuck, I messed up, he’s onto me, I–” Another pause while the person on the other end spoke. It was embarrassing to break down at such a small thing. Hanma had no idea if this guy was another fucker that turned his back on Bonten or if it was a born-and-bred Shibata, but he was weak for sure. The worse was perhaps how inattentive the man was to not have noticed Hanma waiting by to see what else was going to be said.

“Yeah, I think I lost him for now…” He nodded, humming in understanding which Hanma found a bit funny since the other fucker on the phone couldn’t see him. His eyes did not leave the man as he paced, kicking at some trash on the ground. It was only a matter of seconds before his feet led to Hanma. The latter pondered in a split second if he should retreat a bit and wait for more information, but instead he stood his ground until the spy’s eyes set on Hanma’s shoes, slowly following the source and meeting his playful gaze.

Hanma brought a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, but he could see the man was going to scream anyway. He quickly covered his mouth and pressed the idiot’s back against his chest as he held him there, using his free hand to grab the phone himself. 

Bringing it to his ear, he waited for a voice on the other end but it seemed that person was also waiting—Hanma spoke first, “Well, isn’t this awkward… tell you what! Tell me a story and keep me entertained for 2 minutes and I won’t kill your guy.”

The call ended.

Hanma shoved the phone in his pocket; he would decide its fate later on, right now he had to deal with this softie. “Clearly whoever that was didn’t think you mattered enough—are you for real crying, kid?” The one in control rolled his eyes and pressed his hand further on the man’s mouth, “Scream and people come in, come in and they’ll find a dead body.” He felt the fool’s body tense under him and patted his cheek mockingly, “So!” He pushed him off, making him fall to his knees, “Wanna play Guess Who?”

The man on the floor started stuttering, struggling so much it was painful to watch when knowing he was supposedly part of an organization that was giving Bonten so much trouble. Hanma leaned on the wall, waiting for the words to finally leave the man’s mouth without a struggle—with how long it was taking, Hanma took the initiative and said, “I take it as a yes, you don’t got much choice anyway.” He shrugged.

“Alright, is it a man?”

The man on the floor looked at Hanma intently to make it seem like he’d been staring from the very beginning, to stop his eyes from fleeting—or to make him believe they never did so in the first place. Hanma smiled, already satisfied.

“Feels like it could be an exec,” Hanma started, pondering out loud rather than asking the wriggling fool on the floor. He then turned his face rapidly and looked at him, “But then again! None of ‘em would have been stupid enough to get caught.” He stepped closer to the mouse caught in a trap and grabbed his ankle, dragging him out of the daylight in case he ever considered leaving, should his mind felt this spur of temerity.

It wasn’t hard for the tallest man to ignore the pleas of despair from the worm he held, who wouldn’t beg death to let them go just this one time? Once he dropped his foot, Hanma sighed, “We’ll go step by step then, is it first division?”

The man’s eyes widened, he shook his head, “No no, it’s the fourth division, it’s–”

“You didn’t tell me shit up until now, why would I trust you?” He clicked his tongue and kicked the man in the chest, making him hit the floor with a rough thud, “First division, huh. Who would have thought…” He pointed his thumb towards his chest, “I would have thought, that fucker’s been sus as hell for months now.”

“I—I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

Hanma’s hand gripped the weaker man’s jaw with enough force to hear a slight crack, effortlessly shutting him up, “Shhh. I wasn’t fucking done.” The nod in his hand made him understand he could continue, he then pushed his head away, this time making it hit the hard floor. The man was now knocked out, he probably had a concussion too, and Hanma was too lost in his own thoughts, planning on how to deal with the matter.

Giving the passed out body a disgusted glance, Hanma brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it casually, “Ya can never trust anyone, look away for just seconds and you’re missing so much—so make ‘em captain of a division and ah!” He puffed the smoke, pointing at the guy on the floor, “They make people die for them!” He shook his head in disbelief, taking a long drag and keeping the smoke in as he added, smiling all too knowingly, “Not like it’s a surprise, but you know, I always thought the man was too nice for his own good—if we ignore that one time…”

The smoke rose into the air as Hanma puffed once more before dropping the cigarette on the man’s shirt and stepping on it to crush it, getting no reaction from the sellout that laid on the ground, “Man always had one foot in—the other was with the cops, but it looks like the bad guys are much more efficient than whatever pig was on his side.” 

For a moment, Hanma had to consider his next move. He could let him go, let him run back to his little master—after all, it wouldn’t change shit since he’d had someone on the phone listening when he was captured. Fucker knew Bonten was on his trail, but did he also know they knew exactly who he was? Pulling the weasel’s phone out, Hanma scoffed at the burner phone but looked through the contacts only to find one number saved with no name. There was no need to call it back, it was probably from another burner phone. Any tracks he might have to find that bastard would be pointless right now. 

Smashing it on the ground, he hit it hard with his heel and knelt by the man, holding the side of his face for a moment, “We can’t have you tattle tale now, can we?”

Crack.

“Now this is going to be a fucking pain to deal with.” He sighed, rolling up his sleeves as he grabbed a full trash bag from a nearby bin and emptied its contents on the floor, then a second one. It was not an easy play to shove a grown body in a bag not made for that capacity, but Hanma found a certain talent in himself for doing so. He added another bag around it and started shoving some trash back inside so that for the average eye, it would still look like simple garbage thrown away. It took a bit of time cracking bones and bending a human body unnaturally, but once he was done, he took hold of some additional bags before breathing out and lifting them from the ground—the struggle laid in not losing balance with the weight of a dead body on one side and household trash on the other.

He also needed to look as natural as possible so that no one would not look twice his way, believing he’s just taking out some trash. Luck was on his side considering he did not have to follow the man too far from where he’d parked; all Hanma had to do was walk about five minutes before reaching his car and dropping the body in the trunk. As he did so, avoiding bumping into people on his way there, he made a mental note to search the body for any ID or car keys. He couldn’t just leave the man’s car parked down the road for too long or people would get suspicious, which ultimately would lead to them realizing this man was gone.

With a deep sigh, Hanma shut the trunk closed and shoved his keys in his pockets before getting back inside—it had taken a lot less time than he’d planned, but he hoped his girl would have chosen a place by now. As he was about to enter, he heard them talking loudly, with Kakucho saying, “It doesn’t matter, he’ll be back in a few, just stay here and–” A slam on the door surprised Hanma but he did not intervene, he had guessed it was Kakucho blocking the way so he chuckled to himself and waited.

“I just need to pee, it’s not that deep. Let me out, don’t tell me you don’t have toilets.” She was interrupted by Kakucho laughing loudly as he locked the door and probably took the key from it, by the sound Hanma heard.

“To be honest, I have no fucking clue what’s going on in your head, so I’d rather keep you here until he comes back than have you running around playing gangster and fucking shit up.” Kakucho explained as a matter of fact before adding, “You know?”

Even though Hanma didn’t like most of them all that much, Kakucho was one of the pretty bearable ones, and he even managed to make him laugh as he heard his girl huff.

“He does whatever he wants, Kakucho. He’ll come back whenever, I’m not about to follow him and mess shit up, okay? So get out of the way, please.” She tried to push him, to get him to budge, but he did not—instead, he stood his ground and gripped her hand with force, clicking his tongue with a shake of his head. “Okay? Then piss yourself?”

For some reason, Hanma felt a tinge of annoyance when he heard her burst out in laughter.

Shaking her head, she stopped insisting on leaving and rolled her eyes with a smile before slumping on the couch, “Don’t push your kinks on people like that Kakucho, it’s a bit…” she made a face, followed by another laugh as she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

“I don’t have a piss kink, I just have other shit to do than having Hanma up my ass cause I let his dog roam free.” He rolled his eyes and left the door to lean on the desk where Mocchi was preparing the red tape for the house she had chosen. Both Kakucho and the woman stared at one another in silence, both with a straight face until Kakucho started smiling in disbelief, “Your ass grew bold, you wouldn’t have dared to look at any of us like that before.”

She raised a brow, “Like what? I’m just staring, waiting for permission to go pee. I want my sticker for good behavior.” She said with a dry smile as she rested her elbows on her knees, debating whether she should text Hanma out of boredom or keep staring at Kakucho. The latter was much more interesting as he looked away and huffed, “You’re fucking weird.”

Before she could add something, Hanma knocked on the door and jokingly said from the other side, “One of us took this more seriously than necessary. Unlock the door, Kaku, it’s super sus that you locked that shit.”

Seconds later the key was in the lock, twisting audibly as the door opened and Hanma stepped in—he made sure to look down at Kakucho with a weirded out expression, “This ain’t free use, you better not have touched her.” He whispered, making the scarred man return the half-weirded, half-surprised expression, maybe with a sprinkle of disgust, “You’re welcome.”

He turned around and went back to his seat to let Mocchi take care of them. The woman on the couch stayed there as Hanma walked up to her, his hands reaching for her face as he tilted her head back, “Did you give him a hard time?”

Her smile was tender as she met his eyes, her words barely a whisper, “I wouldn’t dare, I told you I’d behave, right?” His eyes seemed to soften for a moment after hearing her words, then he smirked and hummed, thinking he couldn’t keep her locked up for too long. Keeping her in a cage, it would only have her go feral the few times she’d be out of it—so he grinned mischievously, “Ya can give him a hard time you know, man can’t just have an easy life.” Then he pecked her lips and went to check the papers Mocchi was preparing, taking a look at the place she had chosen. Looking through those that were already signed and completed, he read through everything rapidly, more out of boredom than anything, then he put them back on the desk and asked Mocchi, “We can move in today, yeah?”

Mocchi sighed in frustration, “Well, yes, but she took the one with the most paperwork and I don’t know if it’ll be processed fast enough.”

“Whatever needs to be done, do it. Where do I get the key? Just give me the address and we’re out.” As Mocchi looked through his drawers for the key of this specific house, the woman stood up and looked over Hanma’s shoulders, her hands on them to help her balance on her toes, “Thank you Mocchi, sorry for the rush.”

Mocchi mumbled something inaudible, rummaging through the drawer before handing Hanma the keys and still with annoyance, met the woman’s gaze, “Don’t get followed home this time.”

Her eyes filled with disbelief and anger as her hands gripped Hanma tighter just before letting go, “Excuse me? Now I’m to blame for an entire gang trying to take over Bonten?” She spoke too rapidly to be considered reasonable or sensible, it took a short time for Hanma to debate whether he should intervene or not.

He decided to step back and watch.

“Be fucking real with me, Mocchi,” She started, forcing his chair to turn around, “Speak up! Tell me what you think!” She then crossed her arms over her chest and smiled, a tight smile that displayed her seething anger. It made Hanma happy to see her something other than distraught for a moment. “Since everyone seems to be so opinionated on the matter, I am more than interested in hearing what important take you have on something you haven’t dabbled one fucking second in.” Her heart was beating fast as she remembered the encounter she’d had, having constant reminders of being followed over and over again, only to be called insane and paranoid. She was convinced others had gone through worse, but not him. Not the man seated in front of her, and yet he dared speak from a place of comfort about her misfortune? Oh, the privilege that a man basks in by being confident in whatever shit spewed from his mouth.

He scoffed but did not dare stand up, “I’m saying a good studio got ruined just cause you were dumb enough to get followed!” It did not have the effect intended. It did not rally the two others by his side, he did not receive any answer from the woman who now seemed to be dissociating right in front of him, her eyes wide open as if she had seen the most atrocious thing in the world and yet full of emptiness. Mocchi cleared his throat; a few moments after, the woman’s gaze finally met his own, and she smiled before lurching at him.

It took but a second for Hanma to pull her back, his arm wrapped around her waist as he only tugged enough to have her tumble slightly. Her face turned to him in anger at first, pissed off that he had interrupted her, then realization hit and her eyes widened, fear flooding them. Hanma barely met her gaze as he pushed her behind him and snatched the key from Mocchi’s hands, “That one’s deserved, nobody’s sorry ‘bout your face.” Hanma commented off-handedly.

Kakucho seemed to agree, “Bit of a low blow Mocchi, tell your wife she’s to blame for getting mugged while you’re at it!” That struck a chord with the larger man as he looked at Kakucho with mouth agape, now stuttering and struggling to find words to defend himself. His cheeks were starting to tint a darker shade from embarrassment, but no one truly paid attention. The woman responsible for the pain he now felt in his face straightened her back and composed herself. She had promised herself to never lose it in front of Hanma ever again, this was her last slip up. “I could tell you I’m sorry, but you deserved to have some sense beat into you.” She spat, turning around and making her way out of the office.

Right before stepping out, she looked over her shoulder, “Thank you both for your help!” she said almost sweetly. Kakucho let out a chuckle at her tone, aware of the fuming Mocchi next to him. The former man did not mind the woman that much, he had seen her descent into the person she was now, he knew there wasn’t much helping her state without getting on Hanma’s bad side. And seeing how enthralled she was with him, he couldn’t bring her back to reality; whatever happened next, no one but Hanma was to blame, Kakucho knew that.

“If you need help moving stuff in, I think the business provides that service.” Kakucho started, only to get shoved aside by Mocchi who stood up from his chair and stomped towards the door, still annoyed as he lifted his chin, “Don’t mention my wife again, get it?” He gritted through his teeth, it made the woman laugh to see him trying to be intimidating while being in the wrong.

Giving him a condescending smile, she leaned forward, “Would you like an apology?”

“Yes.”

She cut him off proudly, filled with arrogance and bitterness, “Because you won’t get one. Respect’s mutual, I don’t owe you shit if you treat me like shit, get it?” If one had paid attention, one would have heard the small hum of satisfaction that had built up in Hanma’s throat—but all that one could see was the small rictus on his lips as he held back from praising her. Even with the slip-up that happened moments ago, her effort of remaining calm was commendable, and he would make sure to tell her so in his own way once they were alone.

Without giving them a proper answer, Mocchi shoved them out and slammed the door behind the pair of outcasts.

As they stood outside, a short silence settled only for it to be broken by Hanma, “I’d have punched him too, his ugly ass stepped outta line.” he said. As if she had been holding her breath, the woman sighed in relief and gave him a smile, “I’ll keep myself in check still, but there might be a reason why his wife’s leaving him,” She started, walking ahead of Hanma, turning around slightly as she added, “You know, with him being a dick and whatnot. Pretty sure he’s the type of guy that would tell his wife to go get changed cause she’d dressed too hot for him.” It made Hanma chuckle.

The tall man changed topic radically as he tossed her the key, “You better have picked something easy to take care of cause the bigger the place, the bigger are the odds you’ll end up doing that shit on your own. I don’t got time for chores and tidying up around.” He explained, walking past her this time as he opened the door and let her catch up to him. She slammed her hand on the door as it started closing once Hanma let go. Huffing and puffing, the woman joined him in the car that was parked not too far.

There was this strange feeling in her guts once she was inside, as if they weren’t alone. Aside from her constant company, she felt strange—so she faced Hanma while buckling her seatbelt, “Something’s off.” Now on high alert, she was looking around, fighting hard not to panic.

Hanma shrugged and started the car, “Could be the dead body in the trunk. Could be a Shibata spying your every move. Could be anything, really.” There was a time when the woman would have been repulsed by the words uttered by the man, she would have gasped and panicked even, but now? Now she looked at him with wide eyes, debating with her inner thoughts whether she should praise whatever he had done, or play the card of shock. She couldn’t stress over such silly things anymore, he knew what he was doing, she had to trust that. 

So she smiled in disbelief, “Body?” The woman inquired, her eyes darting to the back of the car, not that anything could be seen in the trunk from their seat. Humming, Hanma tapped his fingers on the wheel as he sped up on the road, a sort of satisfied smile on his lips, “Debated for a bit if he should live or not, caught him on call with the mole, but ya know. He didn’t reply when I grabbed the phone.”

The woman scoffed slightly, “Obviously. So what’s the next step?”

“Next step’s getting some dirt on the bastard—before you ask: no, I won’t tell you who it is.” He tilted his head to the side, grinning at the woman teasingly as she rolled her eyes and focused her gaze on the road, telling him she wouldn’t go after the traitor herself. It made Hanma laugh as he gripped her thigh tightly, his nails digging into her skin enough to make her hiss in pain, “Yeah, cause it ain’t your problem, you got Shitbata duty.” He then dropped his tone, adding in a more serious voice, “Less risk of you going batshit.”

With a dramatically loud sigh, he let the back of his head hit the seat, “I’d even tell you to focus on getting a pretty ‘fit for Koko’s stupid gala, but you know.”

“Yes. You know too, I’m not staying benched like a porcelain doll.” She needed to actively participate in annihilating Shibata—they had made her feel unsafe in her own place, in the streets even by Hanma’s side, and now they had made her feel crazier than necessary with everyone thinking she was paranoid.

They tried to take down the weakest link, her. Just like Bonten was planning on doing by taking down Shibata’s leader’s girlfriend, Masami—to some extent, it made the woman seated in the car laugh, which brought Hanma’s attention back to her. “What’s funny?” He asked, one brow raised in confusion as he pulled down a street.

The woman shook her head dismissively, the action itself ticked off Hanma but he didn’t mention anything yet, he waited for her to speak. “Isn’t it funny we’re following their pattern?” She asked, amazed by the conclusion she had come to.

“Pattern?”

“Yeah, they tried to take care of me first. The crazy pariah, you know? And we’re doing the same, we’re taking down Masami to begin with.” With a soft hum, she weighed her words carefully. Just from Hanma’s face, she knew she was going down the wrong path with her words, yet she continued, now self-conscious, “Except they didn’t take in consideration that I wouldn’t go down that easily and that I’m—not to sound unhinged or anything—but, like, killing me won’t do shit to Bonten, you know?” That’s when Hanma parked in front of their new place, confusion painted all over his face as he looked at her with a hint of disbelief.

Quickly, the woman added, “What if I die, right? Maybe you’ll get a bit sad, but the rest? They won’t care for shit. Which is fair enough, they hate me.”

Whatever she added would be of no value to Hanma, he had heard enough and he needed to show her that this way of thinking was stupid to say the least. Getting out of the car, he forced her out of it too and pulled her to the door, ignoring whatever she was saying in confusion and annoyance of him not letting her go. Once he had locked the door behind them, he led her to the kitchen and helped her on the large island before wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing her to lay on the counter.

“What the fuck is going on, Shuji?” She scoffed, clearly not understanding why he was acting like that. When his hand found its way around her neck she gasped and as the pressure grew, the air in her lungs slowly depleting, her eyes started to water. It was so beautiful to see her weak under him, seeing her struggle, gasping for air with her hands around his arm. It only made her more alive.

“There we go,” He breathed out, his face close to hers while a smirk drew itself on his lips, “Your pity party was missing something—tears add something to it, doesn’t it?” Hanma’s thumb slowly tilted her face back, but his hand never let go of her neck. The gesture had long since lost the meaning of a threat and had taken the name of intimacy. 

Slowly, he slid his free hand under her shirt and felt the texture of the lingerie, making him sigh in satisfaction while raking his nails against it. She tried to gulp but with the hold on her throat, all but a strangled sound escaped her lips while her eyes bore intensely into Hanma’s—they were not screaming for help, she was not afraid, but she was confused, hoping her nails digging in his skin would somehow make him understand her thoughts. 

Reaching inside his pocket, Hanma pulled out a switchblade and used it to pop the buttons from her shirt, exposing her undergarment, “Thought we had an understanding or something, after last meeting.” Gently, he moved the knife on her stomach, the tip threatening to pierce her skin as it already did the fabric, “So tell me,” He slit the garment, angling the blade like he was peeling something as he ripped at the lower part. The sound of tearing clothing made the woman gasp audibly, at least for the little air she could get from it, “Why do you have the audacity to be self-pitying around me?” He gritted through his teeth.

She shook her head, finally managing to get his hand away from her throat—it was no grand feat considering Hanma had let go, but he loved seeing this pride on her face as she pried his hand away. “What self-pitying? It’s a fact!” She spat, making Hanma’s brows furrow in fake-sorrow, as if her words were hard to hear, but if anything they pissed him off. To assume he’d be slightly sad when she was gone, it made him laugh. And to think it wouldn’t affect Bonten? He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at how convenient this little speech of hers was at this very instance. How embarrassed she would feel to speak those words out loud if she knew what she had gotten herself into—what he had gotten them all into.

She was starting to get pissed off, this time her hand reached for the back of his head as she pulled him closer, “Why the fuck are you laughing? Tell me it would do shit to them! I don’t care if it doesn’t, it’s just–”

Eyes wide. A smile she had seen countless times, the one of a maniac, the one she had seemed to grow fond of as she kept ending up face to face with it. Hanma’s nose was against hers as he stated in a sing-song voice, “If you go down, Bonten goes down.” It made her eyes widen in shock and her grip slack, her hands found their way to his shoulders. Whatever annoyance she had moments ago had been replaced by this fast beating of her heart, this warmth filling her entire body that made her face heat up.

“You don’t realize it all relies on my silence?” He hummed melodiously, unzipping his pants before taking his shirt off and helping her arms inside it so he could lock them above her head. He smiled, “Imagine this. You died because they failed to take down a bunch of kids, yeah?” He paused and roughly took all that was in his way before wrapping her legs back around his waist, “The sole outcome is me ruining all they ever worked for. All they ever wanted would be gone by my fucking hands.” 

There was something in the matter-of-fact tone he had been so keen on using that had her all aflutter. The confidence in his words and actions as spread her lower lips and started playing with her clit had her staying silent while he continued his speech, now leaning fully over her as his hands had their own will, “Wah-fucking-wah, no one will mourn me when I’m dead.” He mocked her, grabbing her jaw with force and making her look him in the eyes, “Then try harder to make your life meaningful, yeah?” 

Her confused expression had shifted to one of submission, with glazed eyes and a lazy smile she nodded. She found some comfort in his words, it was odd; with the roughness of his touch and seemingly harsh way to put things, there was still some tenderness to it all. His love language was so different from the ones many would have encountered, but she’d grown accustomed to it, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Yet her eyes faltered to the side for a second before looking back at him, whatever devotion her gaze carried now mixed with doubt. “It isn’t like you to give life lessons, Shu.” She whispered, unhooking his hand from her jaw to slide two fingers in her mouth as she licked them; she then pulled them out and smirked, “Why don’t you make me forget my stupid thoughts, hm?” 

If part of her enjoyed his words, that part was disappearing. She couldn’t lean into that side of herself. Rai was a reminder that looking back would only make her weak, that’s why she ignored her from the corner of her eyes. The woman knew she could rely on Hanma to make her head go empty, even for just a few fleeting moments. She was convinced that by staying by his side, she would disappear.

Was she Rai? Or was it her past self? The self that no one wanted to see, the one that was distraught, the one fighting the upper hand only to lose each and every damn time.

It didn’t matter.

“Life lessons?” He scoffed, helping her legs on his shoulders as he nodded for her to hold onto the side of the counter above her head, “I’m making sure my investment doesn’t kill herself—it’d be a shame to see such a pretty face go to waste.” He made sure to punctuate his final word by shoving himself inside her, making her grip tighten. Her back on the hard surface made the position all the more painful, but she didn’t want it to stop. “Ending up as—as a, ah—trophy wife isn’t…” Her sentence was interrupted by a guttural moan that tore from her throat, her back arching into him for more, “It’s not—what I thought I’d—end up as.” She finished, jokingly. 

Hanma’s eyes that had been focused on her body up until now slowly left to meet her eyes with mischief, “Aren’t ya talkative? Maybe I’m not hitting hard enough.” With that, he started fucking her like she wanted it, feeling him deep inside her so much it hurt. Each thrust made her groan louder and louder, her arms starting to feel numb from the dreadful angle they were in, but she wasn’t letting go. Instead, she tried to meet his thrusts halfway, only to have Hanma press her hips into he counter hard, a scream of pain resonating, “There, there, right now you’re my fuck doll, what’re you doing being proactive and shit?”

Through elation and sounds of pleasure, she started breathing heavily—it was hard to find the words, but with enough effort, she managed to utter, “Necro’s a new one—Shu, didn’t know you were—into that shit.” It earned her a genuine laugh from Hanma as the speed of his thrusts fastened, his grip on her hips harder to handle which only made her smile through the pain. “Pity party’s over clearly.” He said breathlessly, his hand ripping the shirt from her arms as he bundled it up and shoved it in her mouth. The extra fabric covered her eyes, but she never let go of the counter. She only laughed.

“Can’t have you mentionin’ necro again, that was fucking weird.” With her fully exposed like that, he felt himself get closer—and from the way her hands let go of the counter to reach for him only to be pushed away, he could have guessed she was getting close. Quickly, he pried her legs apart and turned her around, fucking her from behind as hard as he could. She was whining under him, whimpering at her hip bone pressing against the counter and at the constant ramming of his hips against her ass. The angle had her seeing white, her face now laying on the surface that had long since warmed up from her body.

Suddenly Hanma’s rapid thrusts came to a stop, his motion stuttering before he pulled out and came all over her back. His hand didn’t stop, he kept playing with her clit as he spoke through his pleasure with a laugh, “Shit, I like that idea of baptizing the room, it makes it really a lot more…”

“Like home.” The woman breathed out in daze once she had tossed the shirt out of her mouth, now weakly trying to turn around. Hanma helped her and let her wrap her legs around him once more, her arms now draped over his shoulders as she rested her forehead against his. He did not mimic her gesture, his hands remaining on the counter by her thighs. “To be honest, anything will do as long as they don’t know we’re here, you know?”

“With the price I paid for this shit I ain’t leaving if they find it again.” Hanma scoffed, his eyes darting to the window upon seeing something out there. That relief of being somewhere safe was only fleeting, for him at least—but as long as those assholes didn’t act on their spying yet, he could keep it from her. He could let her bask in this safety, because he would make it safe, no matter what.

The woman hummed and leaned back while still holding onto him, “Alright.” She paused, thinking for a moment, “But you know Shu, the other rooms are not very welcoming…” Her hands moved from his shoulders down his arms before gently wrapping around his waist, her lips pressing on his collarbone softly, “We gotta cleanse all that bad energy, don’t you think?” She said jokingly.

Hanma let his head fall back, he grunted loudly then gripped her hair, forcing her away from him before kissing her with force, “Let me smoke one, give me five minutes and I’ll fuck you against the main window.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t say that, I meant like the couch or–”

He interrupted her like she did him, “So no window?”

She remained silent and let go of him before covering herself and looking to the side, “Yes window.”

Hanma already had a cigarette between his lips when he smiled at her, he took a few steps back towards the garden and puffed out the moment he opened the window, “That’s what I thought.”

Now apart, each had their own thoughts to face.

How long could he keep it from her that they were being watched? He would enjoy fucking her in front of them, clearly they would not do shit right now or they would have shot him through that window a while ago. So what was stopping them? Hanma needed to get him to admit what he had leaked to Shibata—he needed to know everything to have a good enough reason to kill him in the name of Bonten.

Bonten, the organization that made her feel like shit. Even with him by her side she saw Rai, would nothing cut it now? Would she ever be alone? She needed to find a way to keep her away, anything as long as it would do the trick. She would rather stay away from drugs knowing how badly it could all end up, but what else could she do?

She needed to find out what Rai's pattern was, when she was alone? No, not anymore. Vulnerable? No, it wasn’t it, she needed to uncover that.

And Hanma needed to take care of Shibata before it repeated itself. He knew what to do to avoid it—he had convinced himself he knew, at the very least. 

It would all work out.

[Part 5]

[morporkian-cryptid]

🇯🇵Elliott's Japan Trivia Corner🇯🇵

Today we're gonna talk DISEMBOWELMENT! 😃👍

Just kidding. I'm actually going to talk more about the cultural stuff that goes around seppuku, not the actual swish-swish. (Still, CW for suicide and graphic description of death)

For those who aren't aware, seppuku (or hara-kiri) refers to the act of cutting open your stomach, then having someone behead you to shorten your suffering 👍 It was a ritual suicide practiced (mostly) by the samurai, from the Kamakura period (12th century) up until 1991. Yup, you read that right. Seppuku was officially outlawed in 19-fucking-91.

Did you know that, in the Edo era, so many samurai were doing seppuku after the death of their lord, that the government had to ban the practice for that specific case? Fun times.

🤔 So, when can you perform 🗡seppuku🗡 ?

The short answer is: any fucking time you have a problem! 🥳 Boss died? Seppuku! Disagree with landlord? Seppuku! Bowed to someone at the wrong angle and embarrassed yourself? SE-FUCKING-PPUKU!

This form of ritual suicide is meant to either avoid dishonor, or regain lost honor. And in the Edo era you lost your honor like you lost a spare sock.

👉 Originally it was mostly done by warriors in battle to avoid being captured by the enemy.

During the Edo era, after the constant internal wars of the Sengoku period had ended, samurai found themselves without a good reason to show how metal they were by slitting their own stomachs open, and so they invented a bunch of excuses to do it anyway.

👉 As mentioned above, it could be when your lord died and you became a rōnin (a master-less wandering samurai), which apparently wasn't as cool as it is shown in anime, and kinda sucked.

(see the famous story of Lord Asano and the Fourty Seven Ronin)

👉 You could also commit seppuku to formally state your disagreement to your lord. Yes, samurai in the Edo era really went "I recognize the council has made a decision, but given as it is a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to KILL MYSELF ABOUT IT."

That specific practice sometimes even involved taping up your stomach wound, going to see your lord, telling him (respectfully) how much his decision sucked ass, and then un-taping your wound and bleeding out all over his tatami floor.

👉 Seppuku wasn't always exactly a suicide. In fact, most of the people who committed seppuku in the Edo era where condemned to do it in punishment for an offense. It was considered a way for the samurai in question to redeem himself. In fact, sometimes the "cutting your stomach" part was skipped altogether, the knife was replaced with a symbolic fan, and the guy was just beheaded. That was especially the case for court-ordered seppuku, because you don't really want to give a knife to a criminal you're about to execute.

Speaking of 🔥Honor🔥, you know who else could be dishonored forever? The guy cutting off the samurai's head to shorten his suffering! If he did it wrong, he would bring dishonor on himself AND his family for the rest of his life.

That part of seppuku required great swordsmanship, as you were supposed to sever the spinal cord but leave a small strip of skin so the head would remain attached to the body (hello morbid details my old friends...). Because when you order your enemy to commit ritual suicide, the last thing you want is to be assaulted by his flying head. 👹

A little vocabulary clear-up: you've probably heard it called "hara-kiri" more often than "seppuku". In fact, both words mean "cutting the stomach" and refer to the same ritual practice, but seppuku is a formal word used mostly in writing, while hara-kiri is more familiar and used orally.

And to conclude, I am legally obligated to say: DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME! If you have a problem with your boss, resolve it like a mature adult by replacing all their pens with crayons.

[roselyn-writing]

In this mini-series, Aliyaa healed Goro to help her Kill Kotal, just something my brain comes up with when I heard a song lol 😂.

In the Kuatan Palace;

Goro, Sitting alone in his throne room, his father is dead because of Kotal Kahn, and most of his generals too, He is dishonored and disheartened because of his torn arms, he can’t rule now, he can’t do anything. He has no brother to rule on his behalf because he killed him a long time ago.

His mother is long dead, and so is his family, He wanted revenge against Kotal Kahn. Goro’s heart is full of pain and sadness. Looks like the prince of pain is filled with pain himself.

But, that won’t be for long, because the dark one had listened to his pleas.

“Fret no more, I am here,” the voice of a woman came off

“Who in the ten hells are you? And how did you get here undetected?” Goro asked, With malice in his tone.

“None of this matters, I’m here to help you,” Aliyaa replied, offering help.

“You? Help me? Hah!” Goro mocked, he can’t move his arms because they are gone. He badly wanted to give her a gesture of dismissal.

“Don’t you wanna to kill Kotal?” She cajoled, completely ignoring him and his sexism.

This caught him off guard, “ you know Kotal? How do you know him!” He demanded, while cocking his eyebrow.

“Yes, I know him but, How I know him is none of your concern” She replied, but refused to tell him how she knows him.

“Why would I want the help of a woman?” He sneered,

Aliyaa didn’t respond, But, she chuckles a bit, then her chuckles turn into scary laughter, which made Goro confused and nervous. Completely insulted by her “reply”.

“You laugh because you feel threatened!” He snarled at her, in a vain attempt to silence her.

*music plays*

“Threatened? By an armless Shokan?” She taunted him, “Let us not forgot who lost against Kotal!” She reminded sternly,

“If it weren’t for me, maybe think what if? You would still be here, just a sad old tale, disfigured and shamed, a mourning mess, all because YOU lost!” She says in a sing-song tone, in the last part, she points her finger his face, (yes she can sing!) 🎤

As she was singing, she was walking slowly to him, folding both of her hands together.

Goro was speechless because he didn’t expect she replied to him by singing, (his reaction Dafuq wrong with her 🤣🤣😂) he said nothing, while he is sitting on his throne, he is thinking, it is a good way to be healed and regain his shokan pride and honour, She seems powerful, a great ally for his cause.

“I’m listening to you,” he finally agreed, he is firmly looking at her, but her face is still shadowed by the darkness of his castle.

“Good!” She muttered, With a snap of her finger, his four arms re-grow back, flesh and bones mended back together, his veins regrow in them, and his heart pumps the blood into them. Feeling a rush of power washed over him.

Goro was astonished by this, he must admit she is powerful and he must repay the debt, he is indebted to her for healing him. But, at the same time, he doesn’t want his people to see him, indebted to stranger women out of nowhere. He has mixed emotions about this. But he will repay the debt. Anything means possible.

“Now! Are you in?” She asked while smiling at him, She read his mind, and she heard his thoughts of agreement and satisfaction.

“Yes,” he simply answered.

Now that his honor is restored and his arms are back, he can’t wait to kill the usurper, Kotal.

This is the first chapter of this mini-series (darkness and muscles)

[arcstral]

This Marth did not know him. Zelkov had made a blunder or two with the living lords he’d met as Emblems. The urge to rush to him, to spill his heart out, had to be paused. He would give context for this encounter. Marth deserved it.

Zelkov bowed slightly, a hand on his chest. “Your Majesty— I know you, some small *part* of you, yet I know we meet as strangers.”

Oh, it was harder than he thought it’d be.

“Even so, I must give you my thanks. Your spirit, a friend to mine. Your words, sweet but far from nothing. Though I am unsure I want to spring exactly what I am thankful for on you on a first meeting… I needed to express my sentiments anyway.”

Lost families, a black hole stuck inside their souls that vengeance could not force closed. No, no he could not dress that wound there in the sunny afternoon of this greeting.

“I am glad to see you again. You are someone worth getting to know *twice.*”

        ��       Another arrival from Elyos, a population with little rarity yet so many unique individuals to make up for it. Marth straightens with the recollection of a freshly minted faculty member- cranes his neck, really, for the other is considerably tall. New names may float on the periphery of knowledge for some; painlessly pushed aside minutiae, much too easily forgotten until they earn their relevance; but not to this king who prides in those around him. Faces and names even never before crossed held value. The potential to evolve into something more just as a stranger might bloom into a friend or an ally on a choice bit of sunlight, a little spritz of water, a kindly exchange just like so.

               "Zelkov, is it? You have a way with words that stirs the heart. That makes a stranger feel that he is worth something." He is not the spirit Zelkov speaks of, the very first words shed from Marth's mouth express this, but such tenderhearted speech could nevertheless honor anyone and humble them in the same stride. "...Though, I suppose in your case stranger is not truly the right word."

               A sheepish quality tinges him on the note. The emotions splayed out to him with the unbolted honesty of an open palm are not new. Similar encounters have lined his week without seeming end. It troubles the heart in some ticklish way- though his ignorance by no means deems him responsible, a compassionate man cannot help but to feel helpless at the things he cannot recall. For these happy, sad, or bitter reunions Marth can offer no recourse except a new path they might walk together. But... for the passionately spoken Zelkov, there is at least one thing more:

               "I cannot speak for the other one- the Hero-King of your land. But hearing your fond admissions, I am certain the feelings within them reached him as well. He must have treasured your friendship just the same." Fingers press into a light perch against his heart. With the sensitivity of one who does not wish to dishonor a memory, the present Hero-King forms his words carefully. He is little known to the fact they leave him with surprising ease, a familiar warmth and gesture of equality.

                "It brings me to say that I wish to know you as he did. But to that perhaps there is one deterrent." A play performed by different actors, even traveling at an oblique, will still conform so long as it follows the same script; falling within bounds of the same fatebound song and dance. Such forces march him onward to the same kind statements, the same destination and smile, with an inexorable nature that even a king cannot undo. "You called me 'Your Majesty', but I will accept no offer nor implication of service. Let us enjoy this time together, Zelkov. As equals. Simply Marth will do."

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Dinner

Day 7 of WolVrtra Week: Dinner in which Tsubaki and Varshahn have the long-awaited dinner with her family.

“How long are you staying in Kugane, Your—pardon me, Varshahn?” Kenzo asked kindly, blushing a little at the mistake. His youngest sister’s suitor insisted on being called Varshahn for the visit, not Your Excellency. A humble man…erm, dragon. He and Tsubaki keep smiling at each other. So sweet! I’m so happy that she’s happy.

“Until the day after tomorrow. I wish to stay longer, but…” He glanced at Tsubaki and smiled again. “Duty calls.” The way he looks at her reminds me of the way I look at my beloved Naoko.

Goro hummed as he sipped his wine. “Your duty to your people is commendable, Varshahn, but what of your duty to my daughter?” The older man’s eyes narrowed slightly. When he narrows his eyes and gives that look, Father means business.

Tsubaki opened her mouth, but Varshahn shook his head and held her hand. “I am blessed in that I can keep one eye in a simulacrum to conduct business while I can attend to Tsubaki in my true form or vice versa, though I know she prefers my true form.” They shared more cute looks! They will marry within the year, I know it! Kami, please put it into Tsubaki’s mind that I should be the one to create her bridal attire. Not that Mother, Father, or Hoshi won’t do a good job, but because it would be the biggest honor of my life.

A snort came from Hoshi. “True form? You mean your dragon form?”

Oh for Kami’s sake, Hoshi!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!

Tsubaki rolled her eyes. “Yes Hoshi, I enjoy spending time with my suitor in any way I can, including flying through the skies of Thavnair on his back.” I wonder if Vrtra would be willing to let me ride his back?!?!? That would be so amazing!!!

“Can I ride on your back too, Master Varshahn?” Kenzo’s oldest son Akira asked excitedly. “I promise to hold on tight!” The other children echoed Akira, begging Varshahn for rides. See, the little ones have the right idea, Hoshi!

Chuckling, Varshahn shook his head. “Perhaps when you’re older, children. Remember that your aunt is an experienced dragoon. She will not fall. I would be worried about all of you.” He thought for a moment before smiling at Akira. “But you may sit on my back when I am on the ground. How does that sound?”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Please Mama! I want to sit on Varshahn’s back!”

Hoshi’s nostrils flared. “We shall see, Keiko, Koji. So,” She turned to Tsubaki, who looks like the cat who ate all the canaries. “Does this mean you plan on living in Radz-at-Han permanently? Away from our family? Away from your nieces and nephews?”

You tried using those lines on her when Tsubaki left for Eorzea. It didn’t work then. It sure as fuck won’t work now.

“Wherever Vrtra is, it is home. Wherever Vrtra is, that is where I’ll be.” Tusbaki grinned at the children. “And you can all come visit whenever you want.”

That answer satisfied the children, Goro, Saori, Kenzo, Naoko, and Hoshi’s husband Taichi.

Hoshi’s face turned crimson. “You are a dragon! How can you expect to have a normal life with my sister? How can you have a family? How can—”

“Silence.”

Uh oh.

Saori looked at her older daughter with narrowed eyes. And when Mother’s eyes narrow and she has that look, you’re dead. “Hoshi, you dishonor me and our family with your fixation on Varshahn’s draconic nature. Tsubaki is happy. Varshahn is happy. With all the misery and misfortune so many have experienced, including the two of them, should we not celebrate love and joy when we see it? I thought I taught you better.”

Oh shit.

Tusbaki’s mouth hung open, her pink eyes wide.

I would like to report a murder…

The group sat in silence for a moment before Akira spoke.

“Master Varshahn, is it true there’s an eyeball in your chest right now?”

Goro slapped his knee and began to laugh heartily.

Varshahn smiled warmly. “Yes, there is. It is how I can control this body while I am in Radz-at-Han. Perhaps if you come to visit, I will have my eye in my other simulacrum. He is a small boy, much like yourself. Would you like that?”

“Yes! I’ll bring my toy boat!”

“And my doll!”

“And blocks!”

Bells later, after the children were in bed and Hoshi apologized to Varshahn and Tsubaki, Kenzo, Tsubaki, and Varshahn sat in the atrium garden and chatted.

“So,” Kenzo began nonchalantly. “Suppose you both get married---who will make your wedding attire?” I know, I know…I said I’d wait for the Kami to put the idea in her head, but I can’t help it. I must be the one to create them.

Varshahn tilted his head. “Hmmm, there are many weavers whom I can commission—”

Smacking his arm, Tsubaki laughed. “Darling, let me answer.” She turned to Kenzo and winked. “I suppose you can make my attire, Kenzo. I only ask that you showcase the very best of Hingashi fashion, after all,” She held one of Varshahn’s hands in both of hers. “It would be a marriage between our two cultures.”

YES! YES! YES! FUCK YES! Kenzo downed the rest of his sake, grinning. “I won’t let you down, little sister. If—”

“When.” Tsubaki grinned at her brother.

“When the time comes, you will be the most stunning bride the world has ever seen.”

Varshahn’s brow furrowed. “You mean…more than your own wife was?”

Tsubaki practically fell over laughing as Kenzo almost choked on the chocolate he just put in his mouth.

Good thing Naoko isn’t here, or I’d get an earful.

Or worse…

An earful from Mother.

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Do you think Evan was wrong when he agreed on playing Dahmer in a show that didn't take the approval of victims families?

thank you for this question, i believe it is one worth asking. it’s a polarizing subject and my opinion may not be agreeable to some, but here it is.. and buckle up because i have a lot of feelings!

no, i don’t believe evan or any actor who takes on a role like this is inherently wrong, so long as the intention is not to glorify the crimes depicted.. even given the fact that the victims families didn’t approve, which in itself is kind of a lofty task to measure - i mean, think of how many people were directly affected by jeffrey dahmer’s crimes, even peripherally. friends, family members, lovers, etc. there is no way that everyone could have their wishes honored when it comes to telling such a grisly and deeply emotional story. so many lives were shattered by the murders. at what point do we start surveying the affected families and friends before we tell a story like this and where does it end? i don’t think anyone can really answer that question. when a case goes global, it’s almost as if it becomes public property whether anyone likes it or not. we all have our own curiosities and some of us feel a desire to understand how something so unfathomable really happened. if i were a loved one of a jeffrey dahmer victim, i would probably NEVER want to view a documentary, movie, or anything related to it.. but does that mean that the story should never be told? personally, i don’t think so. if your intentions are good and you can tell the story in an honest way that is intentional in NOT dishonoring those who died, then i think you can have a clear conscience. you just have to leave room for people’s emotions and respect that it’s of such a sensitive nature that some people will not approve. we can’t police peoples feelings in this situation, just accept that it’s an open wound that will never close.

[torahtantra]

4. Parsha Vayera, “The Yoke.” Part 4.

Nahor’s Sons “sons of the freeman.”

20 Some time later Abraham was told, “Milkah [the queen] is also a mother; she has borne sons to your brother Nahor:

21 Uz [contemplation, inner strength] the firstborn, Buz [contempt] his brother, Kemuel [congregation of God] (the father of Aram) [the elevated citadel],

22 Kesed [as if it were a mountain, a blessed spirit], Hazo [village, trumpet, enclosure], Pildash [flashing steel], Jidlaph [he drips, he weeps] and Bethuel [virgin of God].”

23 Bethuel [house of God] became the father of Rebekah [tied up secured]. Milkah bore these eight sons to Abraham’s brother Nahor.

24 His concubine, whose name was Reumah [exalted wild ox], also had sons: Tebah [slaughtered] , Gaham [flame, burning], Tahash [hurrier, can be incited] to and Maakah [oppression] .

“After civilization was established and government, education and agriculture were in full bloom, the means by which the God of Compassion guarantees freedom, with fire [the Torah and the congregation of the House of God], was used against wild men, untamed as if they were wild oxes and the village was secured.

Virgins of God who reside in His House must be secured and put to the knife [the sharp edge of a penis] if they are to enter the Citadel, the Highest State, the shedding of all tears due to violence and oppression is to end, and the village is to be safe and subject to God.”

All the misanthropy that visits each generation, like the kind we are experiencing now at the hands starts decades before when bigots reproduce and plant more weirdness for all of us to weed out of the harvest later.

Never has the world learned how to overcome this cycle, to dig for water, plant food, build houses and live well with one’s family and good friends without strife interfering with it all.

The Parsha says, however:

“Through contemplation, inner strength, and the help of the Blessed Spirit, a citadel of the highest order can be built and maintained. Without the sacrifice of one’s own, without the loss of laughter.”

Here ends Parsha Vayera, “And I yoked you to me" numbered 4 of 54 contained in the Holy Torah.

On concubines:

Concubines are considered privileges of royalty and the position was often better than that of a princess or the wife. The concubine spoiled the king or prince and he in turn usually did the same, but was a position of dishonor. Timna, "restraint" was a concubine to Esau's son Eliphaz, "God is fine gold". In the Torah, adding a concubine restores the honor of the nation rather than the opposite. If not, then the dishonor outweighs the benefits of having the concubine around and this means the wife is going to have to be enough.

[moonpains]

He sees the understanding in his eyes, the way Matteo clearly knows the pain of losing a loved one while they still stand before you. It’s painful, like dying by a thousand cuts. Each wince and tremble sliding a blade across your skin. Another wound to bare and bleed until you’re throat is sliced like a sacrificial lamb. And all the while you stand there frozen and let it happen, because to you – to you, you think you deserve it. For her, he would have taken it. And when Matteo speaks he knows the elder wolf would have too.

The ruffling of his hair brings him from his turmoil and dark eyes slip back to the man who acts as his family, a man not old enough to be more than an older brother but insists on the role of father. A man who shoulders burdens, not his to bear. Matteo is kind, kinder than he thinks himself. And August, well, he is honored to consider them bonded. They may not be in the same pack, but he will never not consider Matteo his family.

At his words, he sighs. “As someone who grew up in a pack similar to the one I grew up in, you know the weight of what our members mean to us. Arte may be my Alpha, I know the pack in turn is on their shoulders not mine. That they don’t expect me to lead by any means. But I do have the training for that role instilled in me, Matteo. I was meant to lead a pack, I trained my whole life for that. So though I am not Alpha I have the dedication to the pack of one. It’s the only way I know how to be. I would sacrifice anything for them. For my Alpha and my packmates. Ignoring their safety – it was dishonorable.”

Matteo has always thought of himself, as vicious in the most charming way, if a woman so far from what he was, fell in love with him. He couldn't remember, if he ever told August, how much she had sacrificed for him. "I've been looked at, the same way you had." because a part of her, had always been terrified. A part of her knew, one day she'd wake up and find no trace of the man she loved next to her. He sighed, letting the memories roam free within his conscious. "It's the price we have to pay, August." but even in the darkness of that realization, he was not alone. August would never be alone. He couldn't laugh at that morbid sense of humour, but a sad smile did cross his features, simply to show the kid, that he wouldn't wallow in self pity for eternity and beyond. A hand came up to ruffle the hair on his head, then. August was right. It was a scary thought, and Matteo feared, just how much, their closeness would take of him. "Please, don't ever say that." eyes searched for his own, desperate to make him understand that there was very little he could do, that would ever be considered disappointing. There was nothing wrong he could do, in Matteo's eyes. "No one expected that from you. No one should ever expect that from you." his words were probably far from reassuring, but Matteo tried to take some of the weight off his shoulders.

[bonefall]

Clanmew Masterpost

Clanmew is a constructed language made for Warrior Cats that I, @bonefall, run with my buddy @troutfur! I make the vocab and he does the grammar. I hope that this post will become a good, central place to keep links to everything we've done so far.

CURRENT VERSION: 1.0 LAST UPDATE: 6/3/2023

Clanmew is an OSV-order language, made with the sounds cats make in mind. "Base Clanmew" is built around the Clan Culture updates of the Better Bones AU, which means it is made with the ecology of southwestern Northern England in mind and only contains words for plants and animals found there. It also has phrases for cooking and crafting.

(specific regions modeled: Lancashire, Chester, Manchester, Merseyside, Clwydd is modeled for river biomes specifically)

You are free to use it for your own projects! We encourage you to consider how this language would evolve in your Clan's history, and add or remove words to make a dialect that reflects the culture's feelings and needs.

THE BASICS:

Everything you need to know for basic structure is in CLANMEW 101. Start here.

We have a constantly updating LEXICON of all the words we have made so far.

Have you made a dialect? Let me know and I can link you here so others can see what you're doing with it!

Below the cut:

In-universe information; How Clanmew evolved linguistically

"Expansion Pack" posts where I discuss etymology

Pronunciation stuff (until I make that IPA chart I keep promising)

Working translations; Names, parables, OC submissions

Dialect submissions (These are manned by other people!)

Historical Trivia

The linguistic evolution of Clanmew from Old Tribemew and Parkmew

Animals are named for the sounds they make.

How pronouns for objects change based on how the speaker feels about it.

More, using human examples

there is a secret post about cursing but you have to find that on your own ;)

Through Time Travel Shenanigans, Hollyleaf's name evolves into the word "Scourge"

The Clanmew Play-by-Play of that

The word for Everything

How hard is it for speakers of the other in-universe languages to pick up Clanmew?

On nicknames!

Squirrelpaw and Crowfoot discover corn

The names of the three ideologies... also thistles.

The Invalid Five

Expansion Packs

Colors

Directions, way-finding

Spirituality terms

Rocks

Beetles

Follow up: some plant parts

Patch (pattern) vs Patch (plants)

Den, camp, territory, construction

The two violets

Shapes of flowers

Volume

Generic terms

Rollypollies and centipedes

Insults

Rain... because this is England

The Clan Clock; time terms

The four seasons

Clerics and Common Herbs

Roses

Water movement

BIRDS AND BATS

Finches

Texture

Dogs

Mint

Parts of fur

Forest terms

Foxes, parts of a forest

Cuckoo bird

DEER

Shade and understorey

Cedar

Waterside words

Pronunciation Stuff

Closest thing to an IPA chart I currently have

My process for coming up with words based on vibes

I was asked for more behind-the-scenes stuff so here you go?

How I hold my mouth when I speak

Trout Tips

How would Clan cats pronounce the Slavic TS, or the word pizza?

On the Double yy

Working translations

BB!Scourge's new warrior name, Iceheart, in Clanmew... and Nightheart!

Light, moon, wind, BB!Raggedstar's pre-honor title name

OC SUBMISSION: Flameshell, Fogwhisper, Willowsong

OC SUBMISSION: Lichennose, Mudthistle, Longpounce

OC SUBMISSION: Fallensky

PACK PACK KILL KILL

"I love you"

Baby talk

"What have I done?"

"Fool Tale"

How to Clanmew-ify a strange word

Dishonor Title for "Mudpuddle"

OC SUBMISSION: Riverrunner, multiple-word names, walking words

OC SUBMISSION: Firefang, Rabbitdash, Peachfeather, plus a bunch of words for weasel-like animals

Ivypool

The use of tense in names

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: "Dust and flame will combine to destroy home"

Skywatcher

OC SUBMISSION: The Caldwell Family

Foxheart

Runningnose

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: Six will come of every rank

OC SUBMISSION: Witherstrike

"I like this" and also parasitic worms

Prism, rainbow-color

OC SUBMISSION: Piebald Creature

Gayheart

Sneeze and Knockout

OC SUBMISSION: Penny-fitzgerald

OC SUBMISSION: Voidwhisper, Chalkwhistle

OC SUBMISSION: Poppyflare, Spikemane, Blizzardfang

OC SUBMISSION: Burning Hawk-fur

Mistyfoot

BRAMBLESTAR BUTCHERS THE BLOSSOMKIT NAMES

Dialect Submissions

Pfurr Clanmew (@troutfur)