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janeaurther · 26 days ago

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A Complete Guide to Kids Toys Online Shopping: Finding Small Toys for Kids

Shopping for kids toys online has revolutionized the way parents find the perfect toys for their children. With just a few clicks, you can browse thousands of options, compare prices, read reviews, and have toys delivered straight to your door. But while online shopping is incredibly convenient, there’s still something special about visiting a local kids toy shop and experiencing the magic of toys in person. Whether you're looking for small toys for kids or the latest trends, this guide will help you navigate both online and in-store shopping for children's toys.

The Convenience of Kids Toys Online Shopping

In the age of digital shopping, kids toys online shopping has become the go-to method for many parents. The benefits are clear—convenience, variety, and ease of access.

1. Wide Range of Choices

Shopping online gives you access to a much broader selection of toys than any physical store could offer. Whether you’re looking for classic toys, the latest tech gadgets, or educational sets, online platforms provide endless options. You can find toys tailored to your child’s age, interest, or developmental needs with just a few filters.

2. Easy Price Comparisons

One of the major advantages of shopping for kids toys online is the ability to easily compare prices across different websites. You can search for discounts, check for promotions, and ensure you’re getting the best deal available without having to visit multiple stores physically. This is especially helpful when shopping for more expensive toys or if you’re on a budget.

3. Reviews and Recommendations

Before purchasing, you can read reviews from other parents who have already bought the product. Honest feedback helps you make an informed decision, especially when buying toys that you haven’t seen in person. You can also check ratings for safety, durability, and play value.

4. Time-Saving

Online shopping saves you the time and hassle of driving to different toy stores. For busy parents, this is a huge advantage. With the option for home delivery, you can skip the stress of crowds and long lines, especially during holiday shopping seasons.

5. Discovering Small and Niche Toys

Many online platforms offer niche and small toys for kids that may not be available in physical stores. Collectible toys, mini playsets, and limited-edition items are easier to find online, making it the perfect place for parents looking for unique gifts.

Small Toys for Kids: Big Fun in Tiny Packages

Small toys for kids are becoming increasingly popular for their affordability, portability, and versatility. They’re perfect for on-the-go entertainment and provide hours of fun despite their size.

1. Mini Playsets

Miniature playsets offer children the ability to create entire worlds in a small space. Whether it’s a mini dollhouse, farm, or vehicle set, these toys stimulate creativity and encourage imaginative play. They’re great for playdates and can easily be packed for travel or outdoor play.

2. Collectible Toys

Small collectible toys, like mini action figures or surprise pack toys, are highly popular among kids. Many brands release series or collections, making it exciting for children to collect all the pieces. These toys can be affordable, allowing parents to buy them as rewards or small surprises.

3. Educational Mini Toys

Just because a toy is small doesn’t mean it can’t be educational. Mini puzzles, STEM kits, and building block sets are excellent for developing cognitive skills, fine motor coordination, and problem-solving abilities. These toys make learning fun and can be used during travel or downtime.

4. Portable Fun

One of the biggest advantages of small toys for kids is their portability. Whether you’re taking a road trip or heading out to dinner, small toys can keep children entertained without taking up much space. From handheld games to tiny figurines, these toys are easy to store and transport, making them perfect for busy families on the move.

The Charm of a Kids Toy Shop

While online shopping is convenient, there’s something truly special about visiting a kids toy shop. The tactile experience of picking up toys, the excitement in a child’s eyes as they see the shelves filled with colorful options, and the hands-on demonstrations make toy shopping in person a delightful experience.

1. Personalized Shopping Experience

In a local toy shop, you have the advantage of interacting with knowledgeable staff who can help guide your purchases based on your child’s interests and age. Whether you’re looking for educational toys, outdoor playsets, or the latest trends, shop staff can provide personalized recommendations to match your needs.

2. Trying Before Buying

One of the biggest advantages of a physical toy shop is that your child can see and feel the toys before making a choice. Many stores have play areas or demo sections where children can interact with toys and test them out. This ensures that you’re buying something your child genuinely enjoys and will play with repeatedly.

3. Supporting Local Businesses

Shopping at a local kids toy shop supports small businesses in your community. Many local toy stores carry unique, high-quality toys that aren’t available in big-box retailers or online. By purchasing from these shops, you contribute to the local economy and help small businesses thrive.

4. Instant Gratification

There’s no waiting time involved when you purchase from a toy shop. Your child can enjoy their new toy immediately, which can be especially satisfying for special occasions or urgent gift needs.

Conclusion: Balancing Online and In-Store Toy Shopping

When it comes to finding the perfect toys for your child, a combination of kids toys online shopping and visiting a local kids toy shop gives you the best of both worlds. Online shopping provides convenience, variety, and access to unique small toys for kids, while toy shops offer a hands-on experience and personalized service.

Whether you’re searching for the latest trends in children’s toys or looking for classic playsets that inspire creativity and learning, take the time to explore Juplay World for both options. By doing so, you’ll ensure that your child has access to high-quality toys that will provide them with endless fun and valuable learning experiences.

#toy store #children toys #kids toys online #mini toys #kids toys online shopping #small toys for kids

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ashcroft-writes · 7 months ago

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YESSSSS OK LOOK SO

I love this on so many levels. One? Komodo dragons are BOSS, and I am all about this sweet collection of information about them. Two, I’m loving the latching onto the parallel of this apex predator reptile and Bane.

“They're the defintion of 'Work smart Not hard' and only need to get one bite in to kill” <— Ohhh I wonder who that reminds me of????

“You should keep a very respectful distance at all times” <— lmao YEAH ONE PROBABLY SHOULD for both the dragons and him 😂

Even if you didn’t put a ton of thought behind the decision, it is WORKING as delightful metaphorical and abstract art on so many levels, heck yeah.

“They don't have to run you down, why would they when both you and it know that you can't outrun it.”

This makes me so frickin’ hype to share some future Bane scenes I have lol. I. Love. This Komodo dragon thought line so much.

And I’m delighted as always that my words were a catalyst! Even before this becomes about Gunslinger’s Paean, I’m having so much fun with this! But in the context of the fic, I really love how it’s communicating a more visceral feeling that would be so hard to make in a literal piece: that there’s this huge, ongoing theme of hunger, of consuming and being consumed. I know we were discussing this a bit on Ao3; I probably should make a post here about it, copying some of that over :3 But to keep it narrow just for the story that inspired this art, and why I think you precisely hit my wavelength:

With his reward, the boy scampered off. Alderaan was the first to fall; he knew it from his books. It was bright, tart-sweet, red inside! Almost made him rattle a ketter of joy as the jam burst over his tongue, tingling him through with the sugars he needed to keep going. Oh! Next one was Onderon! He was almost laughing. He never got anything like this. It practically was a drug; these had to be two credits each! Rodia and Corellia vanished next, gleefully obliterated between his back molars, a child-sized planet-killing apocalypse.

There’s a sweetness (lol) I wanted in this moment, a little kid who finally gets a reward and some relief on an oppressive summer’s day in the form of these sweets shaped like some of the major habited worlds in the galaxy, a bit of joy in what we can already tell is a life that has more emotional and physical neglect than it deserves. And it feels nice to read; it’s hard to even be a little upset that he stole the candy.

But we know it’s also not enough. It’s not everything he needs, and he’s going to be hungry again later, and that hunger is going to just keep growing greedily, for food, for purpose, for understanding, for credits, for reputation, a vast space that this little child is going to keep trying to fill until he becomes one of the most brutal hunters in the galaxy. He will travel across all those worlds and back again for real, and he’ll never be fully sated, and he will be feared. There will always be another job, another score that his teeth will seek to sink into.

But throughout the story, he’s starting to brush against the realization that he has those empty spaces. That certain unexpected things calm them. And in the final story in Summer’s End, we have the callback from the PoV of the boy Bane has suffered to rescue, one who reminds him a little of himself:

“Hm.” Ekenki’s brow furrowed as he probed the pile with his precision-fingers. Was he pleased? The possibility ached with yearning. Slowly, he lit on a pack of candy orbs. “They still make these? Huh.” On closer look, the spheres seemed to be sweets styled in the trappings of planets.

He seems to mellow in this moment, perhaps remembering. And Wulo experiences this sharing of food and stark instructions with Bane as sweet, a relief, something to be grateful for. He experiences Bane in general as a shocking net good, a period of his life in which he’s fed every mealtime—for though Bane cannot give much in the way of warmth, truly, he feeds some other need that he grew up understanding was critically important.

And perhaps Wulo won’t grow up with such hunger. And perhaps Bane himself will eventually find something that is enough.

Time will tell!

But in the meantime, what badass art omg

For @ashcroft-writes (who else at this point <3)

You might have seen me yelling at you in your comments in ao3 already but if not:

Have an illustration of the absolute beast of an image of Bane eating planet-shaped sweets. Ever since that chapter came out last year, this image has refused to leave me alone until I finally sat down to draw it. And then in the latest chapter it came back?! If I tell you I nearly started screaming at my screen ...! The red planet at the front is Coruscant as the image search suggested, I hadn't expected it to be so vividly red and yellow but I'm sure that made for a tasty looking candy. The colour for the other two planets was determined by what I thought looked nice lol.

If you're looking at this and think 'hold in, Bane is blue though', true.

I don't do realism or accurate copies well and I've seen depictions of Bane floating around that were more concerned with vibes than sticking close to the character design we see in the show, so I let myself be loosely inspired. There was one drawing in particular that used a hmm (body) horror approach with really strong colours and distortion but I can't find it anymore else I'd tag the artist :/

What I used as basis for this design was the skull of my favourite reptile since I can remember: the Komodo Dragon. There really wasn't a ton of thought behind that decision, I just thought it would be sick xD

If you've never heard of these friends, here a link:

Some facts about the Komodo Dragon that floated around in my head as I was drawing:

They're the coolest and I love them <3

I'm wearing a necklace from the protected area of the Komodo island with a Komodo Dragon's tooth right now because they're endangered and the nature park needs money to keep protecting them.

That's it.

...

Just kidding^^

The way that Komodo Dragon's hunt is really fascinating; they're the defintion of 'Work smart Not hard' and only need to get one bite in to kill: For a long time it was believed that the bacteria in their saliva turned the bite wound gangrenous and slowly killed prey but scientists found actual venom glans in their lower jaws that distribute really complex venom. To my knowledge there is no anti venom and unlike most snake who only really attack humans when they feel threatened, K Ds regularly hunt Prey Like horses and water buffalos, they are /not/ scared of humans and though they're somewhat used to our presence, you should keep a very respectful distance at all times.

They reach a length of 10.3 feet (3.13 meters) and even though they look pretty heavy, they can absolutely sprint short distances and hunt a human down.

They're cannibals and young K Ds need to be fast and good climbers to stay alive.

They're covered in body armour. That a reptile is scaly is no real surprise but K Ds are covered in osteoderms which are bone fragments (how metal is that??). Other lizards have them as well but usually only patches K Ds simply have more. And they only get them once they're adults and get out of the trees again. Another link because this is really turning into an Info dump lmao:

Still here? :P

K D have serrated, backwards-facing teeth; what are they for? Cutting really well and leaving gaping wounds; the serration means that snatches of meat are torn out of the wound even when the prey initially gets away. And if I'm getting it right, the wounds themselves aren't cleanly cut which creates an ideal foundation for infection over the next days. The teeth also break off pretty often and grow right back.

Like snakes they have forked tongues and a really keen sense of smell. They also lay eggs and females can apparently reproduce via parthogenesis which is a type of asexual reproduction (diversity win! Haha)

If it hasn't been clear yet, K Ds are apex predators and apart from adult animals they have no known predators in their natural habitat; even humans can't really do anything with their dead bodies as their skin is unsuitable to being turned into leather.

So why have I told you all of this? Yes, because I got excited about an animal that I first learned about when I must have been maybe six at most and have loved ever since. But also because I do think it's a pretty cool spirit animal for our friend Cad Bane. not in every aspect maybe; I do think overall they look a little to heavy for him but the hunting strategy? Once this animal has its eyes (or vomeronasal organ) on you, there is no escaping. A K D paired with actual sapience and a more stable body temperature would be stupidly terrifying. They don't have to run you down, why would they when both you and it know that you can't outrun it. One bite and it's game over and I think that's how being hunted by Cad Bane would feel like.

#gunslinger's paean #summer's end: short story collection #cad bane #and like even beyond the metaphor I just freakin' love the visual of these jagged gnarly sharp uneven ravenous teeth consuming the galaxy #the stark bone yellow against the black #the bright flares of trillions of lives so small in the deep endlessness of space unable to stop it #absolutely boss imagery #keep being you ya bangin' artist you #fan art #star wars

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website-com · 2 years ago

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if i gave myself a tic on accident can i get rid of it on purpose

#long story short when i get shivers up my spine my head jerks randomly to the side. its missable and like not painful bc its a tick #but it is annoying sometimes #like im on a bus or something #just looked it up and read the line 'giving the child a physical reward when they learn to suppress the tic' and closed the window #every time i try and find out about my issues its always weird shit about training ur kids #freaky

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after-witch · 4 years ago

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Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on.

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side. You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you. He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding.

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness.

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight, you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #yandere #afterwitch writes

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besanii · 3 years ago

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I need to know what caused Wei Ying to finally initiate a physical relationship with Xichen. Was it for Lotus pier and what the empress said? He does seem to have some feelings towards Xichen so did he not mind it bc of that? What does Xichen think about this whole thing ahhhhhhhhh so many questions. Sorry Lan Zhan cause ngl I ship them

[ follows on from six ]

Alive.

The word washes over him like a wave, bringing with it a rush of joy and relief—his brother is alive—that lasts only a heartbeat before the significance of the news comes crashing down.

His brother is alive.

An arrow to the shoulder, the report had read. Knocked overboard in the heat of the battle and disappearing under the churning waters; for days they searched, picking through the bodies floating amongst the debris long after the Dongying forces had retreated.

They found him, a day later, half-drowned and delirious with fever, unable to fight. News of his death in battle spread as he lay in his bed, one foot already through the gates of Hell and yet still strategising, planning, during his brief moments of lucidity. Conscious enough to know that they can use his perceived death to their advantage.

And indeed with the loss of Gusu’s greatest commander, their enemies pressed them harder, forcing them to cede waters they had previously held strong. Little did they know they were being lured into a trap, one that would decimate their fleet and end the battle once and for all.

“And how is Hanguang-wang now?” Lan Xichen asks. Only years of experience keeps his voice tightly controlled and his hands relaxed as they rest on the spacious desk before him.

“Replying to Huangshang, Hanguang-wang asked this lowly subject to pass on the message that he is well and not to worry,” the messenger reports. “Hanguang-wang has also said he will stay on to fight until the war is won, as is his duty as the commander of the fleet.”

As a brother, Lan Xichen knows he should recall Lan Wangji from the front lines, allow him to return to Caiyi to nurse his injuries. As Emperor, if his best commander reports he can continue to fight and his staying on increases their chances of victory, then he has no reason to refuse. As a man—

He tells himself the rush of relief that courses through him at the news is because his brother is well; he does not allow himself to entertain the other reason. It is too shameful to admit, even to himself.

In the end, the Emperor wins out, as it always does.

“Very well,” he says finally, pressing the tips of his fingers together as if he is giving serious consideration to Lan Wangji’s request. “We will grant Hanguang-wang the right to stay, as reward for his loyalty.”

He does not call on Chenghuan Hall.

He tells himself it is to give Wei Wuxian space in the wake of such momentous news, to allow him to process it fully in his own time without the added pressure of Lan Xichen’s presence. It is a flimsy excuse, one he knows does not fool his Empress at the very least, whose knowing looks and raised eyebrow has his insides twisting with guilt and shame like a child caught stealing treats from the kitchens. So he avoids her palace too, and seeks refuge in the Imperial study until late in the evenings.

A whole month passes where Lan Xichen does not allow himself to see Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian does not send word to him either.

He wonders if he’s left it too long, whether Wei Wuxian would be upset or angry at their situation—at him, for putting them in this situation. If it is too late to show up now, after a whole month of silence, and try to make amends.

Fortunately—if one could call any part of this fortunate—the decision is made for him when Wei Wuxian himself walks into the Imperial study one night and kneels in the centre of the chamber. Lan Xichen watches dumbly as he prostrates himself, forehead pressed against the tips of his fingers on the cold stone floor, his hair loose and unbound, spilling over his plain white robes, the very picture of contrition and penance.

“This lowly concubine pays greetings to Huangshang,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice loud and clear in the quiet of the study. “And humbly seeks your forgiveness.”

“Wuxian...” Lan Xichen begins hesitantly. He breaks off, looking around at the eunuchs stationed around the study with their heads bowed. “You may leave us.”

It is only after they file away, closing the double doors behind them silently, does Lan Xichen allow himself to cross the chamber to where Wei Wuxian is still kneeling. He hurries to help him up, grasping him below the elbows, but is met with resistance as Wei Wuxian stubbornly keeps his head and shoulders bowed.

“Wuxian,” he says helplessly. “There is no need for this.”

“This lowly concubine dares not stand until Huangshang has forgiven me for my transgressions,” Wei Wuxian replies, still in that formal, wooden tone of voice Lan Xichen has come to know too well. He sighs.

“It is cold tonight and you are barely dressed. You will catch a cold walking around like this,” he tells him gently, softening his grip on his arms. When Wei Wuxian still refuses to budge, he sighs again and tilts his face up with two fingers under his chin. “There is nothing to forgive, you have done nothing wrong,”

There is confusion and wariness in those grey eyes as they finally meet his, two emotions he had hoped never to see again.

“Huangshang is displeased with me,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, tightly, as if he would fall apart if he raised his voice. “Ever since the report from Jinghai. Huangshang can no longer bear the sight of me, now that Lan Zhan—” he bites off the name with a pained twist of his mouth.

Lan Xichen recoils as if struck. He had known the nature of their relationship before his brother’s departure, and their plans for his return. But hearing his brother’s given name, such an intimate address used so freely and without thought, is a stark reminder of what he had done. Who he had taken.

Wei Wuxian knows it too, from the shudder that runs through him as he exhales, and the way his hands curl into fists in his lap.

"This lowly concubine does not dare presume he has any right to beg forgiveness for putting Huangshang in such a difficult position,” he continues, the barest hint of a waver in his voice. “I only wished to let Huangshang know that he does not need to trouble himself over this any longer.”

There is a ring of finality to his words that immediately catches Lan Xichen’s attention.

“What are you saying?” he asks warily. “Wuxian—”

Wei Wuxian shuffles backwards, putting enough distance between them so that he can prostrate himself once more, touching his forehead to the floor.

“This lowly concubine begs Huangshang to grant me the death penalty.”

“No.”

The word forces itself from Lan Xichen’s lips before he even realises he’s spoken, a spontaneous, visceral reaction full of hurt and fury beyond his control. For a long moment after, he cannot speak around the vice clamped tight around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Wei Wuxian replies, but his voice is only a faint murmur against the blood roaring in his ears; he cannot see his face to read his lips, but Lan Xichen already knows what he will say.

“You cannot ask that of me.” The words rasp painfully against his throat. “I will not be the reason for your death.”

Wei Wuxian raises his head and Lan Xichen freezes at the sight of the tears in his eyes, the same hurt, the same helpless fury colouring his cheeks and knitting his brows.

“And I am not willing to be the conflict that destroys the relationship between brothers,” he cries. “I cannot—I will not do it. Huangshang. You cannot ask that of me. Please do not ask it of me.”

He lowers his face to the floor once more.

“This lowly concubine is only alive today because of Huangshang,” he says, voice small and trembling but with an undercurrent of steel. “I should already be dead. If Huangshang grants me the death penalty now, it will only be putting the situation to rights once more, and Hanguang-wang will be none the wiser upon his return.”

Lan Xichen reaches out a trembling hand toward him, but stops short, hand hovering just above the top of his head. He cannot ask this of him. As a brother, and as a man, he cannot do it. As an Emperor—

Almost as if sensing his indecision, Wei Wuxian raises his head, leans into the palm of Lan Xichen’s outstretched hand and smiles as those long fingers mould themselves reflexively around the curve of his cheek.

“This lowly concubine will never forget the kindness and affection Huangshang has bestowed upon me,” he murmurs. “So if there must be a sacrifice, please let me make it in your place.”

TBC (yes I have just decided there will be a part two to this)

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

Notes

Such drama! Much angst!

Sorry this took much longer than anticipated, mostly cos I’ve been devouring ancient Tezuka/Fuji fics and falling back into the ancient Tenipuri fandom in the past couple of weeks. So, uh, don’t be surprised if my next thing is Tezuka/Fuji instead (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

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starglow-xx · 4 years ago

Note

(About the brother!atsushi) aRE YOU READING MY MIND MISS?! Because that has been on my mind for MONTHS. TYSM For writing it was amazing!! If you don't mind, may I request (if requests are open) atsushi, still an older brother, but with a sister that's 10-13 yrs old? It's totally fine if you don't wanna do it. Keep up the good stories, ily mwuah!

*sobs* you’re so kind thank youu 🤧🤧

i wrote this a bit differently i hope that’s okay anon! at first i planned for this to be mainly abt atsushi and the reader, but i decided to add in relationship hcs with the agency bc i ran out of ideas

if you guys liked this don’t worry! im planning a special part two for this one so be the look out for it hehe

atsushi with a tween! sister

ft. the armed detective agency

like in my baby sister hcs, you’re still the most important thing to him period

the two of you got picked up by dazai and kunikida when he was 18 (obviously) and when you were 12

for a 12 year old, you were a bit small bc of malnourishment (which makes atsushi feel so bad) so both dazai and kunikida thought you were a bit younger than you actually were

they assumed you were about 9-10ish

you and atsushi both share a favorite food !! chazuke :)

so when kunikida treated the two of you, he made sure you got more bowls bc like i mentioned above, he feels really bad that you were malnourished and under weight

(don’t bring this up but kunikida felt bad too hehe)

when dazai went with your brother to the warehouse, you were with kunikida

imagine the surprise of the other ada members when kunikida came in with a little girl dressed in rags that popped out from behind him

kenji was the one who vocalized his thoughts

“kunikida-san you have a daughter?! wow! i didn’t know that! :D”

when you found out your brother was a tiger, you were a bit concerned but you were actually kind of excited

you were even more excited when you found out the two of you were going to be taken in by the agency

anything was better than the stupid orphanage

and besides!

you got a tiger for an older brother and a bunch of other super powered agents to take care of you! who could want anything else?

at your age, you’re very impressionable and can be influenced easily so atsushi makes sure to teach you more in depth of good morals and the importance of kindness

his heart swells with pride and relief when he catches you being kind to others

pride bc he’s proud that even after all the two of you have gone through, you still ended up being a good kid and having a bright view of the world

and relief bc he hasn’t failed as a big brother

pfftt like he could ever fail

but please, from time to time reassure him that he’s perfect and the only big brother that you’d ever want bc he rlly needs that kind of validation

with his salary and savings, he tries to buy nice things for you

what a sweetheart 🥺

he saw you eyeing that one dress at a store window? fast forward abt a week and half and it’s inside a pretty gift bag for you

you wanted to try that dessert from the nice bakery? that’s dessert after dinner at one point

but other than buying you things, he sets money aside for you

like all the time

(y/n), here have this, you might need it”

“but nii-san you just gave me—”

“take it”

#1 spoiler

also your #1 confidant and source of physical affection

you tell him anything and everything (except crushies and those kinds of things)

atsushi loves it when you talk abt your day and he can see the big smile on your face and the sparkle in your eyes

it gives him the strength to keep going 😖😖

the two of you aren’t as touch starved as you’d probably think, but that’s only bc the two of you had each other

in your opinion, no one can match the hugs of your big brother

and it got even better bc YAYY he has tiger arms now ٩(◕‿◕)۶

if you ask, he’d carry you around too hehe

you also get nightmares quite often so he’ll always be there ready to calm you down, talk if you need to, and rock you back to sleep

god i love him 🤧🤧

atsushi will do everything in his power to protect you and make sure you get to grow up happy, supported, and loved

port mafia attack? oop he’s already taking you to the nearest escape route

someone is starting to harass you? they just got suckered punched into the next week

you want to go out to have some fun? he’ll go ask the president for a day off

you’re not feeling well? he’ll take another day off and take care of you

whatever you want to do, he’ll do it with you! (as long as it’s within reason)

will always be your #1 supporter! and he’s the president of your fan club hehe

he loves you so so much and will do anything for you; your life and happiness will always be more important to him

you are his reason to keep going

agency head canons !!

atsushi is your big brother, but kunikida is most definitely some sort of father figure

everyone can see it

except kunikida of course

kunikida scolds you lightly if he thinks your manners need work or if you make a mess in the agency

you listen to him of course and in turn as some sort of a reward, he’ll give you pieces of stationary

he always gives you the nice, good quality kind and you’re over the moon

atsushi adores it when you come running to him showing your new notebook or fountain pen and blabbering what you’re going to do with it

sometimes it isn’t even as a reward for being a good child; he’ll just give it to you and he’ll say smth like “i noticed you’ve used up your last notebook quite quickly, so here’s another one” or “did you run out of ink? here have this then”

he usually has a soft spot for children in general, but he most definitely has a soft spot (or a thousand) for you

yosano is kind of like a motherly figure to you

she gives you the guidance a mother should and goes on shopping trips with you!

atsushi always gets dragged along by you, but he thinks it’s worth it seeing you look so happy

yosano being a doctor also tries to teach the things you should know, or things that would be helpful to you

she’ll teach you the basics of cooking, sewing, how to treat a cold/fever, etc

also gives you excellent advice 1000% of the time

“remember (y/n)-chan if someone hurts you come tell me and then i’ll chop them into—”

“yOSANO-SENSEI DONT TELL HER THAT—”

fukuzawa is like a father to most in the agency but you see him more as a grandfather figure

bi weekly tea and gossip sessions hehe

along with cat talk!

most of the time though, it’s just you talking and him listening to you, but the two of you enjoy it nonetheless

“and then kunikida-san ended up crashing into a pole and dazai-san started to laugh at him and i did too because it was really funny but we ended up getting scolded—”

“hmm i see...”

he’ll let you stay in his office as he fills out paperwork; you’re usually doodling or drawing in your notebooks

sometimes he’ll meditate and you’ll join him, but 4/7 times you’d fall asleep

you always wake up with a blanket over you

dazai is like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

frequently takes you out with him when he ditches work

walks in the park, eating at uzumaki so he has the excuse of treating you so he doesn’t have to pay his tab avoiding kunikida and sometimes chuuya and akutagawa, all that fun stuff

also tries to not talk abt suicide in front of you especially if it’s just the two of you alone

he knows that you mean the world to his pupil and that said pupil would probably hate him for putting suicide inside your brain

he teaches you random but useful things like how to pick a lock, how to steal kunikida’s notebook if you’re looking for some information, how to sweet talk your way out of things, etc.

is also the one to tell you that if you ever get a significant other to introduce them to the agency first

he always wants all of your gossip; some of them work pretty well for blackmail

“dazai-san! dazai-san! did you know that kunikida-san lost his glasses and he was looking for them for nearly an hour when he was just holding them the entire time??”

“woah really (y/n)-chan?! hey hey can you say it again into this recording device so kunikida-kun would believe me when i tell him—”

always ends up giving kunikida a heart attack when he says that you’ve been with him all day

ranpo is also like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

will share some of his snacks, but don’t push it or you might not get anything at all

loves it when you compliment him

if you tagged along with him and your brother on a case, he will show off to impress you

“...and that’s how the crime happened”

“UWAHH RANPO-SAN YOU’RE SO COOL”

atsushi is lowkey and kunikida is highkey stressed that ranpo’s eating habits will rub off on you

“ne (y/n)-chan do you wanna try this highly caffeinated drink and this concerning amount of sugar filled snack?”

“can i really?!”

“rANPO-SAN NO—”

ranpo definitely does stuff like that on purpose

the tanizakis are like siblings to you!

a weird set of siblings but siblings nonetheless

the two of them adore you and think you’re precious

atsushi definitely knows how to do your hair whether it’s long or short but he got even better at it when he asked the two

hehe braid trains are definitely a thing + kyouka and kenji (and maybe even dazai)

sometimes you have sibling swap days

you’re with junichiro for most of the day and atsushi is with naomi

strange i know

each of the tanizaki siblings try to make it fun bc they know that the two of you did not at all have a happy upbringing

junichiro likes spending time with you by taking you out to different places that naomi likes to frequent

like the mall, different stores and restaurants, the park, places like those

naomi does the same thing with atsushi so if you ever bump into them, you go out and eat together :)

besides atsushi, the next one in line who spoils you the most would be junichiro (and yosano & kunikida both coming in at a close third)

he honestly can’t help it; you remind him of how naomi was when she was younger

and besides

he’s always been a sucker when it came to the happiness of a little sister

“would you really buy this for me junichiro-san?!”

“of course! don’t worry about it” :)

wanna talk abt boys/girls/celebrity crushes things like that? naomi is your girl

you feel a bit embarrassed to go talking to yosano or your brother abt that and kyouka does not know a thing abt them either

“uwahh naomi-san look at all these people in this magazine! they look so good!”

“right?! but of course onii-sama is still the best—”

you get along with kenji and kyouka quite nicely being roughly the same age as them; they’re also like siblings!

just pure, wholesome vibes from the three of you

you’re over the moon when she finds out that kyouka is staying with you and your brother

atsushi is twice as happy seeing you talk your mouth off and finally having a girl around your age to talk to

“do you think demon snow can change how she looks?”

“hmm... im not sure...”

you and kenji talk abt anything and everything

he even teaches you how to take care of plants!

sometimes the two of you are kind of in the same boat bc you don’t know much abt yokohoma being stuck in the orphanage and kenji doesn’t know much abt cities in general

“wait where are we again kenji-san?”

“ah we’re close to the ports! but im not really sure how close because i don’t know what the symbols on this sign mean”

“don’t worry! neither do i!”

bonus things!

yosano was kind of too late teaching you abt you know what

“NII-SAN IM BLEEDING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS”

you’re sobbing in the agency’s bathroom and atsushi is panicking trying to get you to open the door

“Y/N?! H-HOLD ON LET ME GET YOSANO SENSEI”

ranpo overhears and cackles making everyone around him confused

suddenly atsushi bursts in the agency basically on the verge of tears rambling incoherent sentences abt the bathroom, you, and blood

it just clicked for everybody in the room

(im going to pretend that kenji has sisters back home so that atsushi is the only one who remain oblivious here hehe)

atsushi is genuinely confused and sort of concerned that no one is freaking out with him

yosano waves her hand saying smth like that she’d take care of it and junichiro pulls atsushi to the side to talk to him

fast forward like half and hour and dazai and ranpo are cackling on the looks of both of your faces

honestly not sure who’s more traumatized, you or your brother

“why does this have to happen” :(

“ne ne (y/n)-chan!~ you’re too young but at some point you’re not going to have it!”

“uwahh really dazai-san?” :D

“yeah! but first you have to have ANFK—”

next thing you know your ears are being covered by your brother and dazai is thrown across the room by kunikida

you know

the normal

you’re twelve and have never gone to school, but the agency takes care of that

it’s too dangerous to go to school so they teach you what’s necessary and whatever else they can

kunikida takes care of math (obviously)

yosano takes care of science/biology/anatomy/health (whatever you wanna call it)

ranpo even dragged poe to help you with english

atsushi even got lucy to help you out with english too!

as tanizaki and naomi used to be students, they give you their old work books and they try to teach you all the other subjects

sometimes kyouka and kenji are there learing with you too!

sorry if there’s some errors! i’ll read through it again later :)

and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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moemammon · 4 years ago

Text

The Demon Brothers vs an Obstacle Course

(You know, one of those foam filled monstrosities with all the stuff in the way, the things to hop on and crawl under, that stuff.)

Lucifer-

This man would take some convincing to actually get him to run the course. He's not really the type that likes running frantically through a multicolored maze.

But! Thanks to your persuasive powers and endless grace (or whining, etc), he begrudgingly agrees.

Besides, any chance to show his skills is a welcomed one. He's not quiet a showoff, but he hardly turns down a challenge.

And man, he makes this obstacle course look like child's play. One second he's at the start, and the next thing you know he's flying past you.

He's gone.

He's already finished. Did you really think you'd beat him though?

For a guy who said this sorta thing was "Pointless and childish", he sure did take it seriously

Kinda sus if you ask me

And that cocky look he's giving you... should you be annoyed or aroused? 🤔

Mammon-

He is HYPED.

Mammon pegs me as an adrenaline junky so he doesn't refuse. He loves stuff like this!

He's usually the one that takes you out to do stuff, so he's excited when you suggest running an obstacle course!

Extra as hell so he's dressed in light clothes SPECIFICALLY for speed

And man, he's practically bouncing off the walls. Makes it a point to brag about how many obstacle courses he's ran in the past

"If it's a human world obstacle course, it'll be a cinch! Somethin' like that's nothing to the Great Mammon!"

Definitely makes this into a money-based competition. "Loser's gotta pay for lunch after this, alright?" Probably didn't even bring his wallet smh

Runs as fast as he can the moment the whistle blows, and immediately gets his leg stuck on a climbing net and has to be rescued

"Ya didn't see that, ya hear me?! I didn't get stuck or anythin'! I was just.... I dropped something, so I went down there to grab it! There's no way I'd get tangled up in a dumb thing like that!

Ok mammon whatever you say ily

Then proceeds to yeet you into the foam cube pit so he can get the upper hand

Leviathan-

Levi refuses. Gomenasorry.

But seriously, how did you manage to get this guy out of his room for something like this?

He doesn't even know why you asked him. Does he look like he likes running around getting all gross and sweaty, just for a pat on the back and a sticker for participation??

Now if you bribe him by promising to buy him that new Ruri-chan figure that's only been released in the human world, then he miiiight peel himself out of his bathtub to go with you.

And when he's actually running the course, he finds that it's pretty fun..! For the most part. He's not a huge fan of getting hit in the face by foam stuff.

But when you suggest that the two of you treat it like you're winding through the Accursed Forest in search of the Sword of Resurrection, he's suddenly weirdly good at getting through the course.

It's supposed to be a race, but you're his Henry so there's no way he can abandon you! May or may not be an excuse to hold your hand too

He's not the fastest though, but he means well. Probably Naruto runs

Satan-

Something like this isn't really Satan's idea of a good time, but can he really say no to that face?

You've begged him all week to come with you, and he's finally giving in. If the two of you can go for a peaceful dinner date afterward, to end the evening on a chill note.

He's read a few things about human pastimes and public sports, and obstacle courses sort of fall into those categories, right?

He doesn't get the appeal, but it can't hurt!

And it's not unusual to think that Satan would be good at avoiding all the stuff in his way, right? Sure he gets smacked from time to time, but have you seen his room??

This man lives in a labyrinth of books. He's no stranger to squeezing around stuff.

He's not super competitive though so he pauses every now and then to make sure you haven't fallen into a foam abyss or something

Honestly a real gentleman even though this is supposed to be a competition

Satan just wants to have a good time hanging out with you, even if he doesn't really care for stuff like this 💕

Asmodeus-

Uhhhhh

Running around and getting sweaty??

Having to hop, climb, and crawl around???

And getting nothing out of it except a broken nail, dirty clothes, and messy hair?????

Hard pass. Sorry, leave a voicemail after the tone ✌️

Okay, but if by some miracle you ACTUALLY manage to get this man to run an obstacle course with you, you deserve a medal

And surprisingly, he actually has fun with it!

Looking beautiful isn't his only fixation, you know. He likes to have fun too!

Especially if he can get all hot and sweaty with you ;;;;)););););;)););))

For a man that always seems to be nothing but graceful, he can't seem to win in this obstacle course.

You're trying so hard not to laugh while you watch him strain to climb up robes, awkwardly crab walk under things as to avoid touching them with his new outfit, and stand still for ten minutes straight just to fix his hair

At this rate you might as well just let him piggyback you to the finish

Beelzebub-

This hulk of a man is not built for agility and grace so he will 100% just barrel through the obstacles. I want to see him run full speed toward the finish like with like, pieces of foam and stuff all over his clothes from ripping apart all the stuff in his way

He plays the devildom's equivalent to American football so it's not like there's anything that can stop him.

Especially if there's the promise of an edible reward for whoever wins? He's gonna get to the finish first if it's the last thing he does.

He zooms past you and mutters a rushed "Sorry MC". He doesn't mean to hurt your pride, but he wanna wIN.

And as soon as he passes the finish line, he'll turn right back around to go get you, wherever you might be in the course.

He technically won, so now he'll go pick you up so you can make good on your promise to feed him

Carries you off into the sunset like a princess to the nearest McDonald's

Belphagor-

How did you manage to wake him up

Furthermore, how did you manage to convince him to do something so physically demanding

You must have something hanging over his head, because there's not much in this world that would convince him to run an obstacle course

Probably wouldn't do it even if Beel asked, because Beel wouldn't ask

You've gotta be okay with carrying him tbh

Otherwise he'll vouche for watching you run around

He's having fun as long as you are

Probably lays on one of the soft spots on the obstacle course and naps

That's the closest he's getting to participating 💕

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me!#obey me belphegor #obey me! shall we date?#shall we date? obey me!#obey me headcanons #obey me! headcanons #list

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deniigi · 3 years ago

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Please take this section from a piece about Baby Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bonding post Bandomeer.

I’m sure that this isn’t how their master-apprentice relationship was formed but I refuse to read so this is it for me 🙃🙂

Title: platelets

Summary: After the smoke clears on Bandomeer, the Agricorps gathers 12yo Obi-Wan into their ranks and prepares to train him to become one of their own. Qui-Gon thinks they should wait a damn minute here. He’s had a change of heart.

---

Obi-Wan was no longer in the med bay. It took Qui-Gon two hours to find him and two years off his life trying to look casual under the irritated gaze of so many suspicious Agricorps members.

The foreman (forewoman) was the first to crack under Qui-Gon’s very charming smile—and she didn’t so much as crack as tell him that his attempts to be subtle disgusted her to the core.

Obi-Wan had been given over to a young lab manager. A friendly man in need of his first supervisee. He was soft at heart and, according to the foreman, very good with kids.

Qui-Gon understood implicitly and rapidly that this was his new competitor.

He asked the foreman what the knights had done to incur the corps’ ire and she told him to search his fucking feelings.

She closed the door behind him, effectively locking him into one of the Agricorps terrarium-lab bubbles.

Qui didn’t like to snoop. He loved to snoop.

Nothing was more satisfying then having a poke through the lines upon lines of glasses and test pockets that covered the tables. He had a sniff around the experimental cuttings taking root in their glasses and then took cover when he heard a voice break out into a laugh.

He peered over the edge of the counter and spotted the familiar green smock-tunic of the corps. Its owner had tan skin and narrow eyes and his back stooped into an arc. Qui-Gon craned his neck and found that the arc came over the tuft-y red hair of his future apprentice (because there was no real question here, regardless of the corps’ agitation; the knights would always get first choice over the initiates).

The lab manager, however, gave no sign of trepidation. He held in front of Obi-Wan a handful of seeds that sprouted and curled under his smile. Obi-Wan watched them with wide eyes. The manager turned his gentle face down towards Obi-Wan and nudged his hands until Obi-Wan was holding the mass as it grew.

“Look, you’re a natural,” the man said.

Obi-Wan sucked in a lip and focused hard. One of the plants’ first adult leaves began to unfurl.

“Well done. Fantastic,” the manager said. “Look at you already. Great job and for that, a reward.”

“A reward?” Obi-Wan asked, handing the tangle of roots off as the manager held out his hands for them.

“A reward,” the manager agreed, plucking one of the fat stems from the bunch and holding it out to Obi-Wan, “A snack.”

Damn. This guy was good.

The foreman was smug as a dungbeetle in shit when Qui-Gon skulked out of the lab. She asked him how his proposal had gone. He scowled at her and made off back to his quarters.

Normally, he would call someone to lament the traitorous actions of these supposed-allies, but no one was going to be sympathetic right now—not even Tahl. She was going to say what everyone else was going to say which was “Man, you had how many chances to get this right?”

He smashed his face into the pillow of his bunk, then flung it off and flattened his cheek against the mattress.

There had to be some way to turn these tides back in his favor. He wasn’t losing to the Agricorps. Master Dooku would have a heart attack. Qui’s failure in this—more than Xanatos—would kill him and then he’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

UGH.

Alright, Jinn. Think.

He had a brilliant plan. It involved a lightsaber. Obi-Wan loved lightsabers. Qui-Gon had witnessed him loving them many a time.

He scrounged up some tools and squeaked past the Agricorps security for a quick bounce off to acquire a crystal. A blue one. Obi-Wan looked like a blue saber sort of kid. It took a while to find one because everyone, everywhere, was conspiring against Qui-Gon on this. Even the Force seemed to be telling him that he was too late.

But for once, he didn’t care. There were only so many times you could fuck up before you started fucking up at least in the right direction.

He got the crystal. He brought it back to the corps headquarters and went on the hunt yet again for his (his damnit) future apprentice.

This time, Obi-Wan was in the dormitories. Qui-Gon almost gasped in horror to find him outfitted in an over-large green smock-tunic. He flapped the too-long sleeves with a goofy smile while his lab manager reached around him and tightened the belt at his waist as far as it would go.

“You’re so scrawny,” the lab manager told him. “We’ll fix that.”

Obi-Wan beamed up at him and held up his sleeve-covered hands.

“I like green,” he said.

A small piece of Qui-Gon screamed internally.

“I think you’re more of a blue, actually,” the lab manager said. “But this is what we’ve got for now. When you get bigger, we can see if there’s a blue that fits you.”

“There are so many colors,” Obi-Wan said as the manager trapped his arm and started rolling up one of the sleeves. He tried to do the same with the other on his own, which just made the manager’s job harder.

“There are,” the manager said.

“Do you get to pick?”

“You sure do.”

“How do you pick?”

The manager patted Obi-Wan’s head and turned around to hunt down something else from the spare clothing supply.

“It comes to you,” he said, muffled.

There was a long silence. Qui-Gon had just decided to step out of hiding, when Obi-Wan, looking at the rolled edges of his sleeves said,

“I think I want to leave.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stopped. The manager’s rummaging did, too. He pulled himself carefully out of the cupboard.

“Leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said to his sleeves. “I think I want to leave.”

No.

“You’re a little young to leave, aren’t you?” the manager said awkwardly.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’ll figure it out. If I can survive those people in the mines, then I can figure it out, can’t I? And then I can pick my colors out there. You get to pick, right? Maybe I’ll do blue after all.”

Fuck. No. Qui-Gon was gonna—

“Hey, why don’t we do this?” the manager said, setting aside a set of gaiters to kneel down in front of Obi-Wan. “Let’s give us a trial run, huh? Two months, max. I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but give us two months—eight weeks—and after that, if you don’t like it, we’ll make sure you’ve got somewhere to go when you’re ready to leave. Does that sound okay?”

Qui-Gon held his breath. Obi-Wan studied the knuckles of the hands holding his. He rubbed his split lips together.

“Eight weeks?” he asked.

“That’s all, no more and if you really, really can’t stand it, then even less,” the manager said.

“And you’ll help me? Even if I say I don’t want to stay?”

“Even if you don’t want to stay.”

Maybe Qui was operating on another, less child-friendly level here, but why in kark’s name you’d even give the boy the illusion of choice was beyond him. The answer was, truly, that the second Obi-Wan set foot away from the jedi, he’d be signing his own death sentence.

Xanatos wouldn’t care if he wasn’t Qui-Gon’s true apprentice. He wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’d just seize the opportunity the moment Obi-Wan no longer had someone standing behind him, and when he was through, he’d bring the body to the Temple and lay it out cold and open-eyed on the front steps.

There were no other options for the child now. Qui-Gon was being kind with this process of trust-building. In reality, if he really needed to, he could contact Yoda and acquiesce to his previous wisdom and arguments for Qui-Gon to take the kid on. Yoda would then change the boy’s assignment and orders; he would return to the temple and thereafter again go through the selection process. But this time, Qui-Gon would select him without hesitation.

That wasn’t how Qui-Gon wanted to do this, but if the boy thought that he was going to leave, to step out into the cold of space, then to spare him a cruel, meaningless death, Qui-Gon would.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the manager.

“Anytime, hon,” the manager said. “Who knows, anyways. You might even like it here.”

The trouble with the damn Agricorps was that they were phenomenal talkers. They talked to people about their problems and all these insecurities and they gave them food and drinks and told jokes and laughed and hefted their littlest supervisees up onto their shoulders and all that served to make their members loyal to each other to a fault.

In short, Obi-Wan’s lab manager was winning this battle more every day.

This was not helped at all by the fact that Qui-Gon had discovered through a surprise meeting that Obi-Wan was afraid of him.

They’d bumped into each other in the hallway as Obi-Wan came from the mess hall and Qui-Gon went to drop off some documents, and the kid scrambled away from him and flattened himself against the corridor’s wall.

Some serious meditation (and agitating Mace, great tower of sleep-deprived wisdom) had brought Qui-Gon to the conclusion that yeah, a month in forced labor, being banished to a mine, food deprivation, physical assault, and so on really did a number on a twelve-year-old’s trust in people and their associates.

Further, Mace pointed out that Qui-Gon was approximately ‘half a mile tall and covered in overgrowth.’

He did not appear to be a soothing presence to children. Mace said that if he’d deigned to join him and the other masters in chatting and cuddling the younglings in the crèche, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, Qui, you stuck-up nerfherder. You reap what you sow.

Mace’s hind and foresight was, as per usual, invaluable.

Qui-Gon decided that he was going to be the nice version of himself. He was going to smile at Obi-Wan. That would do it.

It didn’t do it.

The foreman came to Qui-Gon’s quarters to gleefully tell him not to approach the corps’ young supervisees unprompted. He was giving the children hives.

He explained to her outright that he intended to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice.

She told him good luck. Obi-Wan, she claimed, was already settling in with the others. He was making friends. And Qui-Gon wasn’t so cruel as to separate such a traumatized boy from such comfort, now was he?

But there, she was mistaken.

He definitely was that cruel.

The foreman told him to die miserable and slammed his door.

It took another two tries, but eventually, he managed to find Obi-Wan tucked away on one of his breaks from his training in the lab. He appeared to be at a loss for what to do with himself. He’d settled against a window and had splayed both hands on it as he stared out into the cracked soil of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon watched him for a little while and then cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan jumped. His eyes came up for the briefest second and then his head went down.

“Master,” he greeted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You seem bored.”

Guilt colored the boy’s cheeks in a flush.

“I’m not bored, Master,” he said, fidgeting with his rolled sleeves.

“May I sit?” Qui-Gon asked, gesturing next to where Obi-Wan knelt. He nodded and arranged himself in a more dignified posture. Qui-Gon let him; he sat down next to him, grumbling and creaking and popping.

His bones weren’t what they used to be.

Once he was finally more or less comfortable, he turned to notice Obi-Wan staring at him with eyes like a cat’s.

“What? You never seen an old man sit?” he asked.

“What happened to your hair?” Obi-Wan asked.

Oh.

“It’s in a bun,” Qui-Gon explained, reaching up to release the mane. It tumbled down over his shoulders and cheered for fresh air.

Obi-Wan’s gaze became even more cat-like. Qui-Gon fought off a smirk.

“You want to touch it?” he asked.

The kid looked away abruptly.

“It’s okay. You can touch it,” Qui told him. “It looks better than it feels, I must say. Needs a trim—look at these ends, little one. I ought to be arrested for crimes against decency.”

Aha. Gotcha. Look at that wobble in those lips. Trying not to smile. They’d see how long that worked, now wouldn’t they?

He badgered Obi-Wan until he finally broke and reached up to brush his fingers against the hair Qui-Gon put within his reach. His attention snapped into place.

“It’s soft,” he said, amazed.

His fingers started combing without permission. Qui-Gon let it happen.

“Very useful for cold climates—have you ever felt a snow-yak, Obi-Wan?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t.

“Do you know what they look like?”

Another shake.

“Well, perhaps one day, you will see them,” Qui-Gon said indulgently. “When I was a boy, my master told me not to try to pet them—he told me at every step of the way, he knew me well. But you know what I did?”

There was that smile now.

“You pet them?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I sure did,” Qui-Gon told him. “And you know that they did?”

“Kicked you?”

“Me? No. I was too small a target. They charged my master—Master Dooku; you may have heard of him.”

Obi-Wan shoved his giggles into his palms.

“I want to pet one,” he said.

“Yes, you do look like the type,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, what are your feelings on pathetic lifeforms?”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me. What’s a pathetic lifeform to you?”

Obi-Wan settled in and thought about it as he gazed out the window’s thick glass.

“Me,” he decided.

Bless him.

“You?” Qui-Gon said incredulously. “No, no. You saved a jedi master. I said ‘pathetic.’”

“Me,” Obi-Wan insisted again.

Qui-Gon held a finger out between them.

“If you are a pathetic life form, then I am in grave danger,” he said.

The giggle this time wasn’t hidden. It make Qui-Gon’s own grin grow.

“I was thinking a lothcat,” he admitted. “Or a dragon—love a dragon. Of course, the yak—perhaps not pathetic to my master, but to others yes. They’re not smart, Obi-Wan, poor things.”

“You like animals,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon weighed this statement with his head.

“’Animals’ isn’t quite broad enough, but yes, they fall into the category,” he said. “I’m also a big fan of rescuing the plants that no one can keep alive.”

Obi-Wan brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He settled a soft cheek onto the top of the right one.

“That’s what I’ll be doing here,” he said.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause. The boy sniffed softly.

“You will be happy here,” Qui-Gon told him gently. “They will take care of you.”

Another sniff. An eye scrubbed with a too-long sleeve.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Well, this was a conversation Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to walk into. There were, from his vantage point, a few ways out of it, but at the end of each of those paths was a set of brown eyes framed by intense, wispy green brows.

“You are good enough,” Qui-Gon said. “I am just a foolish master. You deserve someone better than me, Obi-Wan.”

“There is no one else,” Obi-Wan said.

“There will be,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, there won’t. I’m out of time. All that’s left for me is...this,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the landscape beyond the window.

Qui-Gon studied it; the cracks in the soil, the piles of broken stones.

“It is a little bleak,” he admitted.

“What is it like for non-jedi people?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do they go to school? How do they find somewhere to sleep?”

“You will not be a non-jedi person,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause.

“What?”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall.

“Unless you really want to be one,” he added. “Apologies, I spoke without thinking.”

Those blue eyes were the same color as the crystal in Qui-Gon’s pocket. He put his hand inside of it and pulled the carefully wrapped parcel out so that Obi-Wan could see it. He rolled it slowly until only the crystal sat in his palm.

“There is greatness in you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “And I am not a good enough Master, but you are more than a deserving padawan.”

The eyes flicked from the crystal to Qui-Gon’s face once, then twice.

“Do you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Are you okay with having a silly master?” Qui-Gon asked. “I will not sugar-coat it—one of my students has already fallen. I am the type of person who Master Windu has been dreaming of the unfortunate demise for since we were children.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked with eyes only for the crystal.

“Excellent question. I am told that my brain is fundamentally ill-suited for human interaction,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“Does Master Windu really dislike you so much?” he asked.

“He speaks to me in such ways only out of love. My other friends say that I am dedicated intensely to the flight of fancy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know, funny thing,” Qui-Gon told him, reaching over to take his hand and press the crystal into it, “Neither do I.”

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #qui-gon jinn #I think Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon should be the kind of apprentice and master who deserve each other #and by that I mean that they both do shit that make the other's teeth grind but they bear it with a smile #fic #ficlet

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crybabytoy59 · 3 years ago

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The ultimate backwards way forward….

1. The day had finally come all the hours, days, weeks, months and years even.....That had lead to this one intrepid moment. Tonight He (Mark) stood before Her “Chrissy”....Shaking whilst doing as instructed, he was to put his Big clothes into the black bags in front her. She would decide what if any we’re to be kept. All things related to his Big life went in…

Next She sat him down in only a cartoon disposable & a onesie ! He sat & listened as she reinforced her Will as the midnight deadline approached !...

She spoke very gently, a deep love of genuinely wishing to take him to his “little place”, Yes his Big had pushed back and fought at times but this was IT her words would be final ! No turning back whatsoever no wriggling out. A new life lay ahead as Chrissy delicately spoke….

2. “Now sweet-pea all your big things are away and in fifteenth minutes you will be My Bunny, my BabyBoy & I your Mommy I will treat you as a baby always & this you will come to accept through Mommy’s intense retraining of you to become that infant baby again we will take you back mentally & physically to a small child, Mommy’s cute toddler In nappies 24/7 ….

This will not be easy at first but please trust Mommy, she is going to help you mentally to be the baby that hangs on to every one of Mommy’s kind nurturing words….. So Bunny are you ready hmmm, Are you ready my darling baby boy?

3. Mark took a huge breath but still the words came out at a tremor…..“Yyes am rready Mommy, I realise my fears will at times test you for that I am truly sorry… but I do wish for this deep inside, so any fears I have, I gladly hand them to your care & compassion, to regress and nurture me into who & what we Both wish for…So yes Mommy your “Baby boy” wants this with all his heart.... Mommy hugged him tightly, anticipating the clock in the nursery awaiting for it to strike Midnight !! ...

4. The nursery was a work of art they had both built together a room where Baby Mark was dwarfed by the furniture within the nursery ! .......As the big hand met the little hand of midnight…Mommy began to speak almost in a whisper…“Baby? give Mommy her “Gift” of your submission.”

5. She smiled warmly watching the mirror as her baby began wetting the cartoon disposable, she could see it changing colour through the soft white plastic pants, she stroked his hair soothingly as the nappy began to swell outwards…“Clever Baby All done Sweet-pea?” (he nodded into her soft shoulder welling up slightly in the knowledge that this was his “Gift”, his submission to her, the first act of remaining in nappies 24/7 at Mommy’s will)

The very smell of her soft flesh had always made him feel a Deep want of regression ! But tonight she smelt Devine. Chrissy had taken a shower before this chat, washing her hair with Johnston’s Baby shampoo, she then oiled her whole body with baby oil! Knowing the effect it would have on Mark, pushing him over the sensory edge....After all the Hot pulsing between her legs drove her want of complete control over him! …“Clever Boy let’s get you changed & down for the night in your onesie and blue booties, then I'll read you a nice little story”….

6. As he waddled slowly forward, suddenly Mommy barked “And what do you think you are doing Mr? ” ...He was puzzled by this remark & Mommy’s new stern tone? Mommy simply smiled saying “Are you a big toddler yet Crinkle Butt? No, you are not ! All fours baby... Now! As what did Mommy say to you about obedience? (He got down on all fours, as she wished, knowing soon he would have the blue crawling booties on with the nasty studs that made walking near impossible anyway! )

That and the ankle cuffs with the tiny locks would make removing them a futile task!)… As he crawled Mommy patted baby’s botty “Much better see you can be a clever Bunny for Mommy! ” Baby jolted forwards as Mommy spanked him full force ! “Pardon Baby? ”... Yethss mommy ! ...

“Much better think we just earned our first “redstar” baby Yes?” …. “Wess mommy sworry…” “Clever Baby you can put it on the naughty behaviour chart after Mommy changes that soggy bott bott of your’s ehy? Up on the changing table then Mr, let’s get that wet nappy off & your special night time dipee on!”

7. As baby got up on the table he could feel the soggy thin cartoon nappy sagging! ... Complete humiliation overcoming him at his new lot in life, a true baby boy status started to hit home. God how he loved this girl so much, knowing he would now no longer be able to touch her in a Big way he felt that new part of the Humiliation was ever looming and yet to come pressing closer. Mommy was very clever, astute and thorough, she would have a lot in store for her new charge.…Mommy tugged the plastic pants down “Someone has a soggy bumbum! look at this wet nappy Mr! (He couldn’t miss it in full view from the mirrored ceiling over the changing station ! This had been Chrissy’s idea as she loved the Humiliation element that it brought! )…“Aaawww don’t fret your going to be doing this all the time now Crinkle Butt!...As Mommy is going to make sure you become such a dribbling dependant little boy”….she chuckled lightly...There seemed to be a glint in her eyes too.

8. The clean up was very intense & had baby stirring underneath her! She reapplied the thick white cream paying just enough attention to all the right spots then she delicately but quickly slid the night time pluggie in. This was Very large & could be adjusted to vibrate with a very intense level if was required… baby gasped as Mommy pushed it all the way home! As Baby moved she chuckled lightly and playfully spanked the huge night time nappy to a dull thud once she was done! “Mommy's little drum.” she cooed. “ All that padding is going to make sure you will stay safe till morning Sweet-pea… “Now come to Mommy”. He instinctively crawled towards her open lap, she guided him to rest his head in her arms and his back against her leg.

Mommy stretched across to her right side, reaching for the giant glass night time bottle, full with the formula she had earlier prepared.

10. “Take hold with your mittens Sweet-pea, Mommy wants to see how you do, if its to heavy then I will hold it too” She now began to playfully stroke and tease his nipples as he held the bottle unsteadily! The gurgling was instant behind the milky teat as baby had developed very sensitive little nipples, just as she had designed! Straining in his bulky nappy wiggling gently on the spot between her, the whimpering and soft moans started up as the bottle continued to empty. When baby finished the last drops of formula she began to rub and stroke his back, gently massaging him encouraging those little burpies out... Baby squealed as he nearly had an accident at the same! “Ok Sweet-Pea off to Beddie Byes.” She gently held and led his shaking hand. “But first please put the star up on Your chart!” Baby took a red star off the pad & put it onto the first square of naughty chart… (The red stars were for a Sunday evening’s end of week “punishment time” If he had gold stars that would bring a reward) But red !...............Mommy patted the mattress on the double bed sized Cot. “Ok Bunny Boy hop up into your cot now.” He would sleep with Mommy Bear at ni nights time (but unbeknown to Baby, he'd be napping in the day time as well, part of her new routine she had in store for him)! She patted again “Position Baby !”…or do you want a second Red star “!...She chuckled as He scrambled into the cot positioning himself for Mommy!

11. Mommy lifted up the little blue booties to his new horizon line. She took the first swiftly and deftly to his toesies slipping it on his right foot, click the ankle cuffs latched shut. Next was the left, it too had the same bemusing locking system, designed so the Baby (him) could not free himself from the deceivingly cute little slippers. He'd never seen how the locks worked. Click... She smiled at him gently, knowing that the spiked shoes would limit his ability to now stand unaided and maximise her ability to retrain him to a more appropriate babyish crawl. Yes they would make life much easier outdoors too... “Clever Boy, almost done, then we can have that chat and Mommy will read you your bed time story after… ok baby?” ( “Wess Mommy” ) Clever boy Mommy does so love those manners Sweet-Pea well done!”

12. Now a little afraid realising he was properly in Mommy’s world. Things would continue to happen now that he would have no control over. Next Mommy lifted his brand new dummy, he had not seen this one before! It must have been a recent purchase, this one was an extra large sized red yellow and blue primary coloured affair. She knew it had been designed specifically to help him dribble (just a little) and make his big boy words very difficult !!

Putting it into his mouth she moved to his ear and whispered softly “Mommy wants you to nurse on this dum dum sweetie, I won't fasten it into place just yet unless you show me that you can't be trusted, OK?” It was a rhetorically phrased question that didn't need an answer, but there was that same look in her eyes.

13. “Now Sweet-pea first we'll have our wee chat then Mommy will read you a nice story before ni-nights. Your going to need lots of sleep Bunny Boy as Mommy has lots of adventures in store for you tomorrow ! … Now listen very closely as I will say this only once….Mommy is going to have you fast for five days ....This is to strengthen baby’s immune system and also induce a bit of a body reset, then on day six we will start your new baby food regime… This will be all fruit and vegetables as Mommy is going to have a very health baby… So then Baby, you can get adjusted to those adorable nappies nice & easily...Your only going to be drinking fluids for the next five days first though, so Mommy is focusing on those soggy bum bums to begin with, then we will work up to your mushies…Your such a cutie for sucking on your new binkie like a good boy. Well done!

14. “She chuckled lightly lifting the story book to begin…

The alternate “100 Acre Wood”......

God she was so dam hot there and then, in her best condescending cooing Mommy voice. She began “Once upon a time there lived a boy who was very very lonely inside, he desperately wanted to have a friend. Out walking one day in the woods he found a small bunny, it hopped right over to him and began hugging the boy tightly.....The rabbit started to gently speak to the boy! “Hello Crinkle Butt ....The boy protested to the Rabbit “Am a not a Crinkle Butt!”....But the Bunny simply chuckled “I know who you really are Silly! The boy looked around but nobody was there? As he turned around the rabbit stood beside him again swatting his bottom Thwack !!... “I suppose this isn't your nappy then Crinkle Butt?” The boy stayed quiet as he felt embarrassed. But the Bunny Smiled gently and hugged him even tighter. Bunny the Rabbit then took Crinkle Butt’s hand ....“Best we get back inside or Mommy will be angry with us & we will get the hairbrush! The boy took the rabbits hand, as he too hated the hairbrush spankings.....“Ok Bunny we best hurry then as it’s getting dark & Mommy will want us fed & then to Nigh nights”.....They both skipped through the puddles getting Mud all over their legs! ...On the porch Mommy was already waiting standing with her arms folded....Babies look at the colour of you !.... She held out her finger pointing to inside, that’s when both Babies noticed Mommy already had the hairbush!”....oh bother.

15. “Now Sweet-pea I think that’s enough for tonight, Mommy can see you are looking tired I'll read you some more tomorrow if your a good boy. She gently stroked his face “Off to sleepies now.....She began to start the lullaby mobile that hung overhead and the cute little noises and lights softly sprung into action and gently soothed her precious little one into the land of dreams...Mommy lifted the plug remote and set it to the night time precycle with the hypnotic recordings ! These would play all night as the monitor recorded his sleep & dream patterns, it would match the patterns playing the recording & pluggie vibes to their best effects.....Night after night she would subliminally reprogram his brain to be a contented infant Baby Boy... To her will... to her wants... to her Deepest held desire over controlling him, but also letting him be the baby he was destined to become! This would be Absolute !! Her new hypnotherapist friend would help with new insertions of “trigger words” that would become instant in there use over him, no matter where, no matter when or who they were with !.....Fuck every inch of her was tingling with her desire to further his regression......

She looked down at him all safe in that cot with an oversized dummy bouncing in and out. Fuck he was already hungrily sucking on that dummy! Her Chest ached with anticipation....This was just the start, she held all the cards, she had everything ready for the morning & for the day’s events......Time to sleep though, putting her arm over his chest a small whimper came......She smiled to herself...Tomorrow he would go through so many trials and emotions. Day by day his emotional state would become much easier to control due to her fasting retraining, first hunger & loss of energy...then as the energy started to peak later on in the week she would simple take a sense from him so as to have more control mentally over his nappies!....awash with thoughts flashing through her mind she settled down to sleep knowing the “Hypno-Mommy” tapes would be working there magic on him....These she would use as she put him down for his afternoon nap too!

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saphirered · 3 years ago

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Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader

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gaymershigh · 4 years ago

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hello! can I request a hc of the dorm leaders where their s/o kiss them for the first time and run away because they're embarassed/shy? I hope I follow your rules, thank you!

Of course! This might be shorter since I'm going straight to the their reaction because that's all I can think of (Ｔ▽Ｔ) I've finally gained all my energy to do a 5+ character's request but after this I'm gonna go back to focusing 5 or below character request-

Triggers: Vil being RIDICULOUSLY ooc :')

Dorm leaders reacting to their very shy gn! s/o kissing them for the first time and running away

It's obvious you two never kissed before as both parties are too embarrassed to initiate it first. As much as Riddle wanted to give you a smooch to show his affection, he just couldn't as you might not be comfortable about kissing and the only thing he has kissed before was his pillow. He was just too shy and inexperienced to kiss you first as he doesn't want to mess up the magic moment.

When you kissed him and ran away, he was absolutely still as he had no time to process what had just happened. Slowly, his face gets redder as more minutes of him staying still passes. People passed and tried to walk faster as they mistook him getting angrier by the second but in reality, he's just so happy and all blushed at the fact you stole his first kiss when you're the super shy one in the relationship.

He's unsure what to do next, should he chase after you and return the kiss like in that one book that he read in the library out of boredom or wait until you come back as you might also want time to process what you just did as well. He went for the first choice as leaving you hanging at the edge of your seat waiting for his next move is such an improper thing for the Heartslaybyul dorm leader.

He was nervous when you were sitting on a bench at the courtyard, all alone and looking quite antsy. He cleared his throat to approach you directly as walking from behind isn't such a good idea. It was rather for a few seconds as he suddenly forgot what his lines were the moment you two locked eyes. He quickly apologized for the sudden silence as he sat next to you, holding your hand.

"(Y/N), I apologize for not kissing after a long time of dating until you had to initiate it first. Oh, that's not the case? I see but I still feel terrible for not planting a single kiss on your lips before, should I do one now?"

There's no way in hell you two never kissed because if there's no kiss until at least a week after being together, that's not Leona you're dating. He craves the feeling of being loved or having someone to love. Not only that, you being more shy and submissive gives him power and pride, you're his treasure and wants to treat you as one. He doesn't mind that you don't return the kiss back as he's very understanding of how shy you are but of course he teased you about it, hopefully you don't misunderstood him pressuring you to return the favor or something.

When you kissed him for the first time, he was shocked. You actually had the guts to do that!? He knows that one day you will (hopefully) break out of that shell of yours and return the favour but he didn't that scenario that plays on in his head sometimes really coming to life. He managed to recover from the sudden shock and smirked at the thought. You finally did it, you should get a reward by an instant, no? Who cares if you scurried away immediately after you did that, you got him off guard, you deserve a prize.

He was so lost in his own cloud of thought that he almost forgot that you ran away. Unlike the others, he will be like always, lazily going after you by picking up where your lovable scent is. Even had the audacity to yawn halfway walking there while you could be having a breakdown after what you just did. He got sudden thoughts of you freaking out and laughed at himself of how cute that mental mental is, this guy really is something.

When he found you at the botanical garden sitting on the floor, he had no single hesitancy to just call out your name and approach you calmly like your sudden move earlier was just a fever dream. He picked you up from the floor for you to stand up as he cupped your cheek, staring at your eyes with an entertained face.

"You finally got some bravery, Herbivore. You took me by surprise just a little bit and I suppose I'm proud. Now, don't you think you should get a reward?"

Just like Riddle, he's very inexperienced when it comes to love or just having a nice relationship with others besides the Leech twins in general. He would prefer if you kissed first as he's insecure about initiating it first because when it comes to first kisses, aren't they like, very important? Well in his view it is as for what he has read, a first kiss is like an amazing experience that you will only experience once in a lifetime and never again no matter what species you are, it's magical.

And he finally understood what it really meant when you pecked his lips. No matter if it's a full kiss or just a normal quick peck before your sudden flee, it still feels phenomenal. He's very shocked and is aware you're going further away from him but he just didn't do anything. He was just staring at you as you were getting farther and farther as he brushed his lips. Of course, he forces himself to regain his composure as he didn't want to be seen as a foolish lovestruck person in this prestigious campus.

The twins saw what just happened and they were teasing him mad. They can tell that neither of you kissed before until that little performance as his reaction is something a "person who never gets kissed" would do. Since they're in public, he held a lot more power on them and scolded the two for this childish rambling and told them to go back to their work. He knew he had to chase after you, even if he's happy you did the first move, he still felt wrong for making you do it because of his insecurities.

When he found you, he was contemplating whether to go back to his place and leave you alone or not because of how you looked at the moment. You were walking back and forth while looking down, probably having a crisis for doing something so brave out of the blue. He had to drag you somewhere more private as he was aware his face was getting redder again. Even if his words sounded relaxed, you can tell his heart was racing as well.

"Honey, I apologize for making you kiss me first, I really wanted to kiss you as well but I wasn't sure if you were uncomfortable or not. You..you just wanted to kiss me? Because you love me so much?..Really? Ah. I- I see. Very well then, since we're in a more private place, should I…do the same to return my feelings?"

Kalim has kissed you in a lot of places but it was never at the mouth and he never explained why. Maybe he just didn't want to kiss you in the mouth because it's too early in the relationship but then again, it's Kalim, would that really matter to him? He has already kissed your cheek the third day of your relationship so you doubt he really cares about boundaries that much. Well, he wanted to kiss you on the lips badly but Jamil had told him before that the first kiss isn't something so minor like any other kisses he gave to you. It's a more memorable part of the relationship so he should be careful and surprisingly, he obliged to his words, not fully understanding.

But he finally understood them almost completely when you leaned in for the kiss. He was shocked and his heart was fluttering no matter how fast the kiss was. Jamil was right, it was very magical and a memorable moment, it's like one of those fairy tales, he happily thought to himself. Though, he pouted at the fact that it was just a small kiss and his neck kisses lasted longer than that. He actually didn't have a tangent and told you to wait a minute but you probably didn't hear it as you were already away from him.

He took longer than everyone else when it comes to catching up with you as he completely forgot where you head off to due to his lack of capability to remember a lot of things at the same time but it doesn't matter as he tried his hardest to follow you by the help of random students and such just sudden remembrance. He was calling out your name but he didn't hear any response, something told him that you didn't want to talk and avoiding him so calling won't help. Even if you want some alone time, he wants to see you as much as possible because he loves you that much.

When he found you, he practically ran and flung himself into your arms, giggling like a child that got a big toy as a birthday present and a child that got some sweets combined. He was throwing dozens of compliments of how brave you are for kissing him first and how happy he is if it wasn't so obvious. Now that you finally kissed him on the lips he can now do the same anytime he wants, right!?

"Ya qamar! You did it, you finally kissed me! On the lips too! Why did you run away from me earlier, you did a good job! Can I kiss you back now? Can I?"

Vil has mostly kissed you a lot since he's very experienced with it but it's not as much as we thought it would be. He of course only kisses you in private areas as he doesn't want to spark any type of controversy even if he didn't keep your relationship hidden from the media, which he did as his fans and the mainstream media in general were probably not ready yet for the shock. He gets a little bit upset that you haven't returned any of the favor but won't talk to you about it as he thinks that you're insecure about getting caught or something similar to that.

That's why he was so bugged eyed when you kissed his luscious lips. He looked at you with so much sparkles, his affections were finally returned after so long and he doesn't even mind that you flee right after. He slowly and meekly mumbled out your name as he watched you scurry off into the distance. He had a bunch of relationships before and they only have returned his compliments, not his physical love. He felt like crying right there on the spot but didn't for the sake of his reputation even though nobody is there to see.

He called for Rook's to find your whereabouts as he knew what Rook is capable of. Rook obliged with full passion as he ran and found you as fast as an arrow. As he wanted to run, it's very improper for the Pomefiore dorm leader to do so the best he could've done is speed walk. Thankfully, nobody is foolish enough to not leave a walkway as they saw him in a hurry. He was eager to see you despite his straight expression.

When he found you, he called out your name in the usual but still loving tone as what he usually does as he always pours his feelings on you. He puts one of his hands on your shoulder and the other to lift your chin to see his face. His expression screams "I love you" and his tone was incredibly soft-spoken. If any passerby sees this, they're lucky enough to see this rare expression and not get caught as all his attention was on you.

"Darling, I know this is unsuitable for me to act like this while in public areas but I couldn't help but feel very happy when you finally kissed me on the lips. I'm sure you love me but you doing that makes me no longer need to doubt your feelings for me. Now, let's go somewhere more private. I want to pour my feelings on you as well."

If you expect Idia to kiss or even know how to kiss, you're weird. The only things he had ever kissed in his life are his bodypillows, plushies, figures, posters and even embarrassingly his own computer screen when his favorite character said something very nice to him. He doesn't even blame you that you have never kissed him at all because 1)He's a loser 2)Who on Twisted Wonderland in their right mind would kiss this guy out of everyone else?! Both you and Eliza apparently but come on. Yeah, he's aware that you two are in a relationship but please, he can't even smile without scaring the children how would a kiss be better?

When you kiss him, his eyes were so shocked and he did that pose where he puts his clenched fists to his chest in fear and shock. My guy took around 10 minutes to process this and it's not even himself who got him back to reality, it was Cater and Kalim. When his cloud of thought disappeared and looked at the two of them very slowly, he sprinted out of there just like you did but to his room. He shut his door tight and hopped on his bed, covering and screaming in the pillows.

Ortho, who is very concerned as to why his brother is having a spasm on his bed, kept scanning Idia and asking what's wrong. Idia trusts his little brother and spoke to him the entire situation and doesn't know whether to chase you as seeing you again after that is just embarrassing and he doesn't know what to do nor say! The robot kept convincing him to chase you but knowing Idia, once Idia made his mind, it will be almost impossible to change it no matter who you are.

Ortho took this into his own hands and tried to follow you without his brother's knowledge but he knew he wouldn't mind. When he found you, he apologized for his brother not attending and he had to be the replacement.

"(Y/N)! I'm sorry that big brother couldn't make it but I'm just telling you so that you wouldn't get the wrong idea. He likes it but is just too shy to confront you! Follow me, you should come see him in his room!"

Malleus has placed his kisses on you multiple times before but just like Vil, nobody knows about this except the Diasomnia dorm. Nobody is foolish or unloyal to the great Malleus and he knows that so he shouldn't be doubting about telling them about this valuable information. He keeps this lowkey because he knows how much fairies look down on humans, especially non magical ones. Even if you have magic or not, human or a beast, it's still risky if you're telling your relationship if you're from a noble family so he understands why you don't kiss back, just ignore his pouts.

When you do kiss him, his eyes went wide but not for that long, he's not that experienced in feeling loved romantically but he's not gonna die from that kiss. He smirked and chuckled in amusement, you're so brave. Even if you're his lover and just ran away, he still finds it interesting as his past lovers were too scared to hug him first. He shook his head at the sight of you trying to run away.

There's no point in running as you bumped into him while you're running to God knows where. He teleported to your whereabouts, how does he know your exact location you ask? Who knows, probably some fae stuff but that's not the point. He took you into a very secluded area. The forest, to be exact and at the very deep parts too. He stopped and looked at you with an amused expression.

"You kissed and your next move was to run away? Hahah! You're very funny, dear. You must be wondering as to why I'm taking you to these dark parts of the woods but fear not, as I'm not going to punish you or anything of the sort. Instead, I'm going to give you a kiss as well and we have no need to worry about getting caught into the act."

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ihatecoconut · 3 years ago

Text

No Longer Me

Cross posted to AO3

Natalia Romanova is eight years old and ‘the best the Red Room has ever seen’ when she’s pulled out of one lesson by some handlers she’s never interacted with before. They say nothing but her name, take her away from the training rooms, still dressed in her ballet gear, and down the long twisting corridors to Dreykov’s office. She’s been in the Red Room long enough to know the punishments for showing fear, but still her heart speeds up as they open the doors, usher her in and point to a chair.

There’s a second chair across from his desk as well and there’s a small blonde girl sitting in it, maybe the same age as Natalia herself when she was first brought into the Red Room. She sits next to the girl- toddler, really- and sits up straight, keeping her posture; they only could have brought her in here as a punishment and she isn’t going to give them a reason to extend that. The blonde girl shifts a little in her seat as they wait and Natalia wonders if they’re going to make her kill her, she knows how she’d do it, the girl’s face is still small enough that she could be smothered by one hand over the mouth and nose, holding her down with the other hand.

Dreykov enters and she rises instinctively, feeling the other girl copy her just a beat too late. His mouth twists up a little at that and neither of them get praised as he sits at his desk. Natalia keeps her eyes on the floor obediently and yet she can still feel him looking over her body, over the way the leotard hugs the figure that has not developed yet.

“Natalia.” He says, she can hear the proud smile in his voice and lets herself relax slightly. This isn’t a punishment.

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Yelena Belova.”

She turns to look at the girl who is already looking back up at her, bright blue eyes and blonde hair and the remnants of baby fat still on her cheeks. Natalia imagines the way her cheeks would feel soft under her own hard hands.

“The two of you have been assigned to a mission.” Dreykov continues, leaning forwards until she looks up at him. “Exciting, hmm?” He has switched to English.

“Yes, sir.” She repeats, uncertain. This is a new situation and too often new situations have meant pain and punishment, no matter how proud he seems.

Dreykov gestures with one hand and she is given a manilla folder. A brief for the mission. She curls her fingers around it like it is the most precious thing in the world. Most Widows don’t get to leave the Red Room until they have completed their training at least once, if not twice, to be able to leave at eight years old is a privilege she hadn’t dared even imagine.

“Yelena is to be your sister,” He continues, eyes fixed on her face. She schools her expression, scared that he can read her thoughts, “you will read that in the brief, and the fact that you will be a part of an all-American family.”

She doesn’t dare open it in front of him, but her fingers itch to comb through the details.

“Your handlers here will make sure you actually look like sisters. Blonde hair.”

Her red hair is the one thing that she herself owns, the one thing that nobody else shares or can take away from her. It makes her stand out in the Red Room; it makes the handlers favour her. It makes her who she is. She can’t argue.

“You will meet your new parents shortly,” Dreykov adds, turning away, “the Iron Maiden and the Red Guardian, hm?”

Her heart freezes in her chest. None of the girls in the Red Room have ever met or seen the Red Guardian, but the Iron Maiden is a regular guest- whenever she comes to report to Dreykov, she stops by the training rooms and watches them. In a world where every adult would as soon kill her as praise her, the Iron Maiden is what Natalia is most scared of, she represents everything that Natalia doesn’t want to become. Hard, cold, attuned to everyone’s movements, paranoid and yet unquestioning, the perfect spy.

“Yes, sir.”

He raises his chin, surveying them both. “Remember, she’s your sister now.”

And that’s it, they’re dismissed. Yelena blinks up at her, still too young to properly understand what his tone means, and Natalia runs Dreykov’s parting words through her head as they are escorted out. Sisters. How do sisters act?

“Take her hand.” One of the handlers orders as they make their way back down the corridors to what could generously be described as a salon.

Natalia switches the hand that is holding the file and hold it out for Yelena to take. She does, with what would be a concerning amount of enthusiasm to anyone else. The handlers punish any physical contact for the first few years, even before they start training, starving them all of human contact, and then use that to reward them with hands on shoulders, on elbows. The warmth of the little girl’s hand sends shocks up Natalia’s arm, unexpected enough that she nearly yanks her hand back; they’re being watched, however, and so she forces herself to relax and keep walking.

The Iron Maiden herself appears while Natalia’s hair is being bleached. She has been reading the file to distract herself from how there are hands near her throat, in vulnerable places, and reading parts aloud to Yelena, the bits that she will hopefully understand.

“Natasha.” Melina Vostokoff says, watching her.

Natalia- now Natasha, an American name- cannot rise to meet her as she feels obliged to do, so she just keeps her eyes down, respectfully.

Melina sighs, “Look at me.”

She brings her gaze up instantly, moving her head fast enough that one of those bleaching her hair yanks on it.

“Hello.” Melina crouches down in front of her, smiles warmly, but Natasha can see the utter lack of emotions in her eyes, the blankness created by the Red Room. “I’m your mother now.”

Yelena, who has not been given a new name, beams at this, hopping off her chair and coming over to hug Melina. Natasha watches the same reaction she herself had experienced not long ago, the desire to shake off the girl’s unexpected warmth, the touch that has not been earned by killing another girl.

“How long will this take?” Melina asks, rising and allowing Yelena to continue clinging onto her legs.

“Another hour, maybe.” The handlers continue to speak in Russian, even as their newly minted family practices their English.

“Alright. Send them to me when you have finished. We need to pick out clothing.”

She places Yelena on Natasha’s lap, ignoring the way that Natasha instinctively flinches away and leaves. Natasha takes note of her outfit as she does- jeans and a t-shirt- in the way they have been trained to. It’s one to fit in, not stand out, not the sort of mission outfit a Widow would normally wear. She looks down at her own ballet clothes- practical, the same grey as their normal uniforms, the same one that Yelena is wearing.

Jeans. She flexes her legs and wonders what they will look like when not wearing clothes designed to show them off.

Yelena snuggles deeper into her lap and she lets her, wrapping her arms around the girl and looking again at the file. The same line as before jumps out at her: Long-term mission. Minimum two years. Maximum six years. Six years away from the Red Room might just render her useless to them, would strip her of all the skills they had taught her and leave her a normal fourteen-year-old. She shut her eyes and hoped.

There are locks of red left on the floor when they’re done with her hair from where they cut it first and she wants to pick on up, keep it in her fist and remind herself that she isn’t the all-American girl they’ve made her out to be, that even if six years do pass, she will still be the same little girl who killed other little girls to survive. Yelena beams when they are stood, side by side, in front of the mirror and compared. They do look like sisters, now, Dreykov was cruel and frightening but he knew how to use them.

Melina greets them in the hanger. She’s standing in the middle of several boxes, more have been loaded onto the small plane that will be taking them to Cuba to catch their final flight over to America, Ohio, but these ones are open, and Natasha can see clothes in them. Each one is labelled: Pastels, Darks, Denim etc.

She’s still holding Yelena’s hand when they approach and Melina smiles approvingly.

“Come, pick some clothes.” Her Russian accent has all but vanished in the time since they last saw her.

Natasha picks out clothes that fit the brief she has been given, mostly jeans with some bright t-shirts and outer layers. Yelena tries to take all of the clothes and in the end, Melina and Natasha end up picking most of her clothes out of the pastels box. Natasha can see that Melina has completely forgotten what it is like to be a child as young as Yelena, to have that innocence- she hasn’t been one of them for too long, hasn’t been constantly faced by the newer recruits, watching the handlers break their spirits slowly and then all at once until they too follow orders like a robot, fire rounds into the centre of the target.

Alexei joins them then, tall and smiling, a man who did not have his childhood stolen by a man that treats them as tools. His is brunet, but light enough that it is not unthinkable that he would have blonde daughters, briefly Natasha wonders how much thought was put into creating their fake little family. He produces documents for them all, passports, birth certificates, a marriage certificate for him and Melina- for Alex and Melissa Spier.

“Spider!” Alexei laughs when he tells them their new surname and Natasha and Melina both smile back, even if neither of them find it that funny. It’s Dreykov again, another reminder that no matter how far physically they are, they will never escape the Red Room.

He seems to notice their hesitation because he puts the documentation away again and opens his arms for a hug. Yelena runs to him immediately, allowing him to pick her up and calls him ‘Papa’ without any hesitation, he laughs at that, switches her to one arm and opens the other to Natasha. She walks forwards, she knows what is expected of her and allows him to wrap her up.

“Don’t tense so much.” Melina says, frowning slightly behind her and Natasha tries to forcibly relax her body. It doesn’t work.

“It is fine,” Alexei says, releasing her, “you will get used to it.”

And then it’s Melina’s turn. This was their last chance to be pulled off and she realises, as Melina leans in to kiss her new husband that she passed whatever test this was because they didn’t pull her off, didn’t find another girl who wasn’t yet afraid of contact.

Yelena laughs at the noise they make when they separate and for a moment, Natasha allows herself to believe that this could be real. And then a handler approaches with two syringes and Natasha breathes out. Even while the charade is up, the rules still apply. Every Widow sedated on entry and exit.

“Set a good example for your sister.” Melina murmurs to her and Natasha drops her shoulders, smiles calmly up at Yelena and doesn’t stop, even when they push the needle into her neck. She thinks Yelena might have screamed, but the drug starts working immediately.

When she wakes, it’s in a car, late at night and Melina turns around to smile at her.

“Welcome to America.”

As if on cue, they pass a sign welcoming them to Ohio and Natasha allows herself to breathe. They made it, all the way, and without anyone calling them back, locking her back up. She has a sudden desire to throw the door open, roll out of the car and run and run and run.

“The child locks are on.” Melina tells her, still turned around, dark eyes watching her, unreadable. “And you still have a tracker.”

Of course, Dreykov’s best agents know what she thinks, how she thinks and of course they prepared for that. Hatred burns through her, even as she returns Melina’s calm smile.

The house they’re staying in is already furnished, agents have been posing as moving companies over the past week to prepare it for them. Two bedroom, two bathroom, kitchen, dining room, living room, and a small storage room that they will be keeping anything that could blow their cover. Yelena is yawning when they arrive, already tired despite the long period of unconsciousness and Alexei carries her into the house, waving at the few neighbours that are still awake and peering out at them curiously. Natasha follows, keeping close to him and slips into the other bed in their shared room.

Yelena is young enough that she will forget all she ever knew of the Red Room, memories fading until they only come up in bad dreams that she cannot understand, and Natasha suddenly hates her for it, hates that she will be happy here in Ohio while all Natasha herself will ever be able to think of is the fact that the Red Room will take them back one day, without warning, without mercy. She watches the blonde girl, sleeping happily in the new bed and turns away. She can’t sleep, something’s wrong.

“Put your arm up.” Melina’s voice says from the doorway.

Natasha sits up, fast, irritated that she hadn’t noticed the movement.

“Put your arm over the headboard.” It’s an order and her body knows how to respond to those.

She lies back down and raises her hand, hooking the wrist over the edge of the headboard and a feeling a rightness comes over her in waves, along with the sleepiness that has been kept at the edges by her unhappiness. There’s no handcuff holding her arm there, but this is how she sleeps, how she has always slept for as long as she can remember.

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Natasha.”

She pillows her head on her upper arm and shuts her eyes. “Goodnight, ma’am… mom.”

Melina sighs from the doorway, but she doesn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “We’ll get there.”

Sleep is already taking Natasha, the day’s travelling too much for her small body, but she hears the words and cannot help but wish that they could stay there.

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hualianff · 3 years ago

Text

Mi Amor(tentia) II 《I》

Every Sunday, XL personally delivers the ingredients to HC to restock after each week. Sometimes it’s during the morning before classes, HC inviting XL to stay and chat over coffee.

Other times, it’s in the middle of HC’s classes because XL’s only has so many chunks of free time to drop the ingredients off. XL usually keeps himself scarce as he helps himself to deposit the ingredients off on HC’s desk in his office.

On days XL is especially busy with classes, meetings with outside personnel and tending to the school’s greenhouse, his sixth-year teaching assistant, BY, will deliver ingredients to HC.

HC is easily the person XL enjoys spending time with the most. They have such fun conversations and HC makes XL feel so comfortable and listened to. Plus, HC is undeniably charming and handsome. XL thanks whatever higher power there is that someone as refined as HC took XL under his wing.

XL has learned and observed that HC is a professor that students either love or hate. Some perceive the potions professor as sketchy-looking and unfair in his grading. They take HC’s pushing as ridiculing, then complain about their poor marks after refusing to do the bare minimum of the assignment.

(Unbeknownst to HC, XL has taken it upon himself to passive aggressively warn these students from bad-mouthing HC in the hallways.)

Understandably, The first year students absolutely cower in HC’s presence. But from fourth year and up, HC is one of the most loved professors. When HC begins to passionately lecture with really big hand gestures and funny word combinations, the students can’t help but admire him with starry eyes.

(Student: “Hua Lao Shi, I don’t think ‘impossibleness’ is a word.”

HC: “It is now. As I was saying, don’t let the impossibleness of a goal influence your confidence in working towards it. You should not pay attention to whether something is possible or not, but rather focus on what steps you’re taking to find your answer.)

He’s clearly smart; intellectually based from the readings he assigns students from his own books; socially as his humor is always on point and he never misses a beat to tease his students; and emotionally because HC does not tolerate bullying in his house or his classroom. (Nor in the school, if he can help it.)

HC himself was bullied back in the muggle orphanage and during his time at Hogwarts. He knows what it feels like to wake up dreading going to classes and interacting with people who had nothing better to do than put others down.

So while HC can seem intimidating and blunt at first, he genuinely has his students’ best interests and wellbeing in mind. Witnessing how seriously HC takes his job as a teacher and trusted adult figure, XL’s feelings wrap around him like vines and squeeze him in their hold anytime he’s around HC.

XL’s never had a crush like this before.

Later in the semester, XL and HC are chosen as the professors to monitor the first years on their first trip to Hogsmeade. There is no doubt the transfiguration professor, SQX, took part in pulling some strings to make this happen for XL.

What no one knows is that the defense against the dark arts professor also played matchmaker. In an intense game of wizard's chest that unfortunately ended in his defeat, HX was forced to nominate HC to go with XL.

HC and XL make the best guides. XL is very enthusiastic in answering first years’ questions while HC is good at describing things through muggle terminology.

During his years at Hogwarts, XL has always loved the Hogsmeade trips and bought new candies from Honeydukes each time. In fact, he has a huge sweet tooth that he can never satisfy. Cue XL showing the students around Honeydukes and HC buying all of XL’s favorite goodies in the background.

When it’s time to move on to the next store, HC presents the bagged sweets to XL with a smile.

(XL, staring at the bagged sweets: “San Lang! You shouldn’t have!”

HC, grabbing XL’s hand and physically transferring the bag: “Nonsense. Gege deserves a reward for working so hard lately. Giving him a few candies is the least I can do.”

XL, clutching the bag tightly, fingers tingling from brushing against HC’s own: “If you insist. Many thanks, San Lang.”

XL snacks on some sweets for the rest of the trip. HC watches with a pleased eye.)

One day during finals week before winter break, XL falls ill with a terrible migraine. He’s been prone to migraines for a while now, which he’s used to enduring with medicine tablets that don’t do much to ease the pain.

XL manages to get through his morning classes. But by lunch time, his stomach pain worsened tenfold to which HC, who planned on having lunch with XL, convinced the herbology professor to take the rest of the day off.

“But my classes-” XL’s voice breaks off as he winces as another wave of nausea sweeps through his body. HC puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I will fill in for you,” HC assures. XL looks like he’s about to protest, however, the potions professor holds a finger up to his lips. “I can quickly brew something up for your pain. You like the smell of eucalyptus, right? I can add a faint scent to soothe your sinuses too.”

“San Lang…”

HC fixes XL with a pointed stare. XL’s face softens, eyes closing in defeat.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. Without thinking, HC reaches over to cup XL’s cheek, sliding back to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before massaging his temple.

“It’s not a problem. Gege needs rest.”

Luckily, HC doesn’t have afternoon classes lined up for the afternoon. Once XL has retired to his room to relax, HC settles behind XL’s desk as students filter in for class to take the final exam.

(Students who had potions that morning entering the herbology room: “Oh shit-”)

Between classes, HC completes the tasks written in XL’s planner he left during lunch. Unfortunately, HC has a certain TA who sidles up next to him out of nowhere, whispering inconspicuously, “I know you have the hots for Xie Lao Shi.”

HC, who had been marking scrolls, jolts in shock. His left hand streaks across the parchment, leaving a red trail in its wake.

(Student who receives his scroll with a huge red line: “The fuck???? Does this mean it’s wrong? Do I need to do it again?”)

HC ignores BY as he continues about his business. Except BY rolls a chair right beside the desk, her prying eyes making HC feel like he needs to cover more than just his right eye.

“Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.”

“Watch how you speak to your professor, young lady-”

“Watch how you speak to your professor, young lady,” BY repeats in a nasally voice. HC tightly clenches the pen in his hand. BY, unfazed about testing HC’s patience, sighs pitifully. “Sorry, Hua Lao Shi. I swear, I’m only trying to help.”

“Help with what?” HC asks, attempting to remain oblivious. BY gives HC a deadpan. “Ok, fine. How could you possibly help?”

“Well, I heard that Xie Lao Shi might be crushing on another professor-” HC chokes on his spit. “-and maybe you two…”

BY taps the tips of her pointer fingers together.

“What!?” HC aggressively clears his throat. The scrolls are long forgotten now. “H-how do you know?”

“He told me,” BY reveals, smirking like the devil’s child.

“Who is it? Tell me more,” HC demands.

“Ah ah ah–you first.”

HC can’t believe this girl who has him cornered is the same timid third-year transfer student who couldn’t even look him in the eye. He bites his tongue, reluctant to discuss his person of interest with a seventeen-year-old. BY just sits there, looking unbothered as she examines her nails while waiting for HC to cave.

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes before HC admits it.

“Fine. Yes, I like Xie Lao Shi.”

“What do you like about him?” BY asks immediately. HC itches to take points from Hufflepuff; what is this, an interrogation?

To no one’s surprise, HC spends the next half hour praising XL’s selling points (which are all of them) and subtly hinting how plans to ask the herbology professor out soon. BY unhelpfully inputs that HC needs to confess his feelings first.

“And then he needs to accept your feelings too,” she adds, much to HC’s irritation.

“I thought you were helping me?”

“I am,” BY smiles innocently. “By listening.”

“You’re not going to tell me who…?” HC falls silent, glaring at the last scroll he finished grading. A glance at his watch indicates there are fifteen minutes left before the final class of the day begins.

“Of course not. I don’t go around spilling professors’ secrets, especially Xie Lao Shi’s,” BY says. HC nods in resignation.

BY doesn’t tell HC shit in the end, yet somehow made him unload a few things about his feelings regarding XL. HC supposes she was right about the listening part.

Must be some sort of witchcraft. (HC tells himself that XL definitely would’ve laughed at this thought.)

Strangely, HC feels better after this little confessional session. Though he is incredibly curious as to who has caught XL’s eye in this school. HC’s heart painfully twists in on itself at the possibility that it’s anyone but him.

HC desperately hopes BY’s rule about not sharing secrets applies to him as well.

《III》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #HP AU #cerdrabbles #TBC #Banyue is menace #she and HC are close though #XL simps club #no I still don’t support JKR

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

Text

Miraculous Salt: Bustier

Fair warning: There are some dark and potentially triggering things discussed. Assault, domestic violence, drug use, overdose, and attempted murder are implied if not outright mentioned.

“Today, class, I’ve asked a special guest to come speak to you!” Bustier greeted them all with a smile. She gestured to the woman next to her, a young adult they hadn’t seen before. She seemed a bit nervous awkward, but was dressed professionally and tried to appear confident.

Bustier clasped her hands together.

“Vivienne is a former student of mine from a few years back. She going to talk to us about positive examples and appropriate behavior in the classroom.”

Marinette slumped in her seat, already knowing what this was about and just whom this lecture was meant for. Bustier’s frequent looks at Marinette weren’t even necessary. The fact that several of the other students shot glances back to her made it clear they knew as well.

Apparently Bustier’s lectures to Marinette about the high road and helping her classmates weren’t enough anymore. Now it just felt like she was making a spectacle to prove a point.

The woman, Vivienne, looked to Bustier in confusion.

“I thought I was supposed to give a lecture about preparation for the future?”

“Well certainly.” Bustier agreed, smiling brightly and indulgently. “And about how a good future for everyone can be started by setting an appropriate example in the here and now.”

Several of the students around her nodded. Lila sent a smug look back at her. Marinette merely wanted to crawl under her desk.

The woman stared at Bustier in open-mouthed surprise.

“Are you joking?”

Bustier appeared startled. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you actually joking? Did you mean to tell me you brought me here. All this way. On a weekday. To give a lecture to students about your downright toxic classroom habits?”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Their mouths opened. Because…no one just talked to Bustier like that. She was a teacher! And she was so nice!

Bustier herself was frozen in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“No. No. You’re right. You had me come to give a speech to your class. Fine. I’m going to talk to them.”

She cleared her throat and turned to the class.

“Listen to me. All of you, but especially you in the back because it seems you are Bustier’s target of the year.” She said, looking around to everyone in the class though her eyes remained mostly on Marinette. “You have the right to feel angry when you are wronged. You have the right to be upset when someone hurts you. You have every right to not forgive the one who does it. It is not your fault when someone does wrong. It is not your responsibility for someone else’s choices. You are under NO obligation—ABSOLUTELY NONE to make the person hurting you feel better about it! And at some point, you need to consider what is best for yourself and your life, even if it means cutting people out of it and letting them face the consequences of their actions.”

“What are you doing?” Bustier demanded, outraged.

“Telling them the truth.” Vivienne stated flatly. “It’s the least I could do after what you did to me and my class thanks to your ‘approach’.”

“But you were a great example for your classmates.”

“No, I was their stepping stone and in some cases, their punching bag. And look how well that turned out! I’m STILL in therapy because of you!”

Bustier gaped in horror.

“Yeah, turns out that constantly pushing myself to take on the burden for everyone else’s choices isn’t actually healthy! Either for me OR anyone else.” Vivienne huffed. “And I have you to blame for a huge part of that.”

She pointed at Bustier in outrage.

“Because of you and your lessons, I lost my ability to be assertive. I became passive to the point of being a doormat, and it’s something that STILL affects me today! Because under YOUR guidance, I was taught that other people’s behaviors were MY fault. That if someone was being cruel or hurting me, it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough. That it was MY obligation to make bad people better rather than their own. And that if I tried to speak up for myself, I was the one in the wrong. Especially when you dragged my parents into things and portrayed the entire mess like it was my fault for not being okay with my treatment instead of concern over how I was being treated.”

“Now now, you’re over-exaggerating.” Bustier argued in that annoyingly placating tone.

“You made it MY job to try and better people who didn’t WANT to be better. I was thirteen! I was a student in your care! How was that supposed to be MY job? My only job was supposed to be to learn, and because of you, I’ve learned all the wrong lessons!”

She rubbed her face, frustrated and exasperated and just done with this whole thing.

“I don’t know what’s healthy or not. I don’t know when I’m being selfish or when I’m supposed to let something go. I still freeze up when dealing with people because even years later, I still have your voice ringing in my head about how I need to be ‘the better person’ regardless of whether I actually CAN.”

She stopped and took a breath. Then turned on Bustier, appearing truly angry with the woman.

“You pushed me to the point of self-destruction and said that was love.”

“I’m sorry that you apparently had a rough time of things,” Bustier fumbled. “But I can’t be held responsible for how every student turns out.”

“THEN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BECOME A TEACHER!”

Bustier reared back as if struck by a physical blow.

Vivienne breathed deeply, trying to get herself back under control.

“You had a position of power and authority over me. And you used it to push your responsibility on me. To push the responsibility for EVERYONE in that class on me. On top of my own schoolwork. My own issues. My own responsibilities. I had to deal with yours and everyone else’s. Their well being. Their futures. Their selfish little wants and requests I didn’t have time or energy for but was still expected to fulfill. All of that. On me. And now you’ve even gone so far as to bring me here to advocate for you doing the same thing to someone else? And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

Vivienne gestured to her chest, agitated and hurt and just…finally letting years worth of frustration out.

“Doing what you did? Pushing things the way you did? You put an unreasonable burden on a child. All in the name of being a ‘good example’ for how other people should be. Guess what? The only thing being a ‘good example’ accomplished was showing people what to expect from others rather than anything they should expect from themselves.”

She glared at Bustier.

“I did some reading on psychology after leaving your class. Turns out the thing you missed about modeling is that it’s the ADULTS who are supposed to model for their kids, not other kids under their care and especially NOT the ones being victimized.”

Bustier forced herself to speak. “But…everyone deserves a chance.”

“You have students that struggle. It’s common. They need extra care. That’s understandable.” Vivienne agreed. “The problem is that instead of being the teacher you are supposed to be and giving them that care yourself, you instead push that responsibility on your other students when it should never have been their responsibility in the first place!”

“They can’t change and do better if everyone is expecting them to fail.” Bustier reasoned.

“Maybe so, but they’re certainly not going to change if they don’t see a reason they should. Giving bullies a free pass and then lecturing their victims on ‘being the bigger person’ after they’ve been hurt because of the bullying is NOT going to motivate the bully to change anymore than it’s going to motivate the victims to keep trying! Was it any wonder so many of your students just gave up?”

Bustier’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Yeah, it turns out that I’m not the only student who left your class with problems down the line. Big surprise, but being reprimanded for feeling hurt and being told that their feelings are less important than those of the ones harming them isn’t exactly motivation to keep going out of their way to do their best. Not in grades, which unsurprisingly fell amongst students in your class by the final year. Not in activities, which—surprise surprise! Your students stopped being invested in because you kept pushing for everyone else to work twice as hard for something that you were letting other students get full advantage of with nowhere near the same effort! Was it any wonder that I was the only one you were able to browbeat into doing anything by the end? It was because everyone else got disillusioned and stopped trying! Because you rewarded the bad students and admonished the good students if they took issue with that. They weren’t blind! They know favoritism when they see it!”

The class was staring. Unsure what to say. Or if they even should speak.

“Oh, and on the subject of favoritism. You surely remember Candace—my bully whose behavior you defended and minimized? Yeah, she’s in jail. Again. For causing a scene in a public setting. Again. And even assaulting police, which is actually a new one for her this time around. But it’s her standard behavior. It’s all she knows how to do. Because you and people like you catered to her tantrums and brattish behavior, gave her whatever she wanted, and admonished anyone who complained about how she treated them.”

“Well…” Bustier simpered. “Treating her cruelly isn’t changing her now, is it?”

“Because she’s an adult used to getting her way!” Vivienne exclaimed. “The time to teach her better was when she was young. It was when she was still a student under YOUR care! Instead, you solidified her into the messed up adult she is today! Speaking of messed up adults, how about dear old Henrik? You remember him?”

“He…he was…a perfect student…” Bustier muttered, uncertain and wary.

“Sure was. Your model student. He sure road your high horse all throughout school and even all the way to his own wedding to Delia—your OTHER favorite student to coddle. You must have been so proud of how that turned out. And even after she’s cheated on him. Among other things. He’d be the picture of domestic violence at this point…you know…if he could actually acknowledge that the relationship is even abusive.”

She sighed.

“But he still insists he can ‘change her’. That he can ‘help her be better’. And some other reasons about ‘make a bad person be good’ that sounds like the sort of tripe you fed him. You know, most of us just thought he was a wannabe stud who like having girls rubbing themselves all over him. It never occurred to us that he was uncomfortable and just didn’t know how to ask them to stop.”

Several of the students gasped in shock. Adrien in particular appeared uncomfortable, like the story was a point for him in particular. Remembering the way Chloe and Lila hung off him, Marinette had to wonder if Adrien and this Henrik didn’t have a few concerning things in common.

Vivienne, however, continued. And even started to tick off on her fingers. “Elodie joined the police force and is so caught up in her own brand of ‘justice’ that she jumps into things without thinking and a number of her arrests ended up going free regardless of the charge due to her not following procedure. Arthur was always the sort to ‘go with the flow’ rather than stand up for anything, so he ‘went with the flow’ all the way to a strip club where he spends his nights, still waiting on some new job opportunity Delia promised him years ago. Kent and Morgan were arrested for embezzlement of some charity’s funds. Michael works at a repair shop, so he has a steady job at least. Sam’s charged for property destruction from illegal street racing. Again. Vincent is claiming some close relationship with Jagged Stone that I don't even want to consider. Randall died from drug overdose last year, otherwise I’m sure you would have called him up instead of me.”

Everyone gaped at her in growing horror. Alya and Max both seemed to be looking at their phones, only to wince or appear more agitated with whatever they found—Marinette assumed it was likely proof of Vivienne’s claims. Bustier looked almost ready to faint at the news of what’s become of her former students.

Vivienne just tapped her chin.

“And you know, now that I think about it, it makes sense that you called me out of everyone to come lecture your class because I think I’m probably the only former student NOT a complete wreck—if only because I’m a few steps away from it thanks to therapy.”

She sneered at Bustier in downright disgust.

“All these people you said it was my job to save. All of them—every single one of them fell apart when I finally gave up. Though they were admittedly barely hanging on as it was while they still had me to dump on. And I’m pretty sure that I could have been a millionaire by now if I’d held firm on charging people for the things they wanted from me instead of bowing to your insistence on doing things for people for free to be ‘nice’. Or, you know…NOT wasting my time and giving up on my own opportunities to pull everyone else out of the fires they kept starting.”

Feeling the weight of everyone’s gazes on her, Bustier spoke up to attempt to defend herself.

“To make a healthy classroom—”

“Your classroom isn’t healthy!” Vivienne shouted. And it was only now that Marinette realized there was a growing number of people hovering outside the door and listening in. “It says something that we have a magical emotion-based terrorist running around and his most frequent targets other than a guy obsessed with pigeons have been your students! Hell, in the past year the majority of akuma attacks have all been from this very class! If i didn’t already know you were doing this all along, I would think you were grooming these kids to be taken by Hawk Moth!"

“They’re not...that bad...” Bustier weakly defended.

“One of your students is the girl who tried to CRASH A TRAIN! And it didn’t take me all of five minutes after entering to see you catering to what can only be a chronic liar.”

Lila immediately started the waterworks. “How could you say that about me?”

“Actually, I hadn’t pointed you out. But thanks for doing it yourself, and while we’re on the subject, GOOGLE. Five minutes is more than enough to debunk your stories. Anyone could do it if they bothered to. Which might have gone a long way in preventing the classroom from becoming toxic, Bustier, if you had helped to develop your students’ critical thinking skills so they could figure things out for themselves instead of demanding they become doormats to make other people ‘feel better’.”

“I—I—” Bustier looked almost ready to cry.

“Couldn’t be bothered to tell them they’re being lied to?” Vivienne asked, sarcastically.

“She has a condition! I didn’t want to impair her ability to make friends!” Bustier exclaimed, making the class stare at her in growing horror. Others turned on Lila in outrage at the confirmation. Lila in turn started to shrink in on herself, realizing that this had not been the best time to draw attention.

“So you protect one student by letting the rest be used and manipulated. It’s not like that can go wrong! Just ask Henrik…as soon as he gets out of the hospital.”

One student—Rose—actually raised her hand. “What…what happened to Henrik?”

“Officially, food poisoning.” Vivienne replied. “Unofficially, Delia only married him because he’s rich and good as arm candy, but she only needs him alive for one of those two things and his moral righteousness makes him less appealing as the latter.”

Bustier wobbled, her strength giving out. She quickly made it to her chair and almost fell onto it as the sheer magnitude of what was happening hit her.

“But…I don’t understand. It can’t be me. I’m…I’m a good teacher…”

“No.” Vivienne interrupted. “You’re a nice teacher. At least to certain students. For everyone else, you taught pretty words and preached about love and kindness to help build up a rose-tinted view of the world and the people in it. It’s no wonder nobody knew how to deal afterwards.”

“But…it can’t be my fault.” She insisted. “I’m only one influence! There are parents! Guardians!”

Yeah, no. Vivienne was not letting her pass the blame.

“Whom YOU spoke with. Whom YOU influenced with your position to put focus on the wrong problems—not what needed to be addressed but what you wanted to make your classroom easier for you. Parents don’t know what their kids are doing during school hours other than what they’re told is happening. And when they’re told that their kid is ‘problematic’ or ‘causing conflict’ or ‘not a team player’ but they’re not being told WHY? Or not being told that their kid is being mistreated, bullied, or outright assaulted? And those parents then turn on the kids?”

She shrugged.

“Honestly, what were we supposed to think?”

Bustier shook her head, now crying.

“I can’t fix everything!”

Vivienne stared, solemnly.

“But you could have helped. You just…choose not to.”

She looked back to the class.

“Don’t trust blindly. Stand up for yourself without pushing on others. Remember that you are allowed to have limits. And sometimes…” Her eyes fell back on Marinette. “Sometimes, it’s better to just cut out the weeds than hope flowers grow.”

With that, she turned and left the classroom, the various students and faculty listening in parting before her.

It was cold outside. Almost matching the feeling in her chest.

And yet, she let out a sigh.

“Now that’s the closure I’ve been looking for.”

And she carried on.

#ml salt #bustier salt #lila sucks #trigger warning

4K notes · View notes

vercopaanir · 5 years ago

Text

Of the Mudhorn

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 16

Masterlist Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: While Kuiil takes care to save the life of the wounded fathier, you and the Mandalorian care for the foundlings in the desert, and you learn the secret of the child.

Words: 5.1k

Rating/Warnings: T, maybe for some romantic themes? I don’t know, man.

Notes: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read and left comments. I cannot believe how this story has grown so exponentially! It could not have happened without your support. I am currently planning another PP character story. I’m not sure when it’ll be published, but I may be posting a preview of it sometime in the near future!

Please check out the newest artwork for this story here!

AO3

Recovering from your injuries has kept you asleep for a day and a half, so you’re not remotely tired when Kuiil offers you, once again, the use of his sleeping quarters. He had prepared a humble meal for you and the two children, and the Mandalorian sat quietly across from the table, one boot resting on his knee as he helps the petal eared infant in his lap drink bantha milk from a small clay cup. The Ugnaught speaks of the peace that had come to the valley, the steady work of his moisture farm, and the temperament of the blurrgs while you fill yourself on warm food and safety.

You stand to clean the table, grateful that he has lit several lanterns in the spacious living quarters so you can see better. When you gather the dishes, you don’t miss the way the two siblings yawn, sinking their elbows onto the table, but what surprises you most is the sudden jerk of the Mandalorian’s helmet when his head begins to nosedive forward.

Rounding the table, you gently extract the baby from his arms and smile softly when his visor tilts up toward you. Laying a cloth over your shoulder, you pat the child’s back with firm thumps and whisper, “Why don’t you take the bed? I’m not going to sleep for a time.”

When he doesn’t even put up an argument, you know he’s exhausted his physical limitations. He pushes himself to stand with a weary exhale from deep within his chest, and he practically drags himself to the back of the tent. He pauses as you turn away, and you hear his deep baritone rumble, “Come on.”

Corde and Venka slip from their seats at the table, gratefully falling in line behind the bounty hunter and rubbing their eyes with chubby fists. You smile when their familiar shadows disappear behind the thick curtain partition, and you smother a laugh to hear the baby on your shoulder belch and giggle triumphantly.

“I will tend the fathier, now. You are welcome to join me,” Kuiil says with a shrewd look, and you slide the baby comfortably into the crook of your arm, letting your free hand rest upon the Uganaught’s shoulder. He leads you outside, across the small yard to the blurrg’s pen. He shows you the stool by his workbench, and you set the child on the ground to toddle near your feet, enjoying the cool desert breeze while Kuiil begins sorting through husbandry supplies. “Will you tell me where this creature came from, and the children, or will I be left to guess?”

“I would be surprised if you couldn’t,” you say, smiling when he snorts and sets himself to work. The animal seems too spent to be able to fight or fuss under the handling of the Uganaught’s care, and you begin to tell the tale of everything that had happened after your last visit to Avarla-7.

Kuiil is an adept listener, sharing that quality with the Mandalorian. He doesn’t interrupt you, and he only makes affirming noises to assure you he is listening while he washes, tends, and treats the animal’s wounds. When you get to the story of Canto Bight, of your time in the stables, he returns to the workbench to remove his gloves and sit across from you.

“The children have burns on their hands, from what I suspect are brands. This is not uncommon in slave trade,” Kuiil says, and if he sees your face drain of color, if he notices the trembling that takes over your hands, he is too polite to comment on it. “I suspect, had the Mandalorian not come, you would wear a matching set.”

“Part of me will never let go of the guilt that he came back,” you confess, lowering your voice, and your chin to look down at your hands that were pristine beneath the lamplight. “So much could have gone wrong.”

“And do you think the small comfort you might have achieved would compare to the loss the Mandalorian would have taken?”

Kuiil has never spoken to you unkindly, but the terse, unforgiving growl makes you feel rather sick. You turn your eyes toward the child that is currently hopping after a toad that is nearly as big as he is, and you bite your lip. “I-I don’t know.”

“I do. And I suspect he does, as well.”

You watch the dim shape of the child at play, his world once again tilted decidedly in his favor without any knowledge of the hungry eyes following him from every corner of the galaxy. For something so small, so pure of heart, it overwhelms you, this knowledge that there is evil in the universe searching to snuff his little life out. Your hands curl in your lap, and you only realize you are gritting your teeth when your jaw begins to ache.

“I thought, when I first came here, that I was being traded a life of servitude for honest work,” you whisper, your voice beginning to choke with the tightness of contrition. A tear pearls in your eye, and when it falls to land upon your dress, the little child turns to look up at you as if he heard its descent. “I feel as if I somehow unwittingly cheated the universe. That one day the Maker will look down, see the excess of my happiness, and take it all back.”

The sounds of the frogs and insects and the quiet stream of the wind in the air is all there is to hear between two former slaves, for you know that Kuiil knows your fear first hand. There is nothing he can say, wise or brazen, that will ever quell the haunting in your heart of being a stranger without the yolk of servitude.

“Perhaps, your reward is great because you have saved two more souls from the worries you yourself now carry,” Kuiil grouses, looking down at his workbench and beginning again the task of organizing it. You turn your pale eyes towards him as he begins sorting through parts, fishing out a dirty rag to wipe the workspace down with. “And should the Maker find fault in that, I would no longer wish to know them.”

The child toddles up to you, gently hugging your ankle and pressing his face into the fabric of your dress. You lift him up into your arms, kissing his nose before pressing your brow to his. Six little fingers touch your cheeks, and you sniffle and smile. You stand slowly, the Ugnaught’s words going round and round in your head.

“Thank you, Kuiil. For everything.”

He says nothing, and you sit quietly until the sky nearly begins to lighten on the horizon. You turn towards the tent, the child nuzzling against your chest and yawning sweetly. You step quietly, slipping your boots off near the door and hunching down as you part the partition back. Upon the bed, the Mandalorian is flat on his back dressed in full armor, snoring quietly through his helmet, which weighs his neck down at an odd angle. Corde is asleep beneath his arm, hugging his middle and burying her face into the fabric of his shirt. Venka is curled at the foot of the bed, and you cover your lips to keep from laughing at the sight. Tucking the child into his pram, you gently nudge it so it floats silently beside the bed, and turn to the mess of bodies you now face.

You gently begin to situate the small boy, lifting his head to slip a folded blanket beneath his cheek to serve as a pillow. Next, you remove the Mandalorian’s boots, taking care with every buckle and tie so you can set them quietly on the ground. Just as you brush Corde’s hair from her warm cheek, a gloved hand grabs your wrist on instinct.

“It’s still early,” you murmur, lowering yourself so you perch on the edge of the bed by his hip, feeling the strength give in his fingers where he holds you. “Go back to sleep.”

His hand falls back onto the bed, and just like that, he’s out once again. You smile, gently laying down beside him, heat flushing your face at being so close. You’re on the edge of the cot itself, and you can’t help but remember his words from the hotel room when he took the space nearest the door. Your head pillows on his bicep, but you can’t be more comfortable than you are in that moment. You expect to be by yourself when you wake up, as is common with the bounty hunter you’ve grown to know and share your space with, but when next you open your eyes, there is an early morning light streaming through the hut’s meshing that catches on the beskar vambrace draping over your abdomen.

Quiet breathing through the vocoder is nestled in your hair that’s strewn across the pillow, and when you shift just slightly, you realize that someone has covered both of you with a blanket. The light is enough for you to see that neither child that had been asleep the night before remains where you left them, and when you look at the pram and the open shutters, it also sits empty.

Raising a hand to your forehead, you slowly sit up, fighting a yawn, before gently moving the dead weight of the arm pinning you down. There’s a muffled snort from under the helmet sinking back into the pillow, and his hand flexes on top of the blanket.

“Mphf-what’re you doing?” His voice is a rasp, scratchy and rough with sleep, and you wonder if he rested at all while you were recovering. You lay a hand on his arm soothingly, rubbing your thumb in circles. His voice is almost a plea, “Lay…lay back down.”

A smile dances at the corners of your mouth, and you whisper, “All the children are gone.” The utterly unimpressed grunt from under the helmet tells you exactly what the Mandalorian thinks of that, and your grin widens. “Sleep more if you like, but I would feel guilty leaving our host alone to mind all three of them.”

“As if they’d slow him down,” he mutters, but you feel him sit up behind you as you let your feet drop to the floor. You let your world settle upright, your balance and wakefulness coming together as the chill of the desert is chased away by the sun.

A gentle pressure between your shoulders inclines your head to turn, finding the Mandalorian pressing his helmet ponderously against your back.

“Really, you can keep sleeping,” you whisper, your heart aching at the sound of such a deep sigh.

His helmet angles to the side, and you feel his vambrace tuck beneath your breasts as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards against him. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and for a moment, you let yourself go limp, enjoying being handled.

“A tempting offer,” the rough baritone rumbles quietly. “But will you make it worth my while?”

Instinctively, your legs press together at the same time your lips part to breathe. Your heart begins to pound, heavy and fervent when his other gloved hand comes up to cup the front of your throat. There’s only the barest tease of pressure, and you know he can feel how your pulse is singing beneath the leather of his glove. Your own hands fall, resting firmly on his thighs that crowd either side of you, and you swallow hard.

Your breath rattles in your throat, and you lick your lips, turning your face toward his helmet that presses gently to your temple. “I…I don’t have anything to offer.”

His hum is laced with the static of his modulator, and you feel it deep in your belly. His arm around your waist tightens, and you bite your lip near enough to bleed when he drags you back hard against his body, leaving not even air between you.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, ner Mesh’la.” His voice is a growl now, so quiet that you can only hear it from beneath the helmet, and your entire body shivers when the beskar nuzzles your jaw, just beneath your ear. “You could have me on my knees, if you wished.”

You open your mouth, whether to whisper a plea to continue or beg him to stop, but both of your attentions draw to the giggling coo near the partition of the sleeping quarters.

The child stares up at the both of you, large, dark eyes blinking sweetly, and one hand drags his stuffed bantha behind him on the ground. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and you feel a warm flush when you can feel the Mandalorian’s own chuckle in his chest at your back. His arms fall away from you, and you push yourself from him and the bed to stand up. Immediately, the child toddles at full speed toward you, huffing excitedly and waving his free hand upward.

Leaning down, you lift the infant up into your arms, and he drops his toy in deference to being up high, immediately grabbing tiny fistfulls of your hair in his fists. The Mandalorian moves around the small space, and you blow sweet kisses into the baby’s face until he falls forward, pressing his open mouth against your chin and gurgling happily.

“He missed you,” the Mandalorian says, his voice quiet as he sits to put his boots on. You tilt your head toward the child, bumping foreheads with him and smiling when he tries to kiss your nose next. He achieves biting the tip and grinning up at you proudly. The warrior’s voice catches when he says, “I didn’t think he would stop crying.”

Your heart sinks, and your smile falls, looking down at the little one in your arms to his father who busies himself with the ties of his boots. His view changes when you step between his feet, and he looks up at you through his visor. You think you can see his throat shift when he swallows.

“You’re a good father, you know,” you murmur, one hand drifting to cup the chiseled arch of one side of his helmet. You hear him exhale, his breath shaking when you smile. “Whether I’m here or not.”

His glove comes up to cup the back of your hand. You linger a moment before you turn and duck from behind the partition, carrying the child through the modest living quarters. You know your hair is tangled and your dress is wrinkled, but you step into your boots and begin preparing a small meal for the baby that hangs in the crook of one elbow. You want to give the Mandalorian privacy to eat or drink before you take up more space and time in the tent. The sun is shining bright, and when you step outside, you can hear Corde giggling from somewhere in the distance near the blurrg pen.

You sit at the workbench on the same stool you occupied the night before, leaning the child back so he could hold the little cup full of cold bantha milk comfortably and feed in the shade. Heavy footfalls bring your face up, and you smile at the blurry shape of your host.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Kuiil greets, picking up a tool from the bench in front of you. He seems to linger over the child, who blinks owlishly at him. “He’s eating more these days.”

“He is,” you agree, patting the child’s tummy with affection. “I think he must be going through a growth spurt.”

“Perhaps it is from his power,” Kuiil ruminates, rounding the workbench to the other side.

This draws your attention, and you blink slowly. “W-What power?”

Kuiil pauses, looking across the bench at you with a hard frown, his bushy brows lowering in confusion. “You do not know? The Mandalorian did not…tell you?” he demands gruffly, and you’re left feeling not unlike a fish, your mouth opening and closing helplessly. “Did he not speak of the mudhorn?”

You wrack your brain for any detail you may have missed from the story you’ve grown so fondly of thinking about, but you can’t recall anything about the child. He had simply told you the child had been present when a mudhorn was defeated.

Kuiil seems to interpret this misinformation from your face and throws the tool down so noisily, the child jumps and nearly drops the cup he drinks from. The Uganaught storms off toward the tent, and you flush with worry, sure you’ve just opened a door that was meant to stay closed. You heave a sigh, looking down at the little one you cradle, sighing, “I think I got your father in trouble. What could he be talking about, hm?”

The baby simply blinks up at you, his eyes falling slowly with drowsiness, and you can’t help the smile on your face. Movement out of your periphery draws your eye, and you see the Mandalorian stomping out of the tent, Venka trailing meekly behind him. The bounty hunter collapses near a small fire pit, his rifle across his knees with a cloth. The little boy sits near him, and Kuiil emerges a moment later, huffing up to you.

“That man is more muscle than sense, at times,” he growls at you, to which you blush and bite down a grin. “So I shall tell you the tale.”

Just as he had listened to your story the night before, you spend the entirety of his recollection sitting quietly and attentively. You only move to set the empty cup aside when the child has finished his meal, lifting him to your shoulder to burp him. Kuiil pauses to offer you a cleaning cloth, and you grow still when he describes the Mandalorian’s experience with the mudhorn.

“I…I don’t understand,” you murmur, looking down at the little one who’s nuzzling against your neck sleepily. “How is that possible?”

“I have heard stories, myself,” Kuiil rumbles, watching the little one dozing against you. “But they are not answers. I do not know what is true, but I do know that the Mandalorian would not lie about this young one.”

You lay one hand against the child’s back, feeling him breathe softly and curl against you for warmth. It doesn’t seem real, like something out of a dream, but it begins to fall into place with what you do know.

Why would the Empire seek out such a small innocent without something to gain? Something beyond what you could ever know. What does surprise you is how you feel no difference for the little one you cradle near your heart. He is still the same, sweet being you had given your heart to, and you press a kiss to his brow.

“I’m going to lay him down,” you murmur, standing and crossing the yard to the hut. You can feel eyes on you, following your every movement, but your focus is on the child you tuck into the pram waiting inside the tent. You leave the shutters open, in case he cries or wakes up to find you, and you arrange the blanket so it keeps out any unwanted chill.

Now with the sleeping quarters free, you take a moment to undress and change your clothes, sighing in relief at the feeling of clean, unrumpled fabric against your skin. You work the tangles out of your hair with a brush from your bag, and you splash cold water on your face from the faucet, taking care not to use too much.

As you dry your face, you can hear a quiet, rasping voice just outside the tent.

“Kandosii,” the Mandalorian praises, and you step close to the edge of the tent by the door to listen. “Again.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and you frown, wondering if you perhaps can’t hear as well as you think you do. When you peek around the edge of the door, you can see Venka leaning close to the Mandalorian by the fire pit, but you can’t make out anything that they’re doing. You step outside, trying to keep your feet light, but both of them look up as you approach.

When they lean away, there is nothing you can see, save for some scratchings on the ground in the rocky sand. The rifle still rests across the Mandalorian’s knees, the barrel pointing away from the boy.

“What are you two doing?”

You kneel down beside Venka, one hand brushing the boy’s shoulder companionably. He turns his face, still round with baby fat, towards the Mandalorian who nods encouragingly to him.

Venka reaches towards you and takes your hand, and you watch him curiously as he turns your palm upward. He uses one finger and begins tapping your palm in an uneven, stilted rhythm. You blink, glancing from his blurry outline to the Mandalorian’s shadow, which looks on silently.

The tapping stops abruptly, and Venka’s hands fall to his knees, now turning back to the warrior with the eagerness of a student. The gleaming visor nods once in approval, and the boy beams.

“I…I don’t understand,” you laugh softly, curling your fingers where they still hover upwards.

“It is called Dadita,” the Mandalorian explains, standing up with a ponderous sigh and rounding the fire pit to stand beside you. He uses the pronged barrel of his rifle to begin making long dashes and shorter nicks in the earth. “Every dash and beat represents a letter in Basic Galactic. It is a code we use in battle, to disguise messages so enemies cannot decipher our intentions.”

Your furrowed brows slowly lift up with understanding, and Venka takes your hand again, quickly tapping against your palm. The look of pure joy on the little boy’s face brings tears to your eyes, watching him tap earnestly to communicate with you. To speak and to be understood after so long of having no voice

The Mandalorian takes a knee beside you, watching as the boy taps his message quickly.

“What is he saying?” you ask softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“‘I love my sister. We are happy.’”

Your hand not held by the child covers your mouth, more tears falling when you close your eyes. Venka holds your hand with both of his now, looking worriedly between you and the Mandalorian, and you feel a warm, gloved hand resting on your shoulder. He nods at the little boy once, and Venka stands up and wraps his arms around your neck. You gather him close, hugging him tightly, and cup the back of his head. He seems content to be held, so you embrace him until your tears dry salty tracks on your cheeks before you kiss his mop of fluffy curls.

“You will have to teach us all how to speak it,” you whisper, turning to face the Mandalorian. His visor bows silently in agreement, and you pet the boy’s hair back into place where you’d mussed it. “Go on, don’t-don’t worry about me.”

Venka hesitates, glancing between you both before running off towards Kuiil where he’s welding at his workbench. You sit beside the armored warrior silently, eyes closed and breathing deeply. You feel something shift within you that you had thought was unmovable, and now you can’t imagine what to do with yourself without those surrounding you.

“Why…why didn’t you tell me about the child?” you ask, your voice half a croak from the tears clogging your throat. You feel the Mandalorian sigh even though you can’t hear it. “About what he did? What he can do?”

The Mandalorian looks down at the rocky stand you both kneel in, resting the butt of his rifle on the ground and leaning on it. He’s quiet for such a long time, you wonder if he’s going to ignore your question, but you also know for someone who speaks so rarely, he chooses his words carefully.

Finally, he whispers, “I was…afraid you would leave, if you knew.”

Whatever you were prepared for him to say, it was not this.

“What?” you breathe, eyes widening. You hear the man beneath the armor let out a deep groan, and he lets his helmet fall forward against his rifle, as if in pain. You sit forward, grabbing the lip of his helmet and pulling his visor around to face you. He tenses immediately, and you blink the tears from your lashes. “Tell me, p-please.”

He lets out a strangled, quiet noise that’s near a whimper, and his hand not holding his rifle gently wraps around your wrist. “I was afraid you would leave if you knew how dangerous it was to…to be close to him. To us.” There’s a heavy, loaded silence for a brief moment before he whispers over the strain of his leather glove that tightens around his gun, “I-I don’t think we can go back to that, Cyare. I don’t think I can.”

With the firm grip on his helmet, you draw him down to you, pressing his helmet to your forehead, and you whisper, “You will never have to.”

The Dadita lessons begin the next day, when the sun is bright in the morning without hurting your eyes. You think he must have prepared for it, as you direct Venka how to wash the dishes from breakfast when he walks back into the hut carrying the drooling infant in one arm, asking the three of you to come outside when you’re finished.

You barely have Corde’s hair brushed before the two children are dragging you outside. The Mandalorian stands near the barn where the blurrgs are chomping upon great swaths of desert flora and vegetation, and the baby toddles after a rogue frog hopping about in the shade, giggling in its chase.

His amban rifle rests in the crook of his arm, the barrel opened at the end where it hangs from his elbow showing plain for you and anyone else that it isn’t loaded. He uses the pronged tip of the barrel to draw in the sand the markings for every letter in Galactic Basic, only stepping away when Kuiil asks for his assistance with a task or chore.

The code itself is not hard for you to master, but understanding it being spoken back to you is the true challenge. Venka picks it up with ease, tapping in your palm with rapid fire fluency. You huff, amusement and exasperation coloring your face as you shake your head.

“You are too clever by half for me,” you tell him, trapping his hand in yours and tickling his side. He wheezes, dancing away before coming back to you. “Alright, then, slower this time.”

Kuiil takes a break from farm work with you near the barn, watching as he eats a humble meal beside the Mandalorian of the children tapping various objects and upon different surfaces to speak to one another. At one point, Corde skips into the barn to tap through the wall, sharing secrets with her brother, and you move to sit beside the Ugnaught, your head beginning to ache from memorizing so many dashes and dots.

“Have you ever had to use this before?” you ask, folding your hands in your lap. Kuiil glances the way of the Mandalorian at your question, and you notice his fingers tapping along his cuirasse pause. “In battle or…otherwise?”

Venka runs from the wall of the barn around to the door to join his sister, ignoring your call to him not to touch anything inside.

“No.” He sounds like he’s frowning, thinking back to some memory he’d rather not bite into. “Though it would have been an advantage if I had.”

“There are not many Mandalorians to use it with,” Kuiil says, by way of an explanation as he gathers up the small plate he was eating from. “But now you have some to speak it with.”

The Mandalorian watches the Ugnaught amble off, and you smile after him, feeling warmth from the words. When you turn back around, you find the bounty hunter kneeling beside you, and you suck in a breath of surprise at how silent and how quick he is. He doesn’t leave you room when he cups your chin with one hand and lifts the edge of his helmet to his nose, stealing a kiss as soon as you’re both alone.

Your hands fly up to his helmet, holding the carved arches where his cheeks would be, and you can’t swallow the tiny moan that escapes you when he parts your lips beneath his. With one hand now free, he slides it to rest upon the flesh of your waist, the other drawing up your jaw to cup the back of your neck. You thought you had dreamed the sweetness you’d tasted upon the Razor Crest, and the urgency of his warm mouth leaves you floating the rest of the day.

He exploits his stealth around you more as the week passes. Stealing a kiss behind the barn or the curtain of the sleeping quarters becomes more sought after than water in the desert, always careful of his helmet or the light to protect his face. Your fingers find purchase somewhere new to titillate you-in the frothy, soft curls beneath his helm, on his slim waist beneath his cloak, even once, when the children slept in the mid-afternoon, upon the buckle of his belt to pull him closer when he crowds you behind Kuiil’s hut.

It becomes distracting in the heat, so you busy yourself with teaching the children things to keep them from idling and to keep yourself from gazing too long at the armored bounty hunter never more than a few steps behind you. Venka becomes an accomplished tailor under your patient instruction, hemming the baby’s robe while Corde assists the Mandalorian in bathing the small child. You marvel at the tenacity the little children have, following their guardian’s shadow and watching him with all the admiration of students.

One evening, they both go out with the Mandalorian so he can teach them how to look for tracks in the desert terrain, and you help Kuiil feed the blurrgs. When they return, stained with dust and dirt and their eyes brighter than crystals, you can’t help but laugh at the tired slump in the warrior’s pauldrons. When you can’t help a giggle, he grabs you around the middle with greedy hands and wipes his dirty helmet against your forehead, smearing dirt all over your face as you shriek with laughter.

You watch him lumber away, tossing Corde over his shoulder without ceremony while she screams giggles of her own, Venka trailing after him as he heads into the hut. Watching them, you hold such a pain within your chest unlike anything else you have ever felt that it brings tears to your eyes.

How could something you have never had before become all you know?

Mando’a Translations:

Ner Mesh'la - My Beauty

Kandosii - “Well done.”

Cyare - Beloved

Dadita - A code used by Mandalorians, similar to Morse code.

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