#so many thoughts about the guilt this boy must carry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

innercreationyouth · 1 month ago

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Where the Force leads

In honour of the person who created Tatooine Slave culture, it's not mine, clearly, as many know. It's a very interesting culture for sure, but I know too little about it and I really like mandalorian culture more.

Also I adore time-travelling Ben. He's tired, weary and would like a drink. And I also adore blakkats (gosh, did I write it right? I'll have to check) portrayal of Jon Antilles.

Chapter 1. A Master without a purpose.

Chapter 2 here

In the deserts of Tatooine, Ben Kenobi lives in exile, haunted by the fall of Anakin Skywalker. When the Force whispers cryptic visions of a distant planet, Korda Six, Ben is drawn into a mysterious journey that challenges his solitude and guilt. As he uncovers the truth about his past failures, Ben must confront his role in the galaxy’s fate. This is a tale of loss, hope, and the enduring power of the Force.

The twin suns of Tatooine hung low in the vast, unforgiving sky, their relentless heat bathing the planet in an oppressive golden light. The sands stretched to infinity, shifting dunes whispering secrets to the dry, desert winds. It was a harsh world, where life clung desperately to whatever shade or moisture it could find, and every breath felt like a struggle against the elements.

Outside a modest, weatherworn shack perched on a ridge overlooking the desolation, an old man sat cross-legged on a simple wooden porch. He was draped in rough robes, his face lined with age, sunburn, and sorrow. Ben Kenobi—known once as Obi-Wan—closed his eyes, the faint hum of the Force stirring within him like a dying ember. He meditated, letting the stillness of the desert mirror the stillness he sought inside.

But there was no peace. Not today.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the boy he had raised like a son. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. The memory of his wide-eyed, eager smile burned brighter in Ben's mind than the twin suns before him. Then the smile twisted, darkened, became the visage of Darth Vader—his greatest failure. The air around Ben seemed to grow heavier as he relived it all once more.

What could I have done differently? The question plagued him daily. He had loved Anakin, trained him, guided him. And yet, the boy had fallen so far, taking the galaxy with him.

Ben sighed, the sound heavy with guilt. He whispered into the silence, “Was it my fault?”

At first, there was no answer. Just the faint hiss of the wind scraping over sand. But then, soft and clear, a voice echoed in his mind. Young, curious, and yet carrying an unmistakable weight of insight.

"Do you truly think it was your fault?"

Ben's eyes snapped open, his heart skipping. The voice wasn't his own, nor was it a memory. It felt... present. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He looked around the empty desert, scanning the horizon for something—anything—that might explain it.

He closed his eyes again, reaching deeper into the Force, letting it flow through him. The voice lingered, steady and calm, as if it came not from outside but from the very heart of the Force itself.

"You did what you thought was right. But was it? Or are you just trying to carry a weight too heavy for one man?"

Ben clenched his fists, the wind tugging at his robes as if to pull him back to reality. He swallowed hard, a bitter lump forming in his throat.

“I was his master,” Ben whispered. “I failed him. If I’d been better... if I’d seen the darkness sooner...”

"Would it have changed him? Or would he have fallen all the same?"

The words stung, cutting through Ben’s practiced defenses. They forced him to question the narrative he’d clung to for years. The old Jedi sat in silence, the desert wind his only companion as the voice faded, leaving him alone once more.

The twin suns dipped lower, casting long shadows over the sand. Ben opened his eyes, staring into the horizon. He didn’t have an answer—not yet. But the question lingered, echoing in the corners of his mind.

And for the first time in years, he wondered if he could let go.

___

The twin suns were dipping below the horizon, painting the Tatooine sky with streaks of orange and purple as Ben Kenobi trudged back to his modest shack. His arms carried a small bundle of supplies he’d picked up in Mos Eisley—a few dried rations, some water, and a handful of vegetables he’d bartered for with what little he had left. The desert winds swirled around him, tugging at his robes, carrying the faint scent of sand and dry stone.

His thoughts were simple as he walked: survival, reflection, and the quiet monotony of the days stretching before him. But as he approached the ridge leading to his home, a familiar sensation brushed against his consciousness—like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Would you change anything if you could?"

Ben froze in his tracks, his grip tightening on the bundle of food. The voice was back. The same young, curious tone that had spoken to him weeks earlier. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, shaking it off as some trick of his weary mind. But something about it was undeniable—its presence felt rooted in the Force itself, as real as the ground beneath his feet.

He exhaled sharply, setting the bundle down on a nearby rock. “I’ve thought about it,” he said aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Of course I’ve thought about it. But I did everything I could with what I knew at the time. What’s left for me now is to reflect.”

The voice responded with a soft chuckle, its tone light but tinged with something deeper—understanding, perhaps.

"That’s what your Master would say."

Ben sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair. The mention of his old Master stirred a deep ache in his chest. “Well, I suppose he was right about many things. Though I doubt he’d approve of me standing here, talking to myself like a madman.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then a thought flickered through his mind, unbidden but persistent: All is possible through the Force.

The voice seemed to sense it.

"What if everything began to spiral far earlier than you think it did?"

Ben’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Why does that matter now?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration. “The galaxy’s already fallen to darkness. What good does it do to dwell on the past?”

The voice didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it whispered one word, so soft it seemed to blend with the wind itself:

"Patience."

And then it was gone. In its place, an image bloomed in Ben’s mind—vivid, clear, and unmistakable. It was a planet, foreign and unfamiliar. He could see jagged cliffs, dense forests, and a sky that seemed to shimmer with strange hues. And with the image came a name, etched into his thoughts as if burned there by the Force itself: Korda Six.

Ben staggered slightly, gripping the rock beside him for balance. He whispered the name aloud, testing its weight on his tongue. “Korda Six... What does that mean?”

There was no answer. Only the whistle of the wind and the endless expanse of desert stretching before him. He stood there for a long moment, the food bundle forgotten at his feet, staring into the horizon as the suns dipped below the sands.

Korda Six.

He didn’t understand it. Not yet. But the Force was stirring, and Ben Kenobi knew better than to ignore its call.

That night, sleep did not come easily to Ben Kenobi. He lay on the small cot in his shack, staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with questions. Korda Six. What does it mean? Why now? The voice’s whispers had unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name, yet there was an undeniable pull.

The desert winds moaned outside, their steady rhythm lulling him into uneasy slumber. But even in sleep, his mind felt restless, skimming the edges of dreams that shimmered with light too brilliant to hold.

When morning came, Ben awoke slowly, the golden light of Tatooine’s twin suns creeping through the slats of his window. At first, it seemed like any other day, but then he sat up and froze. Something in the air had changed.

The oppressive weight of the desert heat, the dull heaviness that had hung over the planet for years—it was gone. In its place, there was a stillness, a balance, a lightness so profound that it took Ben’s breath away. He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if he were a child again, before the war, before he’d even been taken as a Padawan. Back when the Force had been pure and unclouded.

He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the sensation washed over him. He didn’t know why, but the sheer scale of the light present in the Force was overwhelming. It was everywhere, suffusing every particle of air, touching the farthest corners of his consciousness. It was as though the galaxy itself had momentarily remembered what it was to be whole.

He stood, his movements slow, almost reverent, as he took in his surroundings. His shack—weathered and rusted by years of Tatooine’s harsh climate—looked... different. The walls seemed sturdier, the metal less corroded, as though time had rolled back. Yet, stepping outside, he saw that the planet itself remained unchanged. The sands still stretched endlessly under the twin suns, and the heat still beat down with relentless intensity.

Ben frowned, his mind racing. What is happening?

Shaking himself from his reverie, he decided to stick to his routine. Whatever this shift was, he couldn’t afford to lose focus. His life here depended on careful habits, and the trek to Mos Eisley was one of them.

Gathering his belongings, he wrapped himself in his robes and began the familiar journey through the desert. The sands crunched beneath his boots as the heat rose in shimmering waves around him. But as he walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Force itself was walking beside him, whispering a single word in his mind:

"Patience."

It was as though the voice, the presence, wasn’t just lingering—it was guiding. Ben glanced back over his shoulder at his home, then ahead toward the distant outline of Mos Eisley. His steps felt lighter, though his heart remained heavy with questions.

And so he walked, through the sands, under the burning suns, with the whispers of the Force as his only companion.

Mos Eisley was alive with the ceaseless hum of activity. The sprawling, chaotic spaceport buzzed with the energy of its denizens—humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, Jawas, and countless others, all hurrying through the dusty streets. The harsh desert sun reflected off metallic droids and ships parked haphazardly near cantinas and markets. It was a brutal existence, but here, survival was business as usual.

Ben Kenobi stepped cautiously into the fray, his hood pulled low to shield his face from both the sun and prying eyes. He wove through the crowds, his senses tuned to the ebb and flow of the Force, as he always did when venturing into town. But as he passed a merchant stall laden with strange fruits and a group of traders haggling over salvage, something struck him as odd.

The usual murmurs of Mos Eisley life—grumbles about harsh conditions, bartering disputes, and whispers of fear regarding the Empire—were strangely absent. Instead, the air was thick with chatter about a name Ben hadn’t heard in years: Gardulla the Hutt.

He paused near a cluster of merchants, feigning interest in their wares while tuning into their conversation.

“…she’s been tightening her hold on the spaceports again. Trying to bring in more spice routes through here…”

“…Gardulla’s not one to cross. You remember what happened to those Trandoshan smugglers…”

“…Jabba might be watching, but Gardulla’s the one with real power right now. Always was.”

Ben’s brow furrowed beneath his hood. Gardulla the Hutt? That didn’t make sense. Gardulla had been a prominent figure on Tatooine once, true—but that was long ago, before Jabba had taken control. Anakin had spoken of it once, back when he was still a boy on the cusp of his Jedi training. He’d said Gardulla lost a high-stakes game of sabacc to Jabba shortly after he was born. That game had been pivotal, marking the transfer of power between the two Hutt crime lords.

Yet here, people spoke of Gardulla as if she were the reigning Daimyo, her influence as strong as ever. Ben’s stomach churned uneasily. Something was wrong.

He drifted further into the crowd, listening carefully to other snippets of conversation. Everywhere he turned, the same name arose. Gardulla the Hutt. Her control over Tatooine. Her dealings with off-world syndicates. Her dominance in Mos Eisley. There was no mention of Jabba’s reign, and even stranger, there was no mention of the Empire—no stormtroopers, no Imperial edicts, no fear of the Emperor’s shadow.

Ben’s pulse quickened as realization dawned. The world around him felt familiar, yet the details were out of place. It was as though he were walking through a memory—a Tatooine from decades past. He clenched his jaw and drew his robes tighter around him. He needed confirmation.

He headed toward a cantina he frequented sparingly—a dark, loud place where smugglers and pilots often gathered to exchange information. The air was thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation when he entered. He scanned the room quickly, noting the usual mix of species crowded around tables and at the bar. The cantina band played a jaunty tune in the corner, but Ben ignored it.

He approached the bar, catching the attention of the barkeep, a grizzled human with an impatient scowl.

“Water,” Ben said quietly, sliding a few credits across the counter.

The barkeep nodded and handed him a small glass. Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low. “I’ve been hearing talk of Gardulla the Hutt. Is she really... in charge again?”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Again? What’re you talking about, old-timer? Gardulla’s always been the Daimyo ’round here. Ever since I was a kid. You feeling alright?”

Ben’s heart sank. The man’s words confirmed what the Force had already been whispering to him: something had shifted, pulling him into a time that wasn’t his own. Or perhaps it wasn’t time at all—perhaps it was something far stranger.

He drained the glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to calm his nerves, and placed it back on the counter. As he turned to leave, the barkeep called after him.

“Hey, if you’re worried about Jabba or something, don’t be. Gardulla’s got this place locked down. Always has.”

Ben didn’t respond. He pulled his hood tighter over his head and stepped back into the glaring suns of Tatooine, his mind racing.

What is happening? Why here, why now?

The Force was pulling him toward something—he was sure of it. And whatever it was, it had begun with Korda Six.

Gardulla’s rule over Tatooine was brutal, a reign of cruelty that eclipsed even Jabba’s infamous tenure. The streets of Mos Eisley bore silent witness to her greed and ruthlessness: more slaves shuffled through the dusty markets in chains, their eyes hollowed by exhaustion and despair. Public executions were a grim spectacle in the town square, their frequency a warning to any who dared resist. Food and water were scarcer than ever, hoarded by the Hutt for her own indulgence while the rest of the population scraped by on meager scraps.

Ben Kenobi walked through the chaos, his hood pulled low to conceal his face. His once-vivid ginger hair, now streaked with gray, remained hidden beneath the heavy fabric. It was dangerous to be seen here, especially as a Stewjonian. His sharp features and fair complexion would stand out far too much in this region, and his heritage alone could invite trouble. Worse still, being Force-sensitive—an Aethe’rith, as the Amatakka called it—would mark him for far greater dangers.

Keeping to the shadows, he approached a modest fruit stand at the edge of the market. The vendor, an older woman with weathered skin and a sharp gaze, was arranging a basket of pali fruit. Ben lingered just long enough to catch her attention.

“Looking for something, traveler?” she asked, her voice low but wary.

Ben leaned in slightly, keeping his tone measured. “Just information,” he said, his Amatakka hesitant but serviceable. It had been years since he’d spoken the language, a skill he’d picked up long ago in the mines of Bandomeer.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly, her hands pausing mid-motion. Her expression shifted from suspicion to something warmer, almost reverent. “Aethe’rith,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “You are Dai'Je, aren’t you? A freed one.”

Ben stiffened, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard. The market was noisy, but the wrong pair of ears could turn her words into a death sentence for them both. He gestured quickly for her to lower her voice.

“Please,” he said, his Amatakka faltering as he searched for the right words. “Speak... quieter. We might be overheard by depur.”

The woman immediately dipped her head in apology, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Forgive me, Dai'Je. I meant no harm. It’s just... I never thought I’d see one of you here, in this place.”

Ben’s gaze softened, but he remained cautious. “What do you mean?”

She glanced around nervously, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. “I’ve had dreams,” she said, her words coming slowly as though she were choosing them carefully. “Dreams of a man in a hood, a Dai'Je, walking these sands. I didn’t know if it was real, but now...” She looked at him with a mix of awe and desperation. “Now I see it was true. You’ve come.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I don’t know what you’ve seen,” he said carefully, “but I’m no savior. I’m just... passing through.”

The woman shook her head firmly. “No. You are here for a reason. I feel it. The Force brought you here.” She leaned in closer, her voice barely more than a breath. “I will help you however I can—when my depur isn’t watching.”

Ben hesitated, his instincts urging him to retreat, to disappear back into the anonymity of the desert. But the conviction in her voice, the light in her eyes—it reminded him of something, of someone. He nodded slowly, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

“Thank you,” he said, his Amatakka halting but earnest. “But be careful. Helping me could cost you everything.”

The woman smiled faintly, a trace of defiance flickering across her face. “Gardulla has already taken everything from me. She can’t take my dreams.”

Ben lowered his hood just slightly, enough for her to see his face and the gratitude etched into his features. He turned and melted back into the crowd, his mind racing. The voice in the Force, the whispers of patience, the image of Korda Six—everything was connected. And now, it seemed, the people of this harsh world were beginning to sense it too.

The sun was setting over Tatooine, painting the desert sky with deep reds and purples as Ben Kenobi made his way through the quieting streets of Mos Eisley. The market stalls were closing up, merchants packing away their wares as the day's trade dwindled. He spotted the woman from the fruit stand gathering her meager belongings into a woven sack, her movements slow and weary.

As he approached, she looked up and gave a faint smile. “You came,” she said softly, glancing around to ensure no one was watching.

“You offered your help,” Ben replied, his voice equally quiet. “I wasn’t sure if it still stood.”

“Of course it does,” she said, slinging the sack over her shoulder. She gestured for him to follow. “Come. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

Ben trailed her through the narrow streets, keeping his hood low as they wound their way toward the outskirts of the settlement. Her small house was barely more than a hovel, its walls cracked and weathered by years of sandstorms. It reminded Ben painfully of his own shack when he’d first begun his exile, its decay a reflection of the harsh life endured here.

She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. The space was sparse, with little more than a cot, a rickety table, and a few cooking implements. A single, flickering glow panel illuminated the room. She set her belongings down and turned to him with a weary smile.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the two wooden stools by the table.

Ben hesitated but eventually sat, his movements careful. The woman filled a small cup with water from a clay jug and placed it in front of him.

“You must be thirsty after the walk,” she said.

He looked at the cup, then at her. “You need it more than I do,” he said gently. “But thank you for offering.”

She shook her head and pushed it closer to him. “It’s all I have to give, Dai'Je. Please, take it.”

Reluctantly, Ben lifted the cup and took a small sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat. He set it down, offering her a grateful nod.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice low and intent. “I need to ask you something. Is space travel... possible for one person? Discreetly?”

The woman frowned, her brows knitting together in thought. “It’s... possible, maybe. But dangerous. Especially for you.” She paused, considering. “My brother works at the spaceport. I could ask him in a couple of days, but I can’t promise he’ll help. It’s not safe to aid an Amatakka. The depur would punish him severely if they found out.”

Ben nodded slowly, understanding the risk. “I won’t ask him to put himself in danger. All I need is information—details about ships leaving the planet, their routes. If he can provide that, I can handle the rest.”

She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. “I’ll speak to him. Quietly. But it will take time. These things can’t be rushed.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “And I’m grateful.”

The woman gave a small, tired smile. “You remind me of the stories my mother used to tell. Of the Dai'Je who walked among us, bringing hope even in the darkest times.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d live to see one. But here you are.”

Ben looked down at his hands, his heart heavy. “I’m no bringer of hope,” he said quietly. “I’m just a man trying to make sense of all this.”

She didn’t respond, instead turning to tend to the small fire in the corner of the room. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken truths.

As the stars began to peek through the small window above them, Ben felt the Force stir around him once more, its whispers faint but insistent. Patience.

He sighed and settled into the stillness, waiting for what was to come.

Three days later, the scorching heat of Tatooine was as relentless as ever, the twin suns glaring down as Ben Kenobi made his final preparations. The woman's information had been invaluable: a Weequay cargo ship was set to leave the planet that evening. It was the opportunity he needed, though he still didn’t fully understand why the Force had led him here—or where it would lead him next.

The night before, she had come to him, her face lined with exhaustion but her voice steady.

“The ship will leave under cover of night,” she had said. “They’re smugglers—no manifests, no questions. If you’re careful, you can slip aboard unnoticed.”

Ben had paused, studying her intently. “Why did you help me?” he asked quietly. “I wasn’t here to free you. Or anyone. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

She had smiled faintly, her eyes soft with understanding. “You don’t need to know yet. When the time is right, you will.”

Her words had struck a chord deep within him, stirring echoes of lessons long past. He had thanked her profoundly, bowing his head as he handed her the remainder of his food and water.

“You need these more than I do,” he had said.

She had tried to refuse, but he insisted, pressing the bundle into her hands. “For everything you’ve done. I owe you more than I can repay.”

Now, as the night descended on Tatooine, Ben moved carefully through the shadows of Mos Eisley’s outskirts. The spaceport was a labyrinth of ships, cargo crates, and scurrying workers, their movements lit by the dim glow of scattered floodlights. He kept his hood low, blending into the darkness as he approached the Weequay vessel.

The ship was a battered freighter, its hull marked with scorch marks and rust. A group of Weequay crew members was loading crates onto the ramp, their voices gruff as they barked orders to one another. Ben waited, watching their patterns, his instincts sharp.

When the moment came, he moved swiftly, slipping between crates and shadows until he reached the ship’s open cargo bay. The hum of machinery and the low murmur of the crew provided cover for his movements as he found a narrow space to hide behind a stack of supplies.

The minutes stretched into hours as the crew continued their work. Ben remained perfectly still, his breathing steady, his senses attuned to every sound. Finally, the ramp groaned as it lifted, sealing the cargo bay with a heavy clang. The ship shuddered as its engines roared to life, and Ben felt the subtle shift of liftoff as they left the planet behind.

He stayed hidden for a long while, his mind racing with thoughts of the woman, her words, and the strange pull of the Force that had brought him here. He didn’t know where this ship would take him, but for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of purpose stirring within him.

As Tatooine faded into the void of space, Ben Kenobi closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Patience, the Force whispered again, steady and unyielding.

He would wait.

___

Ben Kenobi moved cautiously through the industrial sprawl of Corellia, keeping to the shadows of the bustling starship yards. The Weequay cargo ship had docked hours ago, and he had slipped away unnoticed, his hood still drawn low. Corellia’s vibrant and chaotic spaceports were filled with ships of every size and design, and while that made it easier to blend in, it also meant finding the right vessel could take time.

He searched for something inconspicuous, a ship that wouldn’t attract too much attention—nothing too sleek or militarized, but sturdy enough for interstellar travel. Eventually, he spotted it: a battered freighter with peeling paint and mismatched panels, docked near a quieter part of the yard.

Ben approached cautiously, scanning the area to ensure no one was watching. The spaceport workers were preoccupied with larger, more lucrative ships, leaving this one relatively unguarded. He placed his hand on the hull, the cold metal humming faintly beneath his fingers.

This will do, he thought.

He reached for the control panel near the access hatch, his fingers brushing the buttons as he focused his mind. The memory came unbidden, warm and vivid—a flash of his younger self, sitting cross-legged in a training room, watching Quinlan Vos demonstrate the technique.

“Not everything requires finesse, kid,” Quinlan had said with a grin, his hands working quickly to short-circuit a panel. “Sometimes you just gotta get it done.”

Ben, still an initiate at the time, had furrowed his brow, frustrated by his own attempts. “But Master Yoda says patience and precision—”

Quinlan had cut him off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, patience is great. But sometimes, you need to improvise. The galaxy isn’t always going to wait for you to do it Yoda’s way.”

He had knelt beside Ben, showing him the sequence again, the Force flowing effortlessly through him as he manipulated the circuits. The air had felt alive then, the Force warm and welcoming, a shared connection that made the galaxy seem just a little smaller.

Ben smiled faintly at the memory, his hands moving instinctively now as he bypassed the freighter’s security. The panel sparked softly, and the hatch slid open with a quiet hiss.

Once inside, he quickly made his way to the cockpit, settling into the pilot’s seat. The ship was old but functional, its controls straightforward enough for him to manage. He powered it up, the hum of the engines filling the cabin as he accessed the navigation computer.

“Korda Six,” he murmured, typing the name into the search interface. The computer processed for a moment before displaying a set of coordinates. Ben entered them into the hyperdrive, locking in the destination.

As the ship prepared for the jump to hyperspace, he turned his attention to the datapad left on the console. It connected to the Holonet, offering a sparse collection of information about Korda Six.

The planet was remote, with a population primarily composed of non-advanced locals. It seemed to have little interaction with the wider galaxy, though there were mentions of Mandalorian activity in the region.

Ben sighed, setting the datapad down. The mention of Mandalorians was no surprise. Somehow, everything in his life seemed to circle back to them. It was a peculiar echo of how the Force had always drawn Anakin back to Tatooine, no matter how far he tried to run from it.

The freighter lurched as the hyperdrive engaged, the stars outside stretching into lines of light before dissolving into the swirling blue of hyperspace.

Ben leaned back in the pilot’s seat, his gaze distant. The Force was still guiding him, though its purpose remained unclear. He would find out soon enough.

For now, all he could do was wait.

#fic writing #star wars #star wars au #korda six #jaster mereel #jon antilles #ben kenobi #obi wan time travel #obi wan kenobi #jedi #tatooine slave culture #where the force leads #mandalorians

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Note

Seen first on Charlie’s server:

offering childhood friend Simon your last name because you don’t want him to have to keeping using the one his cunt of a father passed down. You were the one by his side as a child, witnessing the aftermath of his father’s rage, wiping away the tears that sprang from Simon’s eyes from the toxic mixture of pain, despair, and anger, and you were the one who made him feel safe throughout it all. A part of Simon wonders if he would have been able to survive it all without you, the rest of him answers “of course not”. Throughout the entire time, you gave Simon so much happiness that he felt he needed to keep going, while you were filled with so much love for this boy with a crooked nose that matched his crooked teeth and hair that had way too many cowlicks for how straight it was that you started to feel overwhelmed by it. Back when you were kids, you didn’t fully understand what names were and what makes a family, so you just promised that he would always be a part of your family, because that’s the only way you knew to show this suffocating love you held for him. But now you’re older. You had been torn apart from one another, in the violent end to his family and his reflexive guilt that even outsiders knew to include you in that destruction. When everyone else was telling you that Simon Riley was dead, you knew that he was alive, because you knew Simon Riley, and Simon Riley would crawl through hell, would bend time and space to his will just to return to you one last time. No grave would truly hold Simon away from you, and since your heart is still beating in your chest instead of rotting inside you, Simon Riley must be alive. And he was. And you were right. The grave they tried to keep him in was nothing compared to the thought of you. You were the only thing that carried him back home. He was nothing more than a madman searching for salvation in the arms of his savior, searching for where he had long since abandoned his heart. With his family gone and his mind in ruins, the love he held for you seemed to be the only thing he had left. So he came back to you. Just like he always will. And the two of you were together once more, just like it always should’ve been and always will be if the two of you have anything to say on the matter. He may no longer fully answer to his name, reborn as “Ghost” to everyone else, but he is still Simon Riley to you. And that grates at something in you. After all he has been through, after all that has been done to him, Simon deserves to have a name that shows he is loved, deserves to live without attaching himself to the piece of shit that was his father. That man has no right to a legacy, no right to continue to haunt Simon through his last name.

You sit Simon down, and ask him how he feels about his name, if it is a weight that is dragging him down or a badge of pride connecting him to his late brother’s family and his mother. He’s confused by it, because while you guys talk about everything (looking at Charlie’s mention that Ghost tells reader literally everything about his ops, even the most confidential of information), you don’t really talk about names? It seems weird? He gives a wishy-washy statement, nothing really of substance and asks why it matters, and that’s when you tell him the truth: that since the moment you met Simon Riley, you knew he was going to be the most important person in your life, and you were right. Truly, you never had any other choice but to love him, in that he was, all that he is, and all that he will me. Your heart set itself on him, and decided that it would take no other in his place. You had seen every part of Simon, even the parts he tries to hide from himself, the sides he thinks makes him a monster. But you still love him. And if loving a monster makes you monstrous in turn, then you would gladly turn away from the light and stalk the shadows. Because you love Simon Riley for everything that he is, not what he is lacking or what he could become. You may not be rich, you may never be able to give to Simon what you feel he is owed from the world, but you can give him something: a new last name. Yours is there if he wants it, a name that his father never touched, never soiled. A name that was given to him all those years ago in the promise of giving him a family as kids. It’s not perfect, your family has its flaws and drama, but it is given freely to him and to his family. Should he take it, you’re more than willing to save up to get new tombstones for his family, to posthumously give them sanctuary from that damned last name.

You tell him this can come with or without the ring and ceremony, that your love for him is all-encompassing and can be read in whichever way he wants to, and he finally shuts you up. He is crying silently as he kisses you, his heart so full of love for you that he sends his prayer out to any God or Higher Power, and thanks them for you. The best thing in his life.

Hopefully, one day, his wife.

Beautiful and brilliant

#I’m literally just here to put this into the world #because it’s wonderful

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aliteralchicken · 1 month ago

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I must know -- for those tags about putting a character in a time loop of the day she died, were you thinking of darla aquista? Because if so, please color me Intrigued

it was my girl <3

Immediately upon resurrection Laura knows things she shouldn’t, she knows her body has been dragged around the world and resurrected because her father gave his life for hers, since she has an instant mastery of her powers and is able to speak to the demon that gave Johnny his powers (where nobody else is able to hear it) I do think magic is a factor as to why

Laura is a warlock, she gets her powers though the same demon Johnny does, but she’s also a sorceress, trained under enchantress and June does not go easy on her

their very first training session involves June picking apart everything bad that Laura feels about herself, the guilt and responsibility she feels over her fathers death and the actions she committed when the dark powers of resurrection affected her mind

in terms of her own death, Laura puts little thought into it, even despite the fact when she woke up she “didn’t feel well” and we never found out if she ever felt right again, so it’s possible she has a constant literally painful reminder

she jokes about being a year old since her resurrection as well as how she’s changed, going from being an early riser to now sleeping like the dead, she mentions to Bernard and Tim how she’s not Darla Aquista anymore

Laura studies a range of magic with June, balefire, portals, incantations ect. her using magic to be sent to the past or watch it happen is training she could have and considering Junes insistence in Laura getting over her issues in order to be a great magic user i think having her confront the moment of her death may be something she’d have her do

Like with the knowledge of her body being dragged around Laura might have the borderline omniscient knowledge of her own death, but she wouldn’t have confronted it, she doesn’t want to look to that past life but given there might be a magical factor in then it might affect her magic in turn

Laura didn’t see firsthand the carnage she didn’t survive, the classmates who were also shot, the terror her friends had, watching herself beg her (boy?)friend to keep her safe moments before she’s seeing herself be shot and he has to keep her alive long enough to get to a hospital

she has to watch herself lie there unconscious, slowly dying, her friends who look so young surrounding her, terrified out of their minds, one of her closest friends has already accepted the fact that she will not make it “are they going to kill us too?” and the other is about to leave the room with nothing but a baseball bat in hopes of protecting them, in her head she knows he’ll but her heart can’t take it

She watches as her life slips away and she’s carried out of the school she had so many happy memories in, tainted forever, she knows that in a matter of hours her father will have found out from the news and ordered his men to make the war even worse, that her mother will be hospitalised due to the grief of her passing, that her friends will never be the same again, the ones who survived that is, because they weren’t all given a second chance like her

but until she can learn whatever lesson or accept whatever fact June wants her to know she’s stuck watching this, over and over, the day resets, she sees herself in the car talking to Tony, and she will keeps seeing that again and again and she doesn’t know when it will end

#Laura fell #Darla Aquista

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abysswalkersknight · 1 year ago

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A sequel to this drabble. Though I admit it was a little harder than the other.

While writing half of this I was thinking about that scene from the movie storks when they fight the penguins.

..................

He truly didn’t know what was worse, protecting his son from his past self or this.

His dear son, curled up in the throes of slumber against the chest of that loathsome heathen who so daringly has his arms wrapped loosely around his boy’s torso, leering down at Lilia from his chin’s perch on silver’s shoulder ‘what’s the matter old boy, that glare doesn’t suit a cute face like yours’ Lilia scowls at him and replies with an all too familiar gesture that would surely have Silver reprimanding him were he awake, alas twas not so instead his precious son was captured in such an image that Lilia would be cooing all over him, if it weren’t for this one abhorrent factor, who knowingly smirks back at Lilia with all the smugness more suited for a mischievous cat.

After the small incident where Lilia had beat the ever loving daylights out of his younger self, poor Silver had been wracked with miserable guilt despite his father’s protestations, claiming that he had been careless and had startled Vanrouge, thus to Lilia’s displeasure he wanted to make amends with the wild fae but ever since the incident Lilia had practically glued himself to Silver’s side whenever the general was in sight even going as far as to hissing at the fae whenever he thought he was too close to his son. As such Vanrouge kept a wide berth with his head down low and Lilia would have gladly left it at that but of course when it came to things like this Silver was rather persistent. For days Lilia watched scornfully as his dear boy ventured out to look for Vanrouge, sometimes he just couldn’t understand the extent of Silver’s kindness. Just mere days ago he had been attacked by the very fae he was searching very intently for and still Silver wishes to apologise to make amends no matter how many times Lilia tried to advise that it was near impossible to reason with a beast like him at that age, the bloodlust was too far ingrained and hadn’t time to rust away. But never did Silver give up and every time they found Vanrouge he would harshly refuse whatever Silver brought as a peace offering, personally Lilia was rather offended when the rats were rejected, it took him hours to catch all of them at Silver’s behest, but oh well more for Lilia. It had been this way for some time until suddenly one day Vanrouge was found begrudgingly eating risotto next to a triumphant Silver, really what was Lilia expecting, of course his son was capable of taming even the most rabid of beasts. But did it really have to be this beast? ‘Pray, do tell how this came to be? You’ve better not be holding him hostage, Vanrouge’ he growls hands on his hips and eye almost irritably twitching as his son shuffled in his sleep and almost buried his face in the general’s neck ‘why I’ve not the slightest clue myself, the poor thing just waltzed in here all dazed like and next thing you know he’s crawling up to me before dropping like so’ he smugly explains, nuzzling his cheek against silver locks. Oh you little…

The snide, conniving look he gives Lilia gives him the unshakable urge to bloody it black and blue again ‘why there was no hesitation whatsoever, he must have mistaken me as his father or something’

‘Of course he would, we have the same face!’ As much as he’d hate to admit, Silver’s recognition was never the best whenever a sleep spell hit him and Lilia did teach the boy to seek him out when he felt one coming. Oh well it can’t be helped he thinks reaching out to carry his boy off to the comforts of his bed only to gasp in indignation when sharp fangs clamp firmly into his hand. There’s a heavy pause as Lilia stares down at Vanrouge, who curls closer to his son, the promise of a slow, painful death blazing in his crimson eyes, yet the general was not intimidated in the slightest, of course not, what with the firm yet gentle way he manoeuvres Silver off him and down on the couch cushions, all without breaking eye contact or releasing his fang’s grip, so Lilia takes the ample opportunity to seize the ponytail he was so glad to shear off in his youth and send them both tumbling to the ground whose soft rug muffled the thud. In a silent brawl the two fae once again bite and kick at each other, daring the other to so much as make a sound and wake up the sleeping child above them, in a sense to Lilia it was a way to prove to himself that this younger version of him was just as he believed he was, a ruthless monster entirely incapable of caring for others, even if it was merely staying quiet just so his child could nap in peace. Yet as they scrapped Vanrouge refused to yield, showing off his familiar prowess by moving so that like Lilia, any blow thrown and received was muffled in some way. At one point they paused in fear when they heard a soft groan but Silver simply turned around and fell silent once more, suddenly Vanrouge whips out a fork of all things and drives it into Lilia’s arm. Lilia cried out in pain but toned it down to a quiet squeal, he rips out the fork and plunged it into the general’s shoulder who’s face blanked on impact and all of a sudden seized a spare cushion from the couch and screamed into it. Lilia would have found the whole thing hilarious had it been anyone else brawling like this.

In the background a certain Zigvolt raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the strange scene before him, honestly this would be a lot more impressive if the two fae weren’t trying to throttle the other in total silence. Wait, are they mouthing death threats to each other? Usually Sebek would never in his life dare to roll his eyes at Master Lilia but what was he to do? This was far too ridiculous, and Silver was bound to get a sore neck with the position he was in.

The two scrabbling generals didn’t even noticed Sebek walking around them towards Silver where he swung his fellow guard’s arm round his neck and hoisted him into his arms, may as well get him to bed, he thought as he carefully slipped out of the room, looking back to the still fighting Lilia’s, now I understand what Grandfather meant when he said that Master Lilia could be an idiot. Seven help him, these old fae were so oblivious.

#knight's writing #twst #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #sebek zigvolt #Zigvolt's to the rescue once again

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icespur · 1 year ago

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There are not enough Mpreg Parent Akeshu fics

I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed.

it's not like there's zero. There are some, but not nearly enough or I'm not looking in the right tags.

There's especially HUGE missed potential that not enough people utilize.

I've seen wholesome Akiren as a parent. Seems everyone is in agreement he'd be the chillest, awesomest, father.

But what about Akechi?

Goro "I had a bad childhood, no father figure, Mom passed away when I was young leaving me to grow up in either Foster Homes or the closest living relatives the Social Worker could track down. Who took me in but didn't want me. so I grew up to mask my true nature by being polite on the outside and a celebrity to get some form of positive attention, and I tracked down my deadbeat father who I'm going to ruin the life and career of out of spite and vengeance, for me and my late Mother." Akechi.

The man has childhood baggage, who knows how many young children he's interacted with as an adult. So his experience would range from "limited" to "none existent"

If one of these boys wouldn't take to being a parent well immediately, it would be Akechi. Like, the man is having an external crisis, he's not okay.

"I am the LAST person that should be a father. Do I look like fatherly material to you? I can't even recall the last time I interacted or made eye contact with an infant. Maybe I never did! I can do research and read books, I'm good at researching, I'm going to read the books no matter what but that can only help so much. I know what not to do, from my childhood. I'm going to try my best to do the exact opposite of what Shido did, but no parent is perfect, I could still screw the kid up! Not to mention I'm still processing the fact that MY RIVAL HAS A FUCKING FULLY FUNCTIONING UTERUS.

I knocked up my Rival

I knocked up the man I once shot in the head

I knocked---holy hell what have I done?

I've never been interested in Women, so I never thought I'd have to worry about accidentally planting a little me inside someone. Do you realize how many women I have turned down?

So here I was, thinking I'd be safe. That obviously nothing would come from indulging in a night of passion with my frustrating, Idiotic sexy, alluring, Rival.

But once again, you are just full of surprises apparently in the internal organs sense too because you can carry children and now both of us are unironically FUCKED."

"I'm not going to force this on you, I just thought you deserved to know. If you don't want to we can--"

"Pfft, HAHAHAHA. You say that like it's an actual option. Do I need to remind you what my upbringing was like? I'm not repeating the same mistakes, I'm not leaving. Granted you are obviously in a better financial situation and have a proper support group unlike my Mother. But if I decide to leave now, or stay but run later down the line, what's stopping our child from living in a constant internal state of guilt and loneliness, which will eventually evolve into anger and spite and once they're of age to move out, make it their mission to hunt me down and enter a false work alliance so they can gain my trust enough to eventually betray and torture me. Or just flat out kill me. And You know what? I wouldn't blame them! I'd kill me too if I could. I can't let that happen, I refuse to put a child with my D.N.A. through what I went through. So we are moving in and getting married (oh my god, I have to move in and marry my Rival) Because that's what Japanese family laws all encourage. And I'm going to internally pray and wish that I don't somehow manage to fuck up an innocent being that belongs to us, even though I have no idea what I am doing. Did I mention I have zero experience with babies and children?"

Point is, parentGoro! Has so much potential and it should be a crime that there are so little fics exploring that.

#persona 5 royal #persona 5 #goro akechi #akiren #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #akeshu #shuake #ren x akechi #fanfic writers away!#ao3 writers where you at?#calling all Akeshu/Shuake writers!#mpreg fic #reluctant parent #new parent #Akeshu child

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fire-branded · 7 months ago

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There's something FFXIV Dawntrail did well in my opinion that I wish FFXVI had also highlighted.

These are, as always, just my personal opinions -- so I won't be mad if you disagree! Regardless, Dawntrail spoilers below the cut!

Dawntrail is very open about showing the impact and pressure that cultural and societal expectations can have on younger generations. Zoraal Ja and Bakool Ja Ja are probably the best examples of it.

Zoraal Ja, the first of three children of what is Tural's equivalent of a king, the only blood child of Gulool Ja Ja, and a child that no one thought could exist -- given that two-headed Mamool Ja normally can't reproduce. He is referred to as "The Resilient Son", and is constantly struggling to live up to this notion of him being a "miracle". He believes he must not only surpass his siblings in terms of strength and capability, but must surpass his father as well in order to prove that he is this miracle child that everyone believes him to be. After the Trial where you fight him, and he's talking to his son, he mentions things like having nothing to leave behind for the boy. Gulool Ja Ja may have loved his children, may have told and shown them that he loved them -- but in the case of Zoraal Ja, it was completely overshadowed by the legacy he needed to surpass(in his eyes) in order to be worthy of life, and by the immense pressure he was under to live up to the expectations of everyone who claims him to be a miracle child, possibly even on par with blessed siblings in terms of regard.

What he does is unconsciable and misguided, yes. I will never defend that, although it still is interesting to me that all three children took inspiration from different parts of Gulool Ja Ja's history and reign, with Zoraal Ja focusing on the fact that yes, his father had to fight against the Yok Huy in order to drive them back and get them to release their slaves. In most cases, no, peace is not obtained without some conflict. Zoraal Ja sees that people are taking for granted the peace that his father fought to give them, and he wants to remind them through war just how good they have it. Gulool Ja Ja was able to unite nearly an entire continent; if Zoraal Ja can unite the entire world, even if it's by using fear and force to bring them to heel, then surely he'll be good enough to make true him being a miracle child, right?

Then there's Bakool Ja Ja. He acts like an asshole who doesn't care, but in actuality, he cares -- a lot. He has the weight of not just his entire village and their expectations to shoulder, but he also has the grief and guilt of knowing about the countless two-headed infants who had died before his birth, just so that their people could carry out this building legacy of blessed siblings on the throne, thus affording them status and power to rise up from the darkness(literally) where they have been forced to call home. He agonizes, he cries, he despairs, and he hides it all, because he has no choice. The future of his village hinges upon his success, with his birth having been generations in the making. He can't fail. Not just for him or his people, no -- but also for those who died shortly after birth, to make their sacrifices and the parents who had to bury them's sacrifices worth it.

The expectations he has to live up to, too, are so incredibly high, with him having to live for everyone else as well as for ghosts of the past.

I bring this up because it's something I wish XVI had touched on more, too. Like many things in that game, there are hints and nods to it, yes. But like many things, it isn't really delved too deeply into, at least not beyond Clive's perspective. The expectations that Joshua and Dion likely had to struggle to live up to at young ages, how detrimental it likely was to their emotional well-being and sense of self-worth... And this isn't even mentioning the pot of worms that is royal status, or the rest of the Dominants and their respective stories and situations, especially when factoring in that they, like Cid, may well have accepted the inevitability of their deaths because of their Eikon's powers.

#Out of the Flames #Dawntrail Spoilers #just something I was thinking on while doing MSQ yesterday

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ruffaloon · 4 months ago

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those of you who have been following me for a long time may remember that for a solid few years, i was a one direction blog. my url was liampayny. as you might guess, liam was my favorite. there are well over 300 pages worth of posts about him on this blog. they're all still there. my last post about him was two years ago.

i never expected that i would one day look back on these posts in mourning. these past few days have felt completely unreal. i don't think i'll ever be able to fully comprehend it.

in the days leading up to his passing, i recieved several notifications alerting me that liam was posting on snapchat. i ignored these notifications. the truth is that in recent years, looking at liam did nothing for me except make me sad. even before he was gone, i missed the chubby cheeks i had fallen in love with that he had permanently gotten rid of. i missed when i could engage with his posts without worrying if he was doing alright, if he was eating enough, if the rehab he was open about going through had stuck.

he wasn't doing well. and even now, i can't help but feel a kind of twisted vindication as a self-described member of the original liam payne defense squad. i was right. i always feared something like this would happen. liam was always the least favorite, always the fandom punching bag, hated back then for reasons i still to this day do not understand. after the band it only got worse. the general public latched onto him as one direction's clear loser, the biggest failure. a pathetic untalented clout chaser. i'll never forget when people scoffed at liam's claim that he was originally the leader of the group, when everyone called him a liar and a narcissist, only for him to be proven right when the footage of their creation was released. liam carried that band on his back for the first year of their existence, and no one ever acknowledged it.

i can't help but wonder if this contributed to his passing. i can't help but wonder if one direction had never come to be, if he had never gotten the fame and the spotlight he thought he wanted - if he would still be alive. he almost certainly would be. the liam that was put under immense pressure and never thanked for it, who was fed to the relentless industrial pop star machine as a literal child, struggled with substance abuse and maintaining healthy relationships. he made bad choices and hurt a lot of people. this is true. i don't deny it and i'm not defending his actions.

it's also true that the fourteen year old liam who auditioned for the x factor was none of those things. it's him that i'm mourning. who would he have grown into, if simon cowell hadn't plucked him out of the crowd? we'll never know.

it's tragic. and it makes me angry. and scared for others in the industry.

i can't imagine the kind of fucked up survivor's guilt the other boys must be going through right now. my heart breaks for louis in particular, who has already lost so many people close to him. i hope they have good support systems. i hope the women affected by liam's actions are safe and can focus on healing in peace.

i wonder if i'll ever be able to listen to one direction again. i will, i think. but it will never be the same.

i wonder if one day i'll look back on this and cringe at how melodramatic it all is.

this is a much longer post than i ever expected to write, yet i feel like i've only scratched the surface. 300 pages worth of feelings condensed into one farewell.

goodbye, liam. goodbye, the sunshine of my life.

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titisorriso · 2 years ago

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Chapter 9/ Never Again (Wild Skies AU)

The days were restless, the mornings were spent forging, the afternoons training, and the nights passed with her watching the skies and sea. Astrid led all the activities, the bags under her eyes hidden by the war paint, her tiredness obscured by her yells and tenacity.

Berk was at war.

She never thought this day would come. They were vikings, sure, but their tribe never worshipped war. Stoick did his best to avoid this, to maintain allies across the land, and although he had many, even them weren't expecting this fight.

Astrid swung her axe, demonstrating to some young yelps how to fight and protect themselves. The strong shield, symbol of a Viking's battle proficiency, was held by each and every one of the warriors. The newbies were struggling; the wood and metal too heavy for their weak arms to keep up. Astrid noticed:

- Never put down your shield. It is the one thing that will stop both a man's sword and a Nadder's spikes. It's your best friend and savior, so either you grow to carry it, or you better tell your family which rite you want them to say when you make your way to Valhalla.

One of the recruits raised his hand, Astrid sighing as she allowed him to speak.

- No offense, ma'am... But where is your shield?

She scowled, the boy cowering back.

- I don't need one. One day, if any of you become respectable warriors, you won't need one either.

A friendly, scruffy voice spoke up, entering the arena:

- But until then, you can get all sorts of shields in all shapes and sizes right back at my shop! We're having a discount sale for young meat!

Astrid dismissed her soldiers, who made their way back home quickly, relishing the free time. She approached her tired old friend, a weak smile sprouting forth:

- Gobber, you should be forging, not taking strolls.

Her voice was softer than when she talked to most people. Gobber had been someone to rely on in dark times. The moment Hiccup disappeared, both of them found comradery in talking about the scrawny boy who forged like there was no tomorrow. After some years, Astrid started visiting less and less, and now, with their respective problems, they rarely saw one another.

- Ah, you know me. I'll find a way to do everything without help on time, don't you worry about that... Actually, i wanted to show you something. There were some interesting developments that i made with Hiccup's old drawings and schemes.

She shivered. The Valkyrie had completely forgot she asked that of him all those years ago.

Asking Gobber to figure out what all those plans were, what legacy did the boy leave behind, if he made anything that could be used against the dragons. Afterall, in the past, Astrid thought of Hiccup as a genius and one of the smartest vikings in Berk; how foolish was she.

Now, those papers were found useless. Even if there was something important there, it was probably made to aid Toothless. Besides, she wanted nothing to do with Hiccup anymore. He was a page in her book she was ready to rip off and set fire to.

- Listen, Gobber, i...

He interrupted quickly:

- Astrid, i know, okay?... I know i'm hanging on to false hope, i know i'm not your teacher anymore, but please, trust me when i say, you want to see this.

He looked earnest. Gobber suffered a lot of punishments thanks to the heir's disappearance. Gobber was the one responsible for the kids, he was their teacher and keeper when their parents weren't around, so when the news came out, Stoick couldn't think straight. Gobber went to trial, losing his honor and role of orientator in the arena; the only thing stopping his sentence to escalate to death being his title of Stoick's brother-in-arms. Subsequently, he became obsessed with the theory that Hiccup didn't die, that there was no blood or fabric or vestige of him, so he must have survived. Afterall, dragons weren't exactly polite eaters.

Astrid felt guilt, and maybe it was that guilt that drove her to accept his offer.

He closed his forge. All windows, doors and exits barred, the only light being the fire inside the smelter that burned bright enough to illuminate the walls. Astrid observed Hiccup's childhood schemes, remembering his drawings back in his hut and noticing how rudimentary these ones looked in comparison. A smile forced itself on her lips, a certain nostalgia to imagining the boy jumping around the forge trying to do all of these in secret while also doing his work.

- I miss him too.

Gobber spoke, snapping her out of her haze. She straightened her face, clearing her throat as she tried to not involve herself too much.

- So... What did you want to show me?

He smiled, the normal excitement and edge of insanity in his voice popping back as he hooked and pulled as many pages from the wall as possible.

- So, it's no secret that the boy was a bit nutty in the head, even when the job was as easy as sharpening swords, he still found some distraction to keep him occupied. Weird inventions with the sole purpose of "aiding us" in our battle, but as you know, it always managed to make everything a bit worse.

She held back from whispering a "still does".

- Because of that, i looked at all his drawing and creations with those lenses. Thoughts filled with good intentions, but ultimately helpless. Something that any self-respecting viking would turn their nose at!

Astrid crossed her arms:

- Yes, Gobber, i understand. You don't need to spell it out to me... I remember how he was. Just get to the point.

The smith halted for a moment. Stacking the specific papers in a curious manner as he prolonged his pause. He seemed unsure, almost aware of how crazy he was about to sound.

- Well... That's how i chose to see it. That he made certain things with good intentions... But what if... - He took a moment to gather courage, spilling out what he meant with a mournful look - Astrid, what if Hiccup wasn't helping us. What if he was helping them.

Astrid shivered. She tried to mask the expression that forced its way up, begging to be seen. Her eyes went to the floor, trying to not make direct contact with the man, begging he would brush it off as being uncomfortable talking about the "dead" kid.

- ... What do you mean them?

He took a step closer, his wooden leg dragging on the ground. The Valkyrie met his eyes.

- I mean, what if Hiccup didn't get eaten or killed and tossed away... What if he ran away with the beasts?

Astrid took a moment... Then burst out laughing. She held her stomach, turning her face away, laughing until tears came out of her eyes.

- Have you gone completely insane, Gobber?! These devils have no feelings or rational thought. They can't run away with Hiccup like some sort of scorned bride!

Gobber remained serious. Astrid tried to keep the mocking smile on, but the lie did not stick.

- Astrid... I know i have no title, no worth and no claim... I know that questioning you, as a thane, can get me in a lot of trouble, but i need to know.

He took a step forward, the Valkyrie unmoving, paralyzed. Slowly, he grabbed her hand, holding it between his palm and hook, a pleading, teary look as the question rolled out of his tongue like a relieved breath, as if he already knew the answer before even asking.

- ... Is Hiccup alive?... Astrid, is Hiccup the one that saved you from drowning?... Is he... The Night Stutter?

A heavy silence. Moments of breathing and staring as she felt that urge. The urge to be a bad person, to lie and walk away, break his heart and let him believe himself mad. The urge was strong, and although it was wrong, she knew it was about self-defense rather than actual mean-spiritedness. About keeping yourself safe, knowing not many people like her got a chance to be where she was, a thane, the future chief of Berk even without any blood relation to the current chief. She couldn’t throw that away in a whim. Still, there was something in the now pathetic man that drove her to empathize: Gobber's situation could have been the same as hers. She always felt on the edge of falling out of Stoick's good graces, and she saw before her what would happen if she crossed the line.

Hiccup was alive. He was alive and well, flying around and enjoying his freedom while people like her and Gobber stayed behind to fix the mess. To take the brunt of the sword.

She turned away, unable to keep looking him in the eyes.

- ... I don't... I'm sorry, Gobber.

She slowly pulled her hand away.

- I'm sorry that i can't give you the answer that you want.

That was as cryptic as she could afford. A bad taste in her mouth with each word, something brewing in her stomach as she felt the necessity to heave and cry, but she held her ground. The man looked down, his hands falling to his sides, dejected.

- ... It's okay, Astrid... I shouldn't put this much weight on you... Afterall, you're still a young lady!... You need to be fighting and courting! Pay no mind to the ramblings of this old man.

He turned away, his shoulders slumped, the warrior wondered if he was hiding tears. He slowly started putting the schemes and drawings back in place, mumbling things to himself so quietly Astrid couldn't discern any of it.

- I'm... Going to go now, okay?

- Yes, yes, you have a war to fight. Go ahead! Knock'em dead!

He spoke cheerful but did not turn around.

Astrid turned to leave, the sound of the door creaking open.

- Just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind, thane?

She whipped around, staring at his back.

- Anything, Gobber.

He turned to look at her, a huge smile with tears of joy streaming down his cheeks.

- Just tell him to come by if he ever has time, alright?

Staring at the ceiling, playing with the sheets, counting the seconds. All techniques she tried to find herself asleep, to no avail. There was a plethora of moments in her life that she was not proud of, that kept her awake and bursting with nightmares for many years; but ever since that night it had gotten worse. Ever since Hiccup said he loved her.

There was no one to turn to. No one to tell. Gobber now knew the truth, but she still couldn't risk confidence, not when it could put his life in danger.

So, she laid there. Questioning her feelings for him, her duty with the village and her role in the war, and somehow, above all of that, the tinge of doubt that came to her whenever she thought of dragons. Calling them devils, monsters, beasts, all of it felt wrong, but it wasn't supposed to.

She was a dragon hunter. She killed and maned many of them, and in turn, they killed many of hers. Did Hiccup know that? Something about the way he said things, it seemed like he believed Berk was no longer looking to exterminate dragons. How much did he know? Even more important, how much he didn't?

Rain fell on the roof, the sound being the final straw as Astrid got up, realizing there would be no sleep tonight.

She grabbed her axe, moving through the darkness and silence of the village towards the arena, unbothered by the heavy droplets drenching her.

The arena was eerie. The usual clattering of blades and yelling replaced by water meeting rock and metal. She opened the wooden gate, the rain slowly fading out as she approached a still lit torch. With the light source in hand, she slowly marched towards her goal.

The cage of a Deadly Nadder was usually heavy metal doors and wooden beams to stop the beast from breaking or melting their way out, but this one was different. This dragon had been here since Astrid was a girl, she fought against it and trained many recruits with it, and after a while, it stopped trying to get out.

The Nadder was now behind bars. That was it. All that stopped the beast from leaving was thin metal bars that it could melt any day. Still, it never left.

Many times, Astrid wondered if it had just been broken, if it finally realized it had no way out and accepted the life of a prisoner rather than death. Often, Astrid thought of this beast as a coward, but now, the feelings of the beast felt a bit too familiar.

It was young back then, when it still had a fighting spirit and the dream of running away, of finally escaping and meeting others like it, but with time and training, it realized the world had other plans. That people expected something from it and it had no choice. With time, that trapped feeling felt like home, like how things were supposed to be. It's not that it wasn't fighting, there was just nothing to fight. It realized its role; it needed to obey and follow. No second thoughts or chances.

Astrid stared into the beast's eyes.

This was home.

The fire flickered, the Nadder waiting for orders, for the gate to open so it could perform its duty again. The warrior obliged.

She opened the cell, taking steps back as it took steps forward, mimicking her, watching her movement as if it were a dance and it was waiting for its cue.

Carefully, Astrid put her axe down, watching as the beast's pupils grew. The Nadder was confused, but curious, almost expectant.

The Valkyrie took a deep breath and dropped the torch.

Her eyes took a while to adapt to the darkness, the rain had completely stopped. Their breaths were synchronized, waiting.

Her hand went forward, staying in the air right in front of the dragon, her palms sweating as there was still uncertainty in her mind. What stopped the beast from attacking? From taking this opportunity and biting off her hand? The hand on her side clenched, her unease quickly becoming fear as she noticed the beast approaching.

The texture of the dragon's scales was different from Toothless. Her nose meeting the warrior's palm like it was normal. As if they had done this many times before. The Nadder rubbed herself against Astrid's hand.

"She trusts me."

The realization came like a wave. She didn't run or fly away because, to her, Astrid was her friend. The dragon trusted her to not harm her, to do what needed to be done and then allow her to go back to her spot and sleep and eat. Astrid didn't even realize what she was doing, the respect that she gave to this dragon without even realizing. The trust she instilled and the false kindness she had given out of routine, out of obligation, like second nature.

Tears streamed down her face as she took a couple steps forward, the beast not even flinching as Astrid hugged her tight.

- I'm so sorry...

Hiccup was right. She couldn't believe it, her mind reeling from everything that she had done while believing these creatures were nothing but monsters. She let go of the dragon, the Nadder tilting her head to the side, confused with Astrid's behavior, but still appreciating the affection.

“Never again.”

She wiped her tears, determination filling her heart.

- I'm getting you out of here.

His head was pounding, his skin itching and his lungs hurting. Of all the times Hiccup had been captured, this was by far the worst scenario. They even took his metal leg! Who does that?!

His eyes creeped open, his vision hazy and a bit blurred, but on the upside, he could move his body. On the downside, he heard and felt the rattling of chains as his hands were restrained.

He leaned his head back, hitting it against the stones a few times. There needed to be a way for him to force his mind to create some smart ideas.

- Hello?... Anyone there?

His voice was raspy as he tried to get some attention. Were there no guards? Well, there really was no need for them anyway, it's not like there was a way out of here.

He felt his body wanting to find Toothless. To see if he was okay, wondering what terrible things they were doing to him, but those thoughts wouldn't help right now. The questions of how long did Johann plan this, who's attention was he trying to get, how were these buildings made and did they have to do with the Razorwhips disappearing?

He pulled forward, testing the strength of the chains. They tensed but remained strong.

- HEY! Anyone! Let me OUT!

He yelled and made the chains rattle. A punch to the metal door of the cell:

- QUIET DOWN, PRISONER!

So, there was someone there. Hiccup itched his face against his shoulder, noticing his armor was filled with holes and burns from the acid. His voice came at an almost reassuring tone:

- Oh, so there is someone there... What's your name?

He was met with silence, but he could hear a shuffling of fabric as the guard moved.

- C'mon, what bad could it do for me to know your name? It's not like i can do anything.

The guard punched the door again:

- I said SILENCE! You are not to speak another word.

Hiccup noticed his tactic wasn't working. Since being friendly wasn't the way, he would try a different method.

- You know... It doesn't really *matter* how trapped i am right now. I have dealt with worse enemies than a trader with some exotic weapons. Ever heard of the Grimborn brothers? Yeah, i dealt with them. Let's just say it's not a good idea to be on my bad side.

He was met with a long silence, and then a prolonged laugh.

- Oh, i'm aware of your doings, Night Stutter. I know them way too well.

He heard keys jingle as the door was unlocked. Hiccup scooched back, thinking of how he could react against this guy while fully in chains.

The familiar face that appeared made the rider shiver.

- ... Krogan?...

The man smiled. There was a huge new scar going across his face, and his right leg was replaced with a metal spike.

- Surprised to see me, Haddock?

Hiccup's stomach turned, his anger rising as this simple kidnapping became more problematic than he imagined. He killed the Grimborn brothers, he defeated Drago and Toothless became the new alpha. Krogan was Drago's servant, a lackey he thought the monster had given an end to; but now, Hiccup wondered how big of a threat this all was, who was involved in this and what was really happening.

He jumped forward, forgetting his wounds, the chains and the lack of a leg. The rider fell backwards with his failed attempt of lunging at him.

- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO TOOTHLESS?!

Hiccup expected anything from him. A sadistic laugh, a mean remark, even a punch to the gut.

Krogan said nothing.

The man just stared at the rider, a mysterious look over his eyes.

- Your dragon is unharmed. Johann needs him alive to command the other beasts.

Hiccup's rage did not falter even with the reluctant answer.

- I swear, if only one of his scales is out of place, Odin have mercy--

- What? What will you do, rider?!

The interruption caught Hiccup off guard. What could he do? Nobody knew he was here; he didn't even leave a note back home because he thought it would be a quick surveillance.

- That's the thing, Hiccup Haddock, you always need others. You're useless by yourself. The dragon is gone, your precious Berserker friends are too busy dealing with a sudden Dragonvine outbreak, Alvin has a little riot the hunters incited on his hands, and Berk... Well, it's not like Berk can miss what they don't know exists...

Hiccup's brain yelled at him to not incite the hunter, but something about this situation made his rationality be destroyed:

- I have more allies than you know. You haven't even scratched the surface.

- Oh, please. They know you, Hiccup! Bayana, the Wingmaidens, the Defenders of the Wing, they're all busy. You are helpless, and soon, you will be dead.

The rider's head dropped, the anger slowly fading to a sense of despair.

- I... I've been through worse. This is nothing.

- Do you truly believe that?

Krogan approached Hiccup, kneeling to see him eye to eye as the rider sat dejected against the wall:

- You have nowhere to go, Hiccup. No one to turn to. They won, and you will be nothing but a faraway memory of what could have been.

Hiccup's face lit up, coming to a conclusion he hoped wasn't the wrong one:

- ... You keep saying "they" instead of "we"... Why are you here, Krogan?

The two stared at each other. That similar flame of rivalry and hatred threatening to spark again and ruin whatever was about to be proposed. Krogan was one of the only hunters to have come close to killing Toothless, and that was all it took for Hiccup to hate someone. He was heartless, emotionless and observant. In many ways, he reminded Hiccup of Viggo, but Viggo had some sort of feeling, just any feeling. He got something from this cat and mouse chase. Krogan seemed to only focus on his goal: Surviving. Anything else was just colateral damage. Krogan’s voice turned somber:

- ... These people, they are not to be trusted. When Drago tried to execute me, i barely made it; having to hide in corners and stay away from the public... I would thank the gods if i believed in any of them for letting me live for so long, but i'll settle for thanking you.

He got up, holding a key as he showed it to Hiccup, just out of reach.

- You, rider, killed Drago. You freed me from that prison of shrouded shadows.

- Believe me, you weren't really in my mind when i did it. Call it a unfortunate consequence.

- Ah, but that's where you're wrong.

Krogan took a step forward, Hiccup flinching backwards, ready to headbutt or kick as much as it was necessary, but the hunter simply threw the key into his hand.

- ... I'm returning the favor. Go, Night Stutter. You're free.

Krogan turned around, already leaving as Hiccup shouted:

- WAIT!

The man stopped.

- You expect me to believe that? I'm not a child anymore, Krogan. What is your true goal?! What do you want from me?! I'm not going to be a pawn in your sick game!

The hunter put his hood on, a low chuckle making even the walls shiver.

- Just get out alive, rider. We have just begun.

The devil was stubborn. Astrid tied a rope around her neck, pulling her silently through the houses and fields... Except the dragon didn't get the sudden change of pace.

The Nadder groaned and perched on every fence and wall it could find, Astrid having to pull extra hard for the beast to keep it pushing. The Valkyrie would often whisper in anger:

- I swear, you're not exactly making this change of heart easy.

The dragon flapped her wings in response. Unbothered and quite excited to see the outside again.

They eventually reached the forest, Astrid less worried about being found out as Raven's point was the only spot she didn't assign a patrol to, worried Hiccup could be stalking around these parts again and not wanting him to get caught.

The open sky was littered with stars, the warrior remembering her first time flying as she realized the time had come. The wind howled, a bitter cold predicting the arrival of winter. Astrid turned to the Nadder, untying her rope.

- Well, this is it.

The Nadder stared, confused. Astrid smiled, finding the beast's confusion endearing.

- C'mon, go! You're free.

The dragon remained put. Seconds passed, then minutes, and all the beast did was look around the woods and stay put. Astrid lost her patience.

- I'm serious, go! You can leave!

More empty staring.

- Sweet Thor, do you not understand me? Is that it? Okay...

Astrid took some steps back, the dragon tilting her head as she observed the woman start mimicking flying.

- You... SOAR! Go... UP! The SKY is OPEN! You can GO!

The Nadder sat down. Astrid's palm went to her face.

- You are smarter than this. I know you are! Why are you resisting me?!

She was talking to a dragon as if it had feelings and thoughts. Dear gods, she was becoming Hiccup. The warrior decided to change her method.

- Okay... Maybe you just don't know i'm talking to you. I mean, Hiccup named his Night Fury, maybe you want a name too...

The Nadder seemed interested, loafing forward like a hen as she waited for a name.

- Uh... How about... Zephyr? Like the wind! I always wanted a daughter named Zephyr.

The dragon shook her head.

- Okay... Maybe Gunnr?! Like battle! That's a solid name, right?

The dragon groaned in disapproval. Astrid stared at the sky, bewildered and annoyed. She was really asking a dragon what she wanted her name to be. A stark contrast to the butchering and axeing she could be doing instead.

She watched as the wind brought dark clouds over Berk, a weird tint to them that she had never seen before. An idea formed as she looked to the Nadder.

- How about... ÉlFljúga? Stormfly? Do you like that?

The Nadder jumped up, considering it, then running towards Astrid and nuzzling the woman who giggled with the affection.

- Alright, alright. Well, Stormfly... It's time to go. You can't stay, it's not safe.

Stormfly moaned, confused at the woman pushing her away.

- I'm serious, girl. You can't stay, they'll... We'll kill you.

The dragon looked into Astrid's eyes, still confused and reluctant, but a certain understanding went between their hearts. There was a connection there, as Astrid touched her forehead to Stormfly's spike, the dragon closed her eyes, saying goodbye.

- I'm sorry that i hurt you so much... I promise that there is someone out there who will treat you with the most love and respect.

She kept holding on to the dragon's face as she moved to the side so Stormfly could see her as she spoke:

- There's a guy that will find just the right habitat for you. He's a bit smelly and has a bad sense of humor, but he'll treat you right. Just follow north, he'll find you.

She let go of Stormfly, the dragon moaning as it once more refused to leave, but clearly more willing to do so if ordered again. Astrid felt a pang in her heart.

- ... The world isn't ready for you. We... We don't deserve you. At least i don't. Not after everything i've done.

- Well, at least you admit it.

The Valkyrie turned around like lightning, grabbing her axe and swinging it to a fighting pose. Stormfly jumped beside her, readying a shot.

A hooded woman mounted on a Razorwhip. Astrid had never seen one face to face, the surprise must have been all over her complexion, for the woman laughed.

- Don't worry, Windshear doesn't bite... Too hard.

- Who are you?!

The woman dismounted her dragon, revealing her face and long black braided hair.

- Name is Heather. We need to talk about Hiccup. °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° This one took a lot of editing. Had to find the old notebook i wrote the story on to see where i was going with this and decided to change it all. Hope you enjoyed it! (And i know this is looking like the end, but believe me, there is so much story to go. I had way too much freetime back then.)

#Wild Skies AU #wild skies #wild!hiccup #wild!astrid #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccstrid #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #not even joking there were so many plot twists in the original it was kind of embarrasing #fanfic #fanart #my writing changed SO MUCH in such a short time #if it changed for the better or worse i can't tell #but it changed

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the-graves-family · 1 year ago

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13. Infection | "I don't feel so good."

“Vi…?”

The axe stops a fraction of an inch before it hits the wood, and Victor carefully drops it before he turns around. His little brother is standing out in the snow, clumsily bundled in a thick blanket, looking absolutely miserable.

“Colin, you know you can’t be out here when I’m cutting wood.” It’s far too dangerous for a five-year-old to be close by when there’s splinters and sharp objects involved, no matter what Father says. “You have to wait inside.”

“But I’m cold.”

Ever the patient older brother, Victor doesn’t point out that being outside in the middle of winter is not going to make his little brother feel any warmer. Instead, he sighs and trudges to where Colin is standing, gently herding him back into the cabin. Father and Uncle have left with their youngest brother for a doctor’s appointment in the city, and it will be a couple of days before they return.

The house is freezing cold, and yet it feels warmer than when Father is home.

A poorly-hidden cough breaks him out of his thoughts, and he blinks down at Colin. Oh dear. Getting sick was not ideal at the best of times, although Father isn’t there to witness it, at least. Now all he has to do is make sure Colin gets better before the adults return.

He can do this. He’s twelve. He should be able to do this all alone.

“Are you feeling ill?” Victor asks gently, crouching down and putting his hand on his brother’s forehead. Which very quickly turns out to be a mistake, because his fingers are extremely cold from being outside without gloves; it means he can’t get an accurate feeling for the boy’s temperature, and it means that Colin is now fussing about being even colder.

“Vic, I’m cold!”

“Right, of course. I’m sorry, Colin,” he murmurs, before gathering his brother in his arms and moving him to the couch. “Don’t move, alright?”

He’d only planned to replace the wood they’d used to stay warm at night so that Father wouldn’t notice it being gone, but now he realises he’s going to have to use a lot more to keep the cabin even marginally comfortable. But that doesn’t matter, right now. He’ll gladly stay the night awake chopping wood if that means Colin can get better.

Victor grabs as many logs as he can carry and rushes back inside, hoping they’re dry enough to catch. His brother has not moved from the sofa, still looking pretty sickly. He feels awful for not noticing it sooner, and the guilt sits heavy in his stomach as he slowly coaxes a fire into being. With a sigh, he watches it for a few moments, just to make sure it’s not going to die out, before moving to the kitchen.

They’re not supposed to use the stove, but Victor is fairly sure he can put it back the way he found it. Nobody would have to know. Replacing the lemon he’s going to have to use for tea is going to be a challenge, but he can’t focus on that right now.

As the water boils, he feels the weight of everything crushing him, but he tries to shake it off. His brother needs him.

Father had taken the key to the pantry, so he can’t add honey into the tea, but he hopes it will still help. Carefully, he brings a steaming mug out to Colin, who has only moved to settle more comfortably on the couch.

“Here, be careful. It’s really hot,” he warns as he holds the mug to the boy’s mouth so he can take a sip. He doesn’t want to burn him. That would be terrible.

His hands are still cold, and his fingers hurt from holding the axe so tightly for so long, but he’s the eldest son. He has duties he needs to attend to. The house must be spotless before Father comes home, or Colin will be the one to suffer. Victor wishes he could just stay by his brother’s side, but there’s no way he can do that, replace the firewood, do his schoolwork, and make sure the house is in order.

Colin coughs again and looks at him with wide, tearful eyes.

“You’re not going to tell Father, are you?”

It breaks him, just a little bit.

“Of course not, Colin,” Victor assures him, petting his hair, feeling the what radiating off his skin, this time. Hopefully it’s just a small bug, something quick and painless. Father will not be happy if they have to leave for the doctor again. “He’s never going to know.”

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #infection #“i don't feel so good.”#oc #fic #abuse tw #implied at least #(victor)#(colin)#(writing)

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slickmcrty · 1 year ago

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Rick OC Info

Name: Rick Sanchez

Nicknames: Grandpa (by slick), grandpa rick (by slick) and Chill Rick

Dimension: C-149

Age: 64 (currently deceased)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Demisexual

Appearance: He has the normal appearance of a rick. Only different features being having a longer and shaggier hairstyle and scars on both his hands and palms. He wears this hat along with this tank top (usually worn with grease stains) with this brown leather jacket, distressed jeans and brown combat boots.

Bio: He was orphaned as baby. Growing up a group home and several foster families that just never stuck. Rick was left to fend for himself which he found easy to do. Because people wanted little to do with him he found it easy to just handle things by himself and as a result it's hard for him to feel comfortable around other people. He really has to comfortable around you and learn to trust you for him to build a proper bond.

Seeing as he just kept to himself with the occasional drinking buddy he never met his diane and as a result never had beth as a daughter. Deep down he desperately craved companionship and to belong to a family but he didn't trust people enough due to his upbringing to try to make those connections.

When he was offered to live at the citadel among other ricks he thought this was his chance to make some connections. Being around other versions of himself must mean they have a lot in common. Which wasn't the case as much as he thought but he was able to make a few friends. His strongest connection was definitely with the morty he was assigned with. Slick morty.

He didn't know how to feel about taking care of a morty considering he had never even been a father let alone a grandfather but seeing as he grew up in foster care himself he wanted slick to avoid that if he could so he tried his best to take care of him.

Over time he noticed how other ricks treated their mortys was abusive at worst and just assholes to their kids at best. Rick opted to be neither. Treating the boy like he was his own. He worked as mechanic to make ends meet. All the inventions he made in his down time being stuff they could either enjoy together or little gadgets that just amused the boy like robot dogs and jetpacks. Adventures they go on are often light hearted. When things get too dangerous for comfort he makes sure to portal them home quickly.

Personality wise he's relaxed compared to most ricks. Only getting upset about things that negatively affected him and his morty. He doesn't exactly agree with how the citadel is run but is willing to be just another cog in the machine if it means him and his grandson can have a peaceful and happy life for the most part.

Though slick called him grandpa he was more of a father figure to him. He just thought calling him dad would be too weird and they'd get odd looks from the other rick and mortys. Their time together ended when a grenade was thrown on one of their fun adventures. The attack came from out of nowhere. He acted on his protective instincts. Slick being the only thing he really cared about he pushed him out of the way sacrificing himself in the process.

Slick didn't take it well not only because of how close they were but due to how the system worked when it came to mortys. They had no patience with his grief. Wanting him to get over it quickly. They gave him a new rick so he should be over it right? It was due to his intense grief and guilt over being the reason he got himself killed that he messed up on so many adventures with his ricks getting a majority of the killed and the others so annoyed with his uselessness that they sent him back. He decided at some point to fake it.

Pretend he got over his death. Life had to move on so he had to put on a somewhat happy face and do what he was told. To this day while he's happier with AR and SR as his caretakers he still isn't over his grandpa's death. Carrying this repressed rage over his demise. Pretty much the only people who were know about it and comfort him over it being his group of friends and boyfriend.

#rick oc #tw character death #tw grief

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popopretty · 3 years ago

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (Final)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final

This is the translation of the last part (from page 48 to 63) of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

I HIGHLY recommend you to read Side A first before moving on to this one more context, better understanding, and easier comparison between the two sides. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.

Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing. - This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don’t speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoilers tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don’t take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I’m sorry if that’s too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don’t want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

I killed that wealthy man, simply because it was a mission. I didn’t know why I was killing him, nor what kind of person he was. I just aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. That was it.

It seemed that the client who ordered the assassination was targeting that painting. I did not find out about it until much later. My job was only to kill the man. Carrying the painting out and cleaning up the aftermath was another professional’s job. They did their job. I did my job. And on my way back after the mission, I casually had my eye on a novel on the desk, so I took it and left the house.

It always starts with the little things.

That novel triggered a lot of things, and I eventually stopped killing. I have not killed a single person since then.

One day about two years after that day, I suddenly came up with an idea that I should go back and return that novel. There was no big reason for it. It was not out of sense of morality or guilt. It was simply because I thought if I did that, I would be able to face that novel directly. I already had another copy of the book that I bought by myself.

In the mansion that was once owed by the wealthy man lived a son of his. He was seventeen years old. I later heard that he was not his real son, but a boy who had lost his parents in an underworld conflict, that the man took in. An orphan.

I must have been out of my mind at that time. To think I would go and meet that son of his. I could have just sneaked into the house, put the book there and left, and it would have been as easy as bending a finger for me. But anyway, I ended up standing in front of the son and introducing myself. As “the person who killed your father.”

There was no word that could describe how angry the son was. He had all the rights to be angry. His family was killed by the underworld, twice. He was hitting me, throwing stuff at me, and attacking me with all sorts of insults. I could easily dodge all of his attacks, but there was no way to avoid the insults.

When he became exhausted from all the rampage and finally sat down, I explained to him about the killing. After that, he demanded a compensation. For his father’s life, and for the rental fee of that book I took without permission.

Bring that painting back, he said.

There was no reason for me to accept that request. First, I didn’t know where the painting was then. It must have been bought by yet another wealthy person far across the sea. I could find some clues if I looked, but that would mean a long, tedious and unprofitable job on top of that.

If it had not been for the book, I would not have accepted it.

As it turned out, my guess was correct. It was a long, tedious and unprofitable job. To add to that, it was a dangerous job. I had to get into a private military company (PMC) of nearly one hundred and fifty armed soldiers and carry the painting out under a rain of bullets, without killing anyone. If I were asked to do it again, I would absolutely refuse. Most of the troubles in my life were brought upon me by myself.

Standing in front of the painting that I brought back, the son of the wealthy man just looked at it in silence. After about thirty minutes, he started talking, little by little. About the reason he wanted the painting back. And how that painting was the object of a bet.

His father wanted his son to become a businessman that would surpass himself. So, he made a promise that if the son could make ten million yen by the time he turned eighteen, he would give him that painting.

“Stupid parents”, he said. In the first place, it was a dirty painting that had been obtained through illegal means. Did he really think that the son would try that hard to get his hand on such a thing?

But the son did try very hard. He managed to earn almost 80% of that ten million by himself. He did not try that hard because he wanted the painting, he said.

There was one year left till the promised eighteen.

That young man asked me to keep that painting for him until then.

The painting had a setup. It had been written on, by a special type of paint that would become visible when exposed to ultraviolet rays. The text covered an aera of about a quarter of the painting. And it said,

“You are my pride.”

If all the art lovers over the world saw that, they would just faint in anger. This kind of graffiti just blew away the whole five million yen worth of the painting. The man caused troubles even after his death. But perhaps, that wealthy man did it exactly because it was trouble.

He probably wanted to say that he wouldn’t care even if the painting’s value was to be reduced to zero, because his son was worth all that much. Or maybe that was why he went through the trouble of buying that painting illegally. Of course, the truth stayed unknown until now.

Because I killed the father.

I kept the painting as requested. I put it in a storage box and stored it in a dark, cool and windy place.

It is under the floor of my house, near the foot of my bed.

It is a painting that no longer has any artistic value. There is no point in preserving it with care.However, it has value to that young man. The son whose father was killed. That painting is the memento of his father, the will of his father, and in a sense, his father himself.

I am still protecting it now.

It is not to atone for my sin. I am not that kind of an admirable person. It is just because a lot of things piled up, that I decided to do so.

“And once I have made up my mind, I am not going to change it, no matter who asks me to.” I say as I walk toward the cop. “Got it? Bandaged man?”

“What?”

Before the cop can react, I quickly snatch the gun from his hand. The cop, whose arms have been injured and cannot even stand up, do not have the strength to steal it back. I bring the gun close to my face and say.

“This is not a gun.” I say. “This is a listening device. You are listening to us over there, right? You have anticipated this and created a situation for me to tell where the painting is, and tried to eavesdrop through this gun.”

“This gun … listening device?” The cop was stunned. So he did not know either.

“I found it odd from the beginning. That this was an automatic gun.” I say as I observe the gun. “When they stormed into my house, they were carrying the revolvers used by the city police. This is a different kind. Perhaps, this automatic pistol was the one you used when you threatened this guy? One more thing, if you want to threaten me, basically, you will have to come to me directly. But all I can see here are injured people. So, this is what I came up with: you, in order to find out where the painting is without showing up here, have created a situation for this cop to threaten me. If that is the case, then there must be a listening device somewhere.”

Of course, the gun does not answer me. It is just there, cold, heavy and quiet. But just by being there, that gun is radiating its unique presence to the surroundings. I continue to talk to the gun.

“This is loaded. But I guess it is just a blank, right?” I point the gun at the ceiling and fire a single shot. It makes an explosive sound and a flash of light cut through the darkness. But that is it. There is no bullet hole on the ceiling.

“That was quite a performance. Did you calculate everything up to this point, and collapse in front of my house on purpose? If so, that was impressive. Now, I have told you everything about the painting. Break the siege as you promised. Or you can let everyone in here and we can have a fun killing party. I am fine either way.”

As I am speaking, I check the gun more closely. Originally, it is my tool of trade. I know the balance of the weight like I know my fingers. The grip is a little heavy. I press the button to release the magazine, it drops into my hand. In the area near the grip screw, the polymer plastic material on the side of the magazine has been removed and a black rectangle part was embedded in it. That is the listening device.

I hold up the magazine like a microphone, and talk into the device. “Within ten seconds, you will make three blasts. After that, you will disappear immediately. If you don’t, I will consider that our negotiation has failed and I will come get you from here.”

I throw away the device and count to ten inside my head. Between eight and nine, a series of shocks shake up the underground basement. Exactly three times. The blasts sound like thunders from afar, and then the sound suddenly stops as if it has been chopped off. All that is left is silence. A silence that makes my ears ache.

“It is over.” I take a breath and walk away. “I will call the cops once I get out. The real ones, you know. All of you will be arrested, but at least you will be treated a little better. Compared to the Mafia.”

“Wa… wait a minute.” The cop says with a hard voice. “You…. Why? You said yourself that you alone could get away with this. You even knew that the gun I pointed at you couldn’t be used? Could it be that… you… you saved me? For what?”

The answer to that question is simple. But I don’t want to answer him. What is the point of answering anyway? I feel empty. I am tired, wounded, betrayed by people, and betraying people.”

“I am thirsty.” I say to myself. “I’m going home.”

The guy says something but I don’t hear it. I keep walking out of that place.

***

The light from the gas lamp illuminates the profiles of people walking through the ticket gate.

The blue stars of the city, of which there are only a few, are scattered in the night sky like a film.

The station is surrounded by the night sky, the night scenery, and a group of people walking home in silence. There is no explosion, no gun shot, no bargaining for your life here. It is the plain scene of the closing of a day like every day, which starts mechanically and ends mechanically.

Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke are there at that same station. In different places.

Oda is exhausted. Covering his aching back, he walks among the crowd rushing out of that station.

Dazai stands in the darkness, away from the street lights of the station front, watching Oda as he becomes one with the night.

Oda walks along the station platform, out of the ticket gate, and stesp into the night of the city. After getting out of the underground bunker, he crossed the mountain and walked over to a nearby village. He negotiated with the farmers there for them to give him a ride. He then got on buses and trains one after another, back to the nearest station to his home. When he arrives, it has become completely dark.

Oda rubs his own shoulders, and walks home with an exhausted face as he cracks his neck. His clothes are wrinkled and covered in mud. Sometimes, people passing by Oda look at him as if they are looking at a strange, foreign creature. But no one calls out to him. People in the city just don’t do that.

Oda gets through the ticket gate and walks under the street lights, as he takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth. Then he starts searching for something in his jacket. He is looking for a fire.

“Here you go.”

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind him. Oda turns around. In front of his eyes, there is a light from a match. And a hand holding it.

Oda is caught by surprise for a second, but he immediately places the cigarette in his mouth on that. He closes his eyes, breathes in the smoke, and breathes it out into the dark night. Then he looks at the person.

“Hi. What a look you’ve got there. Are you okay?”

That is Dazai.

Dazai, who has half melted into the dark, is standing there silently, smiling a smile that does not look like one.

“Nothing.” Oda says so as he looks at the other person through the smoke. “I just tripped.”

“This matchbox is yours, isn’t? I saw you drop it at the ticket gate.”

Oda looks at the matchbox Dazai is holding. It is black on the sides, white on top, and has a logo of a bar in front. It is clearly the one that Oda always carry with him.

“Yes.” Oda says, looking at the matchbox.

Then he observes the man. He stays silent for a few seconds before asking with a blank expression.

“Have I met you anywhere?”

Dazai smiles a smile of no personality. “No. This is the first time we met.”

The bandages that have covered most of Dazai’s face the whole time are no longer there. He is wearing a flat cap to cover his eyes, and a black inverness coat to hide his shape and his wounds. As for the voice, Oda has not heard Dazai speak even once.

“Is that so?” Oda says as he takes the matchbox from Dazai and turns his back on him. “Thanks for the match. Good night then.”

Oda is just taking a few steps when Dazai calls out to him from behind.

“Looks like you got into quite a bit of trouble.”

Oda stops and slowly turns around. “What?”

“Just… You seem so worn out. Your face looks so bad… Also, that thing on your hand and clothes, I can’t see very well in the dark, but it’s not just dirt. There is blood too, right?”

Oda looks at his own hands. It is true that there is still some blood from when he tried to help the injured cop on his wrists.

“Well, there was a bit of a situation.” Oda says, checking the smell on his hands. “It is not my blood. But it’s true that I got into some trouble. I got something important taken from me. Something I have always protected.”

“If it has been taken”, Dazai smiles helplessly, “then at least you don’t have to worry about it being taken anymore.”

Oda looks at the other for a while. As if he is trying to look for an answer there.

“Probably.” Oda says. “I can’t forgive the guy who took it, though.”

Dazai slowly nods. Trying to hide his expression.

Oda watches his expression for a moment but he finally turns away. “Thanks for the match. That was a big help. Bye then.”

Dazai looks at the back walking away from him and speaks quickly. “If you ever get into trouble in the future…”

Oda turns around, “Huh?”

“You can turn to The Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama for help. They will take on even the troublesome stuff. And they will get the job done without fail. I was helped by them in the past, too.”

“I see.” Oda says after he gives it a moment of thought. “I’ll do so then. That is very kind of you. You are a good guy.”

Dazai’s expression becomes distorted.

He opens his mouth, and closes it again, as if he can no longer breathe.

If he tells him everything now, maybe things will go back to how they were. The two of them will go to the bar together and have a toast. Just like that night.

“Odasa…”

Just as Dazai is about to say that name, a train passes by. The express train passing through that station cuts through the silence of the night, right next to where Dazai and Oda is.

The darkness and the light alternatively hit the road, and the roar of the steel blows away the silence of the whole surrounding. Oda narrows his eyes.

The train is long, and the sound it makes sounds like an extended sorrow. Dazai looks down so that no one can see him, his face twisted in grief. It is as if that long roar is promising him six long years of heartlessness to come.

The train finally passes through.

Oda looks around, trying to get what the other was saying again.

There is nobody there anymore.

Oda blinks his eyes, feeling confused. He looks around. Then he shakes his head as if to shake off all the thoughts, and walks away with a resigned expression.

Only the cold and quiet night breeze is left blowing through the space where no one remains, trying to fill up the emptiness.

Nobody says a word. The painting is kept by the Port Mafia for a year, before it is returned to its owner, the son of the wealthy man.

The son keeps it for a few years, and later donates it to a museum anonymously.

That way, Dazai has achieved his goal. Getting Oda to tell him where the painting is without facing him, nor having his face remembered. And by doing that, Oda will never be targeted by a criminal organization again. That is Dazai’s goal.

He has another goal.

To make Oda despise the Port Mafia. So that he will not join the Port Mafia, thus avoiding his coming death.

That goal is accomplished. Oda becomes involved with not the Port Mafia but the Armed Detective Agency, and joins the Agency two years later.

And then two years after that, Oda meets Dazai again one more time.

At the bar counter, in the sad melody of a parting song.

That is where Oda points his gun at Dazai, and Dazai says the last goodbye.

The last goodbye of his life.

The Day I Picked Up Dazai – Side Beast <The END>

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #spoilers #bsd spoilers #the day i picked up dazai #side b spoilers

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feeder86 · 3 years ago

Text

Embrace the Chase

Daddy? Was that guy really serious, grumbled Dan to himself as he took himself off home alone. The gay scene was such a bizarre place and Dan had struggled to find his way within it. Having only recently decided to explore his attraction to guys, at the grand old age of thirty, he had frequented many different gay venues and left them all feeling completely out of place. He couldn’t help feeling that he had missed out when he was younger; fresh out of the box and ready to take on one sexy guy after another.

Like his father before him, Dan’s hair was prematurely turning a little gray in places. He began to feel like an old man amongst a sea of slender, fun-loving gay guys, who clearly felt none of the guilt about their sexuality that had plagued Dan’s life up until now. Going to the big gay clubs had certainly been an error. Being over twenty-five seemed to automatically discount him from being flirted with. If he got up on the dance floor, he felt the judgemental eyes of them all, wondering what the old guy was doing there. But even the small successes were hollow. To the girls, Dan’s pepper gray hair made him appear distinguished. However, here the rules were all different here.

Dan had to admit that he hadn’t expected it all to be so hard. He had his boyish good-looks and an athletic build, with strong shoulders from his many years of playing the drums for his old band. His dress sense was a little dull, he realised, looking at some of the outrageous things a few of the boys were wearing out. However, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself in the way that some of those guys clearly craved. That was how he came to find a bar, tucked away on a quiet back street, that he felt much more suited to. Here, the men were a mix of older and younger; the beer was good and the music didn’t suck quite as badly as everywhere else. But that didn’t mean that it was perfect either. There was an odd hierarchy that Dan couldn’t immediately put his finger on. On a Friday night, a noisy crowd of large, bearded men sat at the table below the front window, chatting loudly with their big, booming voices and seeming to know every person who came in. They watched them all, seeing the inevitable drama unfold, whilst nursing a beer in their large hands, resting on their guts.

“Come sit with us,” a large, tall guy ordered as Dan looked around the room, clearly alone. Dan had only been there a minute or two, and yet he already got the sense that he was being invited to sit at the ‘cool table’.

He sat down shyly, but the large, boisterous personalities gathered around soon drew him out of himself. They hadn’t been put off by how new Dan was to the scene and they were the only ones who seemed to be able to hold a discussion about cars and decent music. Dan clicked with them straight away, but he was still an odd fit, sat there with them all. The old boys were not in the sort of shape that was conventionally thought of as attractive; all of them, every last one, was carrying a large, rounded stomach that filled their lap when they sat down. In fact, it was odd how cool they were about being so big, and how little it seemed to affect their confidence or bravado.

“Put your tongue away,” laughed Roger, seeing Dan checking out a cute, skinny guy across the room. “It’s bro-code, you don’t want to upset Jim, checking out his ex.”

Dan pulled a face, waiting for the punchline that never came. “Jim… you dated that guy?” he asked in disbelief. They must have been playing with him. Jim was in his mid forties with a 400lb body and gut that literally could have passed for a beach ball.

Jim squinted at the dance floor and then nodded in recognition. “Oh, yeah, um… what’s his name?” he asked the gang.

“Harry,” a couple replied.

“That’s it!” Jim nodded. “He was fun. Nice and flexible!”

Dan felt like the rules had been turned on their head again. He tried to consider how to phrase what he wanted to ask, without coming across as rude. If this had been a straight venue, there was no way a huge, fat guy like Jim would be taking away the pretty, young, fit girl home. “Was it just a drunk, one night thing?” he asked.

“No,” chuckled Roger. “Jim dated him for about three months. I was only joking about the bro-code though. If we implemented that rule, there would only be a couple of guys left in here for you to flirt with.”

“You really don’t understand the whole bear thing, do you?” Vern laughed, mindlessly running his hand over the large expanse of his monstrous gut. The guys all laughed, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves and Dan simply laughed with them. He liked his new friends, even if he didn’t quite understand them.

Being so much further on in their careers, Dan’s new friends had a lot more disposable income than he did; newly single, renting a crappy little apartment to save the embarrassment of having to move back home after breaking up with his girlfriend. Dan felt like the pauper of the group, struggling to scrape enough money for a few beers with them on a Friday night.

“Ah, here he is!” Roger called out, the moment Dan walked in. “He’ll take the cabin.”

“Cabin?” Dan asked, feeling a little alarmed.

“We’re going on a cruise in two weeks, but Roger’s buddy had to pull out. So, it’s yours if you want it?” asked Paul.

Dan flushed a little red and felt awkward to reply. “Thanks, but, there’s no way I can afford that,” he mumbled, wondering how pathetic he must have sounded.

Roger pulled a face. “The cabin’s already paid for, buddy. We just need someone who can get two weeks off work at short notice. If you can make it, it’s yours.”

The guys started giving the cruise the big sell. They’d done it every year and could answer any of the questions Dan had about it. He felt awful, accepting something so big from guys he’d only known a few weeks, but he was humbled that they liked him enough to offer such a gift. “Sure,” he smiled. “Why not?”

Dan could hardly believe his luck when he looked around his own cabin a few days later. Going on a cruise vacation had seemed like something so far out of his reach and yet, here he was. Before long, there was a knock at his door so loud and firm that Dan knew exactly who it was right away. Upon opening up, he was greeted by the sight of four of the guys, strolling straight into his cabin.

“Sorry to give you the smallest room,” Roger said cheerfully. “But you’re the smallest guy, so it made sense” he grinned, rubbing his own large gut in a way that seemed completely habitual.

“It’s perfect,” Dan smiled back gratefully, suddenly sensing that his once spacious and breezy cabin now felt more than a little claustrophobic with these four enormously overweight guys in here with him.

“We’re going up to Paul’s favourite restaurant,” Vern explained.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” Roger jumped in, leaving Dan in no doubt that they expected him to come along.

Dan grabbed what he needed and followed the large men down the long corridors and up onto the deck. The sweet aromas from the many restaurants flooded the entertainment spaces and the hungry boys were eager to get started. Dan had made the mistake of following the crowd and ordering similar quantities, not realising that the portions would be so big. He struggled after some time, finding it amazing that the guys around him had eaten so fast and were still chatting away as if all this food wasn’t affecting them at all. His mouth chewed, but there was no enjoyment to be had from it. His stomach was tight and even swallowing felt laboured.

“Geez! Help the boy out, would you guys?” Vern called from the head of the table.

Dan looked up, realising that Vern was gesturing to him. Chubby hands came in front all around; the remaining food disappearing before his eyes.

“Don’t worry, man,” Roger offered, slapping Dan on his back as if he was someone to be pitied in that moment. “It’s all inclusive, so just order as much as you want. There’ll always be one of us greedy lot to help you finish! ”

Following the other guys up to the deck, Dan sighed quietly as he realised that they had all decided to head up onto the deck for a swim. His stomach felt so bloated and full, Dan just felt like he needed to lie down in his cabin for an hour. But, remembering that he hadn’t paid for this vacation, he dutifully collected his swim shorts so that he could join them.

The sun was shining but the deck chairs were easy to find. “Geez! You’re all skin and bone!” Jim laughed when he saw Dan gingerly taking off his shirt.

Dan immediately put his hand to his bloated stomach, feeling anything but skinny at that moment. But, looking around him, with all the guys and their rounded pot bellies and ball guts, he supposed that he probably did look tiny in their eyes.

“Don’t worry. A couple of weeks with us will soon sort you out!” Vern chuckled, rubbing sun cream onto the shelf of his gut. However, just then, his attention was caught on a waiter who strolled by: skinny and probably no older than twenty; even Dan’s gaydar was lighting up; that tight little ass of his practically crying out to be fucked as he strutted about the deck. It was uncanny how, even here, Vern seemed to be getting checked out, sat there like a hairy beached whale on his deck chair. “Chaser alert!” Vern whispered, seemingly very pleased with himself. He stood up, waddled over to the bar and immediately started flirting until the guy handed over a napkin for Vern to write his number down on.

Dan watched from the side, completely fascinated. Just how did Vern do it?

“You coming in for a swim?” asked Sam; one of the crowd that Dan had only met that morning for the first time. Being the closest in age to him, Dan could sense that he was going to get on well with Sam during the vacation. The guy hadn’t seemed quite so overweight with his shirt on; however, now Sam was only in his swimming costume, it was plain how much of a swollen, hard-looking pot belly he had on him. It looked odd on him, like it didn’t quite fit, and it was littered with tiny little stretch marks that Dan had never seen on a guy before.

“No swimming on a full stomach!” Jim called out before Dan could answer. overhearing the conversation. “Sit your big ass down, Sam!” he laughed.

Sam nodded, almost obediently and tapped his forehead like his inclination to go for a swim had been a bad one. He sat himself down on his deck chair, like the others, and rested his hands on the top part of his rounded gut. “Is someone getting the beers?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, boys!” came Paul’s voice. “Beer and snacks are on their way!”

Dan simply lay back, glad that he hadn’t had to make an excuse for not going for a swim. He accepted his ice cool beer gratefully and tried to rest his eyes as the sun stroked his skin.

Within a few days, the guys had seemed to sniff out every gay guy aboard the ship. Vern had regaled the story of how he had seduced the waiter, whilst Paul, Jim and even a few of the others, had found their own romances to engage their time with.

Sam seemed to be the only exception to this. More than anyone else, he seemed to spend his time eating under the watchful eye of someone else in the gang. There was some sort of power dynamic that Dan couldn’t quite put his finger on. Sam appeared subservient to everyone else and he picked up, more than a few times, knowing looks between him and the older guys.

“Did Sam make it for another lunch this afternoon?” asked Jim, looking around at the others.

“He’s a little late, but he’s up there now with Paul, getting something,” Vern replied, checking his watch.

Dan’s brows furrowed as he licked the large ice cream cone one of the guys had brought over for them all. The more time he spent with the guys, the less he understood them at all. Why would they care about Sam’s eating schedule? It was as if they all enjoyed holding some sort of power over the guy, and Dan gradually became convinced that their preoccupation with Sam’s diet was a part of a kind of domination play between them all.

“You okay?” Dan asked as Sam joined him later that evening at the bar, getting another beer, away from the rest of the table.

“Never better,” Sam replied, sounding anything but. He seemed almost short of breath and he rubbed his stomach as if it hurt. Wearing the same shirt as he had worn on the first night, Dan was almost a little embarrassed to be stood there next to him. The cruise was clearly having an impact on Sam’s waistline. The buttons strained and his portly stomach, that had been fairly concealable at the start of the cruise, now seemed to have amassed a new spherical shape to it, pushing itself forwards like it was graduating into something much more imposing.

“Is everything all right with you and the guys?” Dan asked, feeling concerned. “I can’t help getting the feeling that they sometimes…” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “It sometimes seems like they bully you a little.”

Sam smiled and held back a laugh; his double chin forming as he did so. “Yeah, yeah…” Again, he seemed like he was trying not to laugh. “It’s all good, man. When you get to know the guys a little better… you’ll understand, trust me.”

“Understand what?” Dan asked, feeling more confused than ever. But just as Sam seemed about to answer, Vern’s loud voice sounded from across the room.

“Hey, Dan, don’t bother getting another beer. We’re heading off for some waffles,” he shouted, standing up along with everyone else.

Dan’s eyes lit up. He hadn’t realised how much he was in the mood for something sweet until Vern had said it. “You coming?” he asked Sam.

Sam exhaled as if psyching himself up for something. “You bet I am!” he nodded.

“Shit!” Dan exclaimed as he dressed for work the day after getting home. He stood in the mirror, flabbergasted at how difficult it was to button his dress pants up. He squeezed the two sides of the material together and growled, seeing for the first time how much blubber had formed on his stomach. Standing back after finally succeeding, he stared in horror at the small, fleshy love handles that dripped ever so slightly over the waistband and turned to gaze in disgust at how much fuller and more padded his butt seemed, filling up the material. This wasn’t an isolated incident; every one of his pants appeared to fit with the same embarrassing tightness. He’d stepped on the scales; eyes widening as he saw the number climb up twenty pounds over his usual weight. Who the fuck gained twenty pounds in two weeks?

Dan had expected everyone to comment on his weight at work. To him, it seemed obvious: the puffier cheeks on his face, his chest, butt and, of course, that frustrating little paunch that seemed to have arrived from nowhere. But, bizarrely, no one had commented, and it was only when Dan was back with the other guys at the bar that Friday night that he finally got the whole thing off his chest. He’d never known them all to be so quiet, listening intently as he recounted trying to get his pants to fit and his alarm at how much he had gained.

One by one, the guys all shared similar tales of tight clothing since they had got back and the atmosphere seemed to change completely. The guys were all closed in on each other, rather than pursuing the crowd of guys on the dance floor below as they usually did. Their talk seemed intimate; almost erotic.

Standing at the bar that night, Dan felt a hand brush against his love handle which, despite choosing the loosest shirt in his closet, still seemed rather apparent. He turned to see a cute-looking guy he’d seen at the bar a few times before, smiling at him flirtatiously as he walked along to the dance floor.

Returning to his seat with the guys, Dan noticed the hot guy making eyes at him while he danced. “I think I’m getting flirted with,” he whispered to the boys, turning his head and nodding back in the direction of the young guy who had smiled at him at the bar.

Immediately, the guys all grinned. “Oh, Kevin!” they all laughed, seeming a little impressed and yet unsurprised at the same time. “Yeah, you’re exactly his type after your little vacation gain.”

Dan looked at them perplexed.

“He likes the dad-bod types,” Vern explained. “When you chat to him, push your belly out a little bit more. He’ll be putty in your hands.”

Now it was Dan’s turn to laugh, stopping only when he saw the blank faces staring at him. “You’re joking, right?” he asked.

Vern sat back a little. “Fine, don’t believe me,” he smiled, raising his hands innocently. I’m only much older and wiser than you, what do I know about how to seduce guys?”

Now it was Paul’s turn to jump in. “Just trust us,” he stated earnestly. “We’ve known Kevin a good couple of years. Just push your belly out a little. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Dan still wasn’t sure if he was the subject of some elaborate joke, but as he stood up to make his move on the handsome young guy on the dancefloor, he didn’t hold back his stomach as he had done the rest of the week. Then, as Kevin’s smile got wider and wider as he approached, Dan did something he would never ever have believed he would do. He pushed a little with his gut, making his stomach seem even more bloated than it had already become. “Hi there,” he smiled. “Fancy a dance?”

It took less than a few minutes for Dan to work out that the boys had been absolutely right in suggesting to him that he emphasised his newly padded stomach. As he and Kevin slipped over to the side of the dance floor, Dan could feel the hot guy’s hands exploring his body, rubbing over his small paunch and love handles, moaning with appreciation.

“How come I’ve not seen you around here before?” Kevin asked between kisses.

“I’m here every Friday night,” Dan replied, only a little offended that Kevin had not noticed him until now. “Maybe… maybe it’s because I’ve gained a few pounds recently,” he smiled, taking Kevin’s hand and putting it back on his stomach, where it had been roaming around for the last five minutes.

The lust in Kevin’s eyes was more than plain to see. “I think it really suits you!” he marvelled.

Dan enjoyed the feeling of being in the centre of such love and adoration. He pushed his stomach out even more. “So do I,” he nodded, staring at Kevin’s sexy lips that he wanted to kiss again. “So do I.”

It had been so long since Dan had had good sex! He hadn’t realised how much he had needed it until afterwards. He strutted about the next week feeling like he was king of the world.

“So, what time does Kevin usually show up here?” Dan asked the guys as they settled down for their Friday night drinks.

The guys rolled their eyes. “Forget Kevin. He’s just a hot mess. You can do better!”

“But… you were the ones telling me to go for it last week,” Dan grumbled back.

“There are plenty of other fish in the sea,” Jim laughed, swiping his hand, showing of the slowly building sea of guys in the bar.”

“Take your pick,” Paul added. “Between us, we’re pretty much experts on all of them. We can help you get whoever you want.”

The idea intrigued Dan and he looked around. “There was a guy in the corner who had always caught his attention in the past. Tall, slender and with the face of an angel. “What about that guy?” he asked with interest. The guys squinted towards the back and clarified which of the boys Dan was referring to.

“That’s Jake,” Paul nodded. “He’s a chaser. He’s more into guys bigger than you. Although…” he pondered,sitting back to get a better sideways look at Dan’s stomach, “...you have clearly gained a few pounds recently.”

Vern shook his head dismissively. “Nah, no chance. I’ve never seen Jake hook up with a guy less than two hundred pounds.”

“What are you now?” Paul asked, sounding almost hopeful on Dan’s behalf.

“One-eighty,” Dan mumbled.

“Not too bad then,” Vern nodded. “A couple of weeks and you would be big enough to be in with a shot with him.”

“What? You mean, gain twenty pounds?” Dan scoffed. “I’d never get laid again!”

“This bar is full of chasers. It’s famous for it. Why do you think it’s always so packed, even though the big gay venues are ages away? Trust me, in here, you get fat, you get laid!”

Before now, Dan hadn’t really understood the whole ‘chaser’ culture that the guys would occasionally reference. He recalled in his mind how fixated and horny Kevin had been, rubbing his hands over Dan’s swollen middle. He wasn’t about to rush out and gain a whole bunch of weight just for the sake of it, but those ideas fermented in his brain over the coming weeks, making it easy for him to not do anything about the pounds he had gained over the cruise. Besides, he had other matters to think about. Thanks to all of the advice of his new friends, Dan had networked his way up the career ladder and was starting to feel his finances ease slightly. The price for that came from the many evenings he was spending at his desk, catching up on training and upskilling himself for his new roles. The idea of joining a gym was laughable and takeout meals became all too convenient.

For most single men in their thirties, gaining weight would have been a disaster. But, for Dan, the experience seemed to coincide with the biggest uptick in his sex life that he had ever experienced. He was so close to two hundred pounds, why not just… let it happen? It felt so freeing and empowering to let go of the anxiety and self-imposed rules that he had always had about his eating habits. Now he could eat what he wanted, when he wanted. The years of hiding his attraction to guys and caring so deeply about what other people thought of him had left him feeling exhausted. Most of his old friends had drifted away after he finished with his long-term girlfriend and now, more than ever before, Dan needed to be completely selfish. He wanted to experience the awesome sex he should have been getting all those years ago when he was too shy to embrace his sexuality. He loved sex, he loved guys, he got on better with his new friends than he ever had with his old ones. Life could be so sweet if he just allowed himself the freedom to take it.

“What did you think of those beers I sent over?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, they’re great!” Dan nodded, delighting in the fact that Jim’s job gave him ready access to such strange perks; like free packs of European beers that he was more than willing to share with his buddies. “Nothing better than coming home to a couple of fresh beers every night,” he nodded gratefully.

One by one, Dan saw the guys’ eyes drift down to his little paunch. A few months ago, he would have squirmed awkwardly, but in this group, having a gut was a source of pride and masculinity. Yeah, he was getting a beer belly, but so what? His fuller figure was also making him one of the most popular guys at the bar. There was just something about having a guy get so horny, rubbing his gut; it was a phenomenon he couldn’t really put into words. Finally bedding Jake last weekend had properly cemented the idea that Dan didn’t want to go back to his old lighter, punier body.

“You should come over to Vern’s place on a Wednesday night and have some pizza with us sometime,” Jim grinned, looking around at the other guys.

“He’s not ready for that yet,” Vern shot back, giving Jim a harsh, warning look for making the suggestion.

“You guys meet up every Wednesday?” Dan asked, surprised that none of them had ever mentioned it before.

Vern sighed and decided to level with Dan right there and then. “You’ll get your invite, don’t worry. I just think you need to get to know us all a bit better first.”

Dan was about to ask Vern what exactly he was referring to; after all, surely he knew pretty much everything about the guys by now. But at that moment, his attention was caught elsewhere. A stunningly hot guy had just strolled in: young, tall, pretty and athletic, he seemed to have the best parts of all the best guys in here, all rolled into one. “Who the fuck is THAT?” Dan spat; his tongue practically hanging out. “Please tell me he’s a chaser too!”

The guys all looked across, then chuckled, looking at each other. “That’s Robbie,” Paul explained. “He must be back from college.” He paused, as if wondering how to phase what he wanted to say next. “He’s a chaser, alright. But… he’s definitely a bit too kinky for the likes of you.”

“Do you reckon I’m in with a chance?” Dan asked, sitting up properly and feeling an urgent need to go and try his luck in chatting the guy up before someone else pounced on him.

“Careful, Dan!” Vern cautioned as the guy stood up to make his move. “Paul’s right. Robbie may be little too kinky for you to handle.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Dan asked as he stood behind the handsome young guy at the bar.

Robbie turned, delighting Dan as he looked him up and down, grinning with approval at what he saw. “Well, hello there!” Robbie sang back playfully. “You can certainly buy me a drink,” he smiled.

Raising his arm for the bartender’s attention, Dan realised that he had never felt so excited to be chatting someone up before. He’d heard the guys’ warnings, but what did it matter? However kinky Robbie could be, he was all up for it. Robbie was someone he just had to have; just look at that tight ass and bulge in the crotch!

“So, how come I’ve not seen you here before?” Robbie asked, accepting his glass and gazing confidently into Dan’s eyes.

“I’m only here on Friday nights,” Dan replied. “Plus, if you were here a few months ago, you might not recognise me now.” He patted his stomach, which he pushed out a little in the hope of ensnaring the gorgeous chaser. “I’ve put on a little weight recently.”

As chat up lines went, the weight thing was definitely a strange one. However, Dan always found that it worked like a charm for him. Guys were always interested to hear about his new belly and eager to compliment him on his look. Robbie appeared to be no different. The words landed on him and lit up his face like a slot machine. “Freshly fattened!” he teased, reaching his hand out to rub Dan’s little paunch. “You hanging out with the big guys over there?” he asked, pointing back at Vern and the rest of the guys. “No wonder you’re packing on the pounds!”

“They’ve certainly opened my eyes a bit,” Dan nodded, deciding to rub his belly; knowing that it was his best feature to keep a guy like Robbie interested. They took the drinks into a quieter corner and chatted flirtatiously for the next hour, until they could stand it no more; getting a cab and heading back to Dan’s place for the rest of the night.

Robbie was so much more into the belly than any of the other chasers Dan had been with. In the cab, his hands had slid underneath Dan’s shirt, before he finally unbuttoned it as they kissed. He grabbed at the new fat, pinching it and jiggling it; growling with lust. But Robbie was so incredibly sexy; Dan’s dick ached for him. Wanting to head straight into the bedroom, Dan felt dismayed when Robbie wanted to slow things down and sit on the couch, kissing.

It was hard to not feel like a king, sat there on his couch, legs spread and having Robbie working him to perfection with his mouth. The guy had found some ice cream in Dan’s freezer and seemed to enjoy the sight of him eating it. More than once, Robbie got him quite close to climaxing, but the experience kept rumbling on. After the ice cream, Robbie found some chips, then chocolate and other snacks. His hands kept rubbing over the increasingly tight stomach and he lifted his head up to kiss it and worship the small belly as often as he could.

Things seemed to switch as Robbie took him into the bedroom. Dan had the exciting feeling that he was being controlled. His gut was surprisingly heavy and full. When Robbie offered to sit on his crotch and do the hard work, Dan didn’t complain. He lay back against the pillows, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Robbie’s tight, perfect ass cheeks slipped over his dick.

“Open up,” Robbie whispered, grabbing one of the cupcakes Dan had bought for his work friend’s birthday and forgotten to take with him that morning. Dan obliged, feeling that he would do anything in that moment for the gorgeous guy gently bouncing on his dick. “I love guys who know how to eat like you can,” Robbie went on, delighting in the huge, enthusiastic bite Dan took, desperate to impress.

Once again, Dan felt ready to come, and yet that moment never seemed to arrive. Here he was, six cupcakes down and still feeling on the edge of it all.

“Let me fuck you,” Robbie suddenly suggested, climbing off Dan’s hardness.

Dan took a moment to catch up. He’d rarely been asked to do this by the guys he’d brought home, but there didn’t seem to be any inclination in his head to refuse. Rolling onto his front, Dan felt sluggish as he went onto all fours, presenting his spread butt cheeks for the incredibly sexy guy he had brought home. He winced slightly as Robbie’s thick erection worked its way inside him and then slowly built up momentum.

Dan’s gut felt heavy as it sank down to the bed. He could feel all the weight he had gained over the past few months, rocking, jiggling and bouncing a little as Robbie took over the fucking. More than that, he could sense Robbie watching it all; his fingertips gently sliding over the flesh of his love handles and underneath to find his belly. “Mmm, I love fucking fat guys!” the chaser growled with surprising authority.

Feeling his dick leaking, Dan realised that he had never been dominated like this before. The feeling was overwhelming; giving up control, letting someone else do whatever they wanted to him. So when Robbie’s hand stretched to grab another cupcake, Dan willingly opened his mouth to take it whole. Robbie’s fingertips pushed it into his mouth as the guy’s hips continued to pound.

“That’s it!” Robbie called out. “Eat like a fucking pig for me!”

Dan didn’t really know where it came from, or why. Feeling the desperate need to please, his mind conjured the image of a little pig and he immediately snorted like one as he chewed the cupcake still pressed against his mouth. As he did so, he felt the throb of Robbie’s hardness and the guy physically shook with lust. Abandoning the cupcake, Robbie’s free hand now went straight to Dan’s hardness, milking it with a speed and determination that the guy knew could only have one inevitable conclusion. He needed to come; he’d never been so horny in his life. He oinked encouragingly, hoping it would spur Robbie on to let him finish. He squealed and grabbed at the last cupcake himself, smashing it into his mouth.

“Oh… FUCK!” Robbie marvelled, working his hips, leaning over Dan’s back and stroking his hardness furiously. They both made an almost pained sound as the feeling of climaxing overtook them. The pleasure was so great, so powerful and long lasting. When Dan finally flopped back into his bed, he knew that he would need to do that again sometime. And again. And again.

“So, we heard that you and Robbie had a good time last weekend,” Jim asked with a coy smile.

Dan eyed them all suspiciously. “Yeah,” he nodded. “He sat on my dick very nicely!” he explained with the masculine bravado that he always tried to use when discussing his conquests.

“Really?” Vern asked, chuckling a little to himself. “We heard that he stuffed you full of cupcakes and then fucked you while you oinked like a little pig for him.”

At once, the guys all erupted into laughs; the ones closest to Dan slapping him on his back.

Dan hated the way the guys all talked in here. No intimate moment was a secret. “Well, it wasn’t quite like that,” he tried. “There was a lot of build up and stuff…” he fumbled, trying to salvage his reputation with the boys.

Sat next to him, Jim patted Dan’s belly, which looked and felt bigger than Dan had ever known it. Three times last week he had been horny and invited Robbie around for more fun. “Oh, we heard all about the build-up too,” Jim grinned. “Cakes, chips, ice cream…”

Once again, a roar of chuckles sounded around the table. “Relax!” Vern finally declared as Dan could feel his cheeks flushing red. “We’re all kinky as fuck when it comes to food and sex. We’re just glad we don’t have to hide it from you anymore.”

“I can’t even come unless my gut is packed tight like a drum, full of food,” Jim immediately jumped in, nodding knowingly.

“My ex used to wake me up at 3am every morning to get me to drink a calorie shake and blow me off,” Paul agreed.

“And as for Sam…” Vern chuckled, looking around at the group of guys. “Well, let’s just say, he’s a very good little eater when he’s horny!”

Dan thought back to the younger guy he had met on the cruise. Sam never came out with them on Fridays as he was always working, but Dan remembered how intrigued he had been with the guy’s relationship with the other men.

“You should come over to my place next Wednesday,” Vern announced. “You can see how little Sammy is doing now,” he grinned excitedly at the others.

His curiosity piqued, Dan nodded, pleased that he would be getting the opportunity to at least catch up with Sam again.

There was a manly cheer as Dan stepped over the threshold of Vern’s penthouse apartment that next Wednesday. Vern’s shirt was missing and as Dan stepped around the corner into the living space, he could see that none of the other guys were wearing one either. Chubby, blubbery flesh was everywhere as the guys lounged all over the two large sofas. Vern grabbed a plush chair from the dining table and Dan sat, slightly detached from the group, but still very much a part of it.

“What pizzas do you want?” Jim asked, throwing over a large tablet screen for Dan. Already the amount of pizzas the guys had added was astronomical, and with their fat bellies out, it was obvious that this was going to be quite the feast.

“No shirts allowed on a Wednesday night,” Roger called across the room. “Those are Vern’s rules.”

Dan looked up at Vern who nodded in agreement. He huffed slightly but felt a strange sense of excitement. There was a smell of lust and anticipation in the air that Dan felt strangely aroused by. He pulled off his shirt, allowing his small paunch out, rubbing it a little self consciously as the guys all cheered in approval. He didn’t quite know what to do with his arms. How could he own his look when he was so new at this and so much smaller than everyone else?

“Do you remember those first thirty pounds, Vern?” Jim asked, gazing with an odd nostalgia at Dan’s small pot belly.

“Barely!” Vern chuckled back, slapping his monstrous tank of a stomach. “I quickly moved on to bigger and better things!”

The intercom sounded into life and Dan heard the distinct tones of Sam asking to be let into the building. He sat up a little, pleased that he would get to see his buddy again. The pair of them had formed a nice friendship during the cruise, but had not seen each other since.

Seeing Sam turned out to be the biggest shock of the night so far. The guy was greeted at the door by Vern. But as the big man stepped aside, Dan got a full view of what had become of the chubby boy Dan had met a few months ago. His shirt was far too small for him, which probably made Sam look even bigger than he was. It was obvious what Sam had been doing since Dan had last seen him. The guy had been eating hard. A large, stout belly sat under his chest, pushed out now into a jiggly looking sack. His love handles had exploded above his hips and his chest had puffed up with blubbery looking nipples. Even Sam’s face was harder to recognise now he had a full ring of fat under his chin.

Dan stood up, his mouth open in shock. But as the freshly fattened guy spotted him and walked over, it was Sam who chuckled in surprise. “What the hell is this?” he laughed, outstretching his finger and prodding Dan in his little paunch. He then reached his arms around Dan and gave him a quick hug in greeting. Stunned into silence, Dan could only feel the mass of Sam’s large gut pressing into him. “The guys told me you’ve been putting on a few pounds recently. It suits you!” he smiled, patting Dan’s middle in approval.

“You can talk!” Dan finally managed to say, staring now at the huge gut on his friend.

Sam smiled proudly and lifted off his shirt. His stomach jiggled as the material picked up his gut and then slid off it. Dan could hardly believe his eyes. Sam looked even fatter without that tight shirt on. “I’m getting there,” Sam nodded, fingering his deep belly button. “But I still have a long way to go. I’m excited you’re here though. I was wondering how long it would be until you got an invite to one of my stuffings.”

“Stuffings?” Dan mumbled. He was confused by the word, but Sam had already moved on to greet the other guys, who all commented excitedly on the guy’s gut and patted his surprisingly broad and plump butt.

The conversation moved on and it was only when the pizzas arrived that anyone moved again. Several were placed down on Vern’s enormous coffee table and all of the guys reached forwards and began gorging greedily. Dan had forgotten the seriousness of how the fat guys ate. They were stacking the pizzas and nibbling quickly, taking massive bites. The conversation stalled, as each one ate as if they were worried the supplies would dwindle before they could eat enough of it all. Greasy hands reached over each other, patting and rubbing the bellies and Dan could even see Jim getting a hard-on, right there in Vern’s lounge. But, sitting in the chair opposite, Dan could see Sam working just as hard as any of them. He was guzzling and chomping on the pizzas as if this was the main event of his week. Sodas and beers were being slurped. It wasn’t long until a chorus of burps began erupting throughout; pride seeming to derive from the biggest and loudest of them.

Dan stacked his pizzas too, feeling a strange expectation for him to conform. He could feel his stomach tightening, yet he continued to eat, noticing that no one else had given up yet.

“I managed twelve,” Jim finally announced, looking exhausted and stuffed.

“Fourteen!” Vern grinned with a look of superiority.

Dan listed as the other men reeled off numbers. It took him a few moments before he realised that they’d all been competitively counting their slices. They looked at him in turn, making Dan stutter out a number he had rounded up so as not to look silly in front of them all. “I did ten,” he lied. The number was the lowest so far, however, they all still nodded in approval.

Pretty soon, Sam was the only one still eating. Vern stood up, placing a fatherly hand on the back of the guy’s neck, watching keenly as Sam continued to push the pizza in. “That’s it. Good boy. Keep up this pace,” he said encouragingly.

All eyes were on Sam. Vern’s hand smoothly rubbed the distended gut and Sam’s eyes smiled in gratitude.

“What’s that?” Dan asked as Jim carried in a funnel, alongside a large quantity of thick brown liquid in an enormous measuring jug.

“Vern’s special recipe,” Roger replied, grabbing a handful of his own belly fat and jiggling it as if in explanation.

Sam seemed to spot the funnel coming towards him and he gently placed his head back on the cushion on the chair. He parted his lips and left his mouth open, however Vern’s hand still grabbed his cheeks, pushing his fingers against them so that Sam’s mouth would not be able to close. Jim slotted the funnel straight into the open-mouthed boy and held the jug aloft. Then, without a word said, he began pouring.

The mixture was even thicker than Dan had guessed. It slopped into the funnel and slid down the sides. As soon as it reached Sam’s tongue, he began swallowing. Dan could hear the great effortful gulps as the funnel filled more and more. Sam’s hands fell onto his belly, as if he could feel it inflating with every swallow he made, yet Dan could see that the guy’s eyes were locked with Vern’s the entire time.

Sam had made a serious dent in the amount of thick liquid in the jug and as he finally finished the last of it left in his funnel, he moaned softly as it was pulled out of his mouth. A noisy, entirely involuntary burp roared from his throat making everyone, Dan included, chuckle with amusement. He’d worked out what this was about. Sam clearly wanted that belly he had grown and the other guys were all in on supporting him with that goal.

The other guys immediately began clearing the coffee table of pizza boxes and Sam stood up, looking a little unsteady on his feet and still burping up the gas from his stomach. No one batted an eyelid as he slipped down his shorts and underwear, stepping out of them entirely. The guy’s dick wasn’t all that big, but it was clearly as hard as concrete. Vern gave his chubby butt a little pat and then Sam’s knee bent as he actually climbed onto the coffee table. On all fours, he moved up until his fat body was on display like cattle before them all. If his head had not been lowered, he would have been looking straight at Dan.

A large tray of cream-filled doughnuts were carried in and Roger immediately grabbed one, sitting forwards so that he could push it slowly into Sam’s mouth. Now that Sam’s head was up, his eyes met with Dan’s and, for the first time, Dan could see the lust within. He let Roger’s fingers press the doughnut in and he swallowed it with absolute obedience.

No one seemed to be in the least bit surprised at the events unfolding and none of the men were making an effort to explain it to Dan; being far too caught up in the spectacle themselves. Vern, who had briefly disappeared from the room, returned, carrying a large dildo in his hand. He rubbed oil into it, standing at the opposite end of the table, where Sam’s butt cheeks were splayed for him. Without much effort to ease him in, Vern pressed the lubricated toy straight into Sam’s butt, making the man sigh with pleasure, even as the other men stepped up to take a turn pressing doughnuts into him. Pretty soon afterwards, Roger was oiling up his hand, reaching it under Sam’s body and finding its way to the guy’s hardness. A deep moan sounded from Sam’s throat and Dan watched as the man’s eyes rolled up into his head.

“Easy, Roger. Not too fast,” Vern instructed.

“I know what I’m doing,” Roger chuckled, using his other hand to grab Sam’s hanging belly fat and jiggle it. The blubber rippled all over the guy’s body, giving Dan the chance to see just how much pure lard had been packed onto Sam’s form over the last few months. He watched calmly, wondering how he would have reacted had he been invited along to something like this a couple of years ago. These days, he couldn’t judge. He’d eaten and gorged himself with Robbie in a manner not too wildly dissimilar. He’d enjoyed letting Robbie feed him and getting off on taking control, just like Sam was now. Maybe that was why Dan’s dick was leaking just like everyone else’s.

“Your turn,” one of the guys whispered to Dan, passing him a doughnut to feed Sam.

Dan fumbled for a second, having not expected to be invited to participate like this. Sam’s eyes looked up at him, waiting. Dan slid off the chair, onto his knees in front of Sam. He thought about his experiences with Robbie recently and how much that horny bastard would probably get off on doing something like this. And so, Dan pushed that doughnut in, just as everyone else had done. Roger seemed to speed up his pleasuring of Sam at that very moment, so that as Dan’s fingers pressed the doughnut into the greedy open mouth, Sam was writhing and swallowing with pleasure. Without even thinking about it, Dan grabbed another, pressing his whole doughnut-filled hand over Sam’s mouth, stifling the moans of pleasure as Sam came, looking straight into his eyes.

“I told you to take it easy!” Vern grumbled at Roger. “He hasn’t even finished my gainer shake mix yet!”

Roger didn’t reply. He simply nodded in the direction of Dan’s crotch, where his hardness was pulsing furiously against the material of the pants. “I just figured the newbie needed a win tonight,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing that you enjoyed that, Dan?” he asked, sounding pleased with himself.

Dan could sense all eyes on him. The entire focus of every one of them shifted. He had never felt so exposed in his. Yet, it was all so erotic.

“Take your pants off,” Vern ordered, pulling the dildo out of Sam’s butt so that he could get up off the table. “We can’t send you home with that boner ready to explode like that. Paul, go rinse out the funnel.”

Dan sat up, eyes wide with realisation that Vern was absolutely serious. The water was running in the kitchen as Paul set to work, cleaning up the funnel for HIM! “Maybe another time,” he stuttered, feeling his heart racing.

“Nonsense!” Vern spat dismissively. “Get your pants off.”

Dan did as he was told, feeling strangely submissive as his dick bounced out and showed itself to all of the guys at once. These people were his friends and he wasn’t massively attracted to any of them; yet, the situation he found himself in was one of the most erotic he had ever known.

Roger used a towel to wipe off his hand and the coffee table. But then he was oiling it up once more; this time for Dan. All of a sudden, the large looming figures of both Vern and Roger seemed to surround him. He looked over at a completely spent Sam, flopping into the armchair; the remains of the last doughnut still smashed over his mouth. If that was what they had done to him, what on earth was he in for?

“Robbie would be squirting all over himself if he was here to watch this!” Vern chuckled to the other guys.

“Wait! I’m really not sure about this!” Dan tried. “Doing this stuff with Robbie is one thing, but…you guys are my friends.”

Vern laughed and placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Trust me, Fatso,” he teased. “For the next ten minutes, I’m not your friend. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’re just going to drink a little calorie shake and bloat a little. Roger here is going to work his magic hands on you and you’re going to have an awesome time.”

“Ready to give it a go?” asked Roger; his oiled up hand positioned, ready to start.

Dan slowly nodded. What did he have to lose?

Immediately, Dan’s whole body shook as Roger’s hand started stroking his shaft. His eyes widened and he made an involuntary sound of complete shock and surprise at how immediately stimulating the fondling was. Throughout the room, men laughed watching the reaction. They clearly all knew how skilled the guy was in this area and were simply waiting for Dan to feel what they had all experienced as well.

“You like that, huh?” Vern called from above. He licked the end of his thumbs and leant over so that he could place them both on Dan’s nipples, rubbing against them gently.

Dan moaned again. He couldn’t get over how sensitive his nipples actually felt. No one had ever played with them like this before. He felt Roger’s free hand clamp over the roll of belly fat he had amassed over the past few months, looking up at Vern like he wanted to laugh. It made Dan feel exactly the same way Robbie managed to make him feel: like he wanted to submit, to give in to everything those around him wanted.

“Are you a good little piggy?” Vern asked him, using that same teasing voice that Dan had heard him use with Sam.

Dan nodded, trying to speak but finding his brain was almost too foggy to stitch any words together. It was then that he felt Vern’s finger lifting his chin up; his other hand pushing down on his forehead. Already his head was being positioned, resting back entirely on the back of the chair. He felt Vern’s fingers pinch his cheeks, opening the jaws. Dan’s heart was beating fast. He looked up at the ceiling before seeing Jim coming in to view, carrying the funnel from earlier. Dan watched the spout as it lowered and fell perfectly into his mouth, hitting his tongue and resting between his teeth.

“You’ve just got to swallow it, buddy,” Dan heard Jim’s voice state. He also felt a new hand rubbing his bloated stomach, before giving it a gentle couple of pats and then retreating.

Just then, Dan felt the heavy weight of the thick liquid hitting the funnel. It oozed down and didn’t hit his tongue for a good couple of seconds, but once it did, Dan could feel it filling his mouth quickly. It was sweet; so sweet and gooey and creamy. Dan swallowed, almost in a panic, racing to keep up before he became overwhelmed. He felt Vern’s hand tenderly stroking his hair as if to calm him, whispering softly. “Atta boy. Keep going…”

The funnel seemed to go on forever. Dan could hear Vern trying to coordinate Roger down below, telling him to slow down, take longer and deeper strokes, or speed up and focus on the head. They’d clearly practised this many times, for their technique was faultless.

“Robbie is going to be so pleased,” Vern called out to the group. “Look at his little piggy now!” he laughed, as Dan felt a large hand stroking his belly.

Dan swallowed, swallowed, swallowed. He could feel how tight his stomach was getting but concentrated only on the blissful feeling of the funnel getting lighter and lighter above him. Vern lifted it out of his mouth, allowing the last drops to dribble over his face. Dan lifted his head and looked down at his body. What had they done to him? His stomach had never looked so huge in his life. Roger was there, smiling up at him as he sped up his stroking, going in for the kill. Dan went to moan with pleasure from it all when the gas from his stomach rose up, loud and long, seemingly without end. That was when he came, right there at the start of that monstrous burp, his hands exploring the tight, bloated stretch of his gut. He felt the jets of ejaculation as they flew up onto his shoulders and down onto his new belly. Still Vern’s hand stroked his hair soothingly; reassuring him that this was all okay.

Accepting a towel to clean himself off, Dan had expected to feel shy afterwards, but the guys had already moved on. A couple of the other men had been playing with themselves whilst watching Dan taking the funnel and they came not long afterwards as well, taking the focus away from him. All Dan could do was gaze down at that marvellously round belly on himself. He felt the size, rubbing the sides and over the top of it. He imagined how much the chasers would love him if his belly was always this big; how turned on it would make Robbie. He knew then that he needed to see how far he could go with this, reaching out and slyly taking one of the doughnuts as one of the other guys came, rubbing his own enormous gut.

The pinch of Dan’s clothes had become a frustrating and yet highly erotic sensation. The week that followed was filled with more mixed emotions than Dan could ever have anticipated. He turned to look at his thicker middle in the bathroom mirror at work; conjuring feelings of revulsion and delight at what he was becoming. He twisted more, getting a look at his butt. His pants felt so tight around his hips, his glutes puffy and round. Robbie had told him how much he loved to fuck a big, doughy ass on a guy; those words now singing through Dan’s brain as he felt himself getting hard. He lifted his cell phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of his reflection in the mirror. Robbie was bound to come over tonight if Dan played his cards right: ate the right things for lunch, promised to be a good little piggy for him. ‘How’re you liking this fat ass?’ he typed as he attached the picture into Robbie’s message; breathless with anticipation, waiting for the inevitable, horny response that would follow.

Dan felt pride as he took off his shirt at the next Wednesday night gathering. Vern had been working away for the last couple of weeks and the transformation of Dan’s little paunch in that time had been strangely remarkable. He’d seen Robbie almost every night and was riding a vast, unimaginably erotic wave of pleasure in giving into the kinky guy’s demands. Everyone commented on how bloated he was looking. They patted, rubbed and offered their approval, expecting the same appreciation when their shirts came off too.

“Where’s Sam?” Dan asked as the pizzas arrived and there was still no sign.

All of the guys looked guiltily at each other. “He can’t make it. He’s working,” Jim simply replied.

“Oh,” Dan mumbled. “I thought the purpose of these nights was to…” He looked around, realising that the guys had sat him in the same chair they’d placed Sam last time.

Vern was walking back to the couch with a bottle of beer and placed a large, calming hand on Dan’s shoulder as he went behind his chair. “Don’t you worry about Sam,” he stated soothingly. “He knows he’s got a good stand-in,” the big man chuckled to the other boys.

Dan’s heart was racing as he ate, feeling the eyes of all the men drifting back to him, seeing how much he was eating. He thought of how he would recount the tale of tonight back to Robbie and make the guy rock hard; ready to fuck him in that rough, dominating manner that Dan simply couldn’t get enough of.

After a while eating, Vern was back behind Dan again, this time rubbing oil all over his torso; his hands sliding over the new softness Dan had acquired. “We’ve got to grease up the pig!” Vern joked to the other guys. When Roger appeared at his side, Dan knew they were ready to start the funnel again. He stood, slid down his pants and then sat down again, spreading his thighs a lot more, like a pro. He was still nervous, lifting his head to the ceiling and waiting for the funnel to be placed into his mouth, but this time the butterflies in his stomach were undoubtedly those of excitement.

“The mix is slightly different to the one you had last time,” Vern explained as he was handed the jug. “You’re at a different stage to Sam and this mix has never failed me for guys still gaining their first sixty pounds. It fucks the metabolism right up!” he chuckled as he started pouring.

Yet again, Dan was swallowing. This recipe wasn’t as thick, but it filled his mouth faster and he had to gulp it down at a very brisk pace in order to stop it from overflowing from where Vern was still mercilessly pouring; Jim steadying the funnel in his mouth. He was allowed a short break where he burped up the gas he had accidentally swallowed with it. Roger coaxed him on, massaging his dick to perfection, but he could tell, even as the last drops fell into his mouth, that he wouldn’t be allowed to climax yet, even with his gut feeling ready to burst. The sensation was even more intense than it had been last time. He grumbled, holding his aching gut and trying to burp up more gas in the hope of finding relief. He couldn’t take anything more tonight.

“Hi, Robbie,” Vern chirped, talking to the screen of his cell phone. “We’ve got your little piggy here, telling us he’s too full.”

Dan looked up, shocked and amazed to see Robbie’s face staring at him from Vern’s cell phone. Immediately, his heart fluttered and his dick pulsed.

“Oh, dear!” Robbie called out in his most deliciously dominant voice. “What’s he had so far?”

Vern took the cell phone back up to his face. “Eleven slices of pizza and about…” he considered for a moment, trying to calculate in his head, “...maybe two thousand six hundred calories in gainer shake. Your piggy is feeling pretty bloated!” he chuckled wickedly.

“Let me talk to him,” Robbie demanded.

At once, the cell phone was held up in front of Dan’s face. He sat up, feeling like he might be in trouble, but was excited to hear how kinky Robbie might get with him.

“Climb up on that coffee table,” Robbie ordered.”Spread your cheeks. I’m going to fuck you whilst you eat for me.”

There was a gentle wave of chuckles around the room and Dan saw one of them heading off to get the dildo he’d seen Sam take last time. Boxes of pizza were cleared from the table and Roger tapped the surface of the wood. “Come on up, little piggy!” he teased. The guys on the other side placed their hands down on the table, helping to balance it whilst Dan, unbelievably, found himself climbing on. Vern took the cell phone camera on a tour of the whole thing. “Robbie told you to spread those cheeks properly,” the fat man declared, tapping Dan’s wider butt until he wriggled his knees further apart.

Dan felt cool lube getting massaged by chubby hands into his hole; the cell phone capturing it all. He braced himself for the penetration, feeling more exposed than even last time.

“Just relax,” Roger whispered, already taking his hand back to stroke Dan’s dick. Only when he moaned did they insert, That was when the pleasure seemed to turn up more than Dan had ever expected. Vern’s cell phone was brought to his face and there was Robbie, staring at him victoriously. It really was like being fucked by him.

“Feed him!” Robbie called out to the room.

Right away, Dan felt a doughnut getting pressed into his mouth by Paul. He opened his jaws obediently, chewing and swallowing as fast as he could; staring into the eyes of Robbie, who had clearly started to touch himself as he watched from across the city. Several times Dan thought he was going to come, but he was always brought back. Another doughnut, another pizza slice, another chug of soda to wash it all down. Only when the stretch became almost agonisingly tight, did he feel the powerful release, making him moan so loudly it was as if all awareness of his surroundings had abandoned him entirely.

“I did warn you about Robbie,” Vern chuckled as he cancelled the call. He stroked the back of Dan’s head as he still presented himself on all fours on his coffee table, completely diminished. “Pretty soon, you’re going to be just as fat as the rest of us…”

It was a few months later, when Vern’s attention was caught on a new guy at the bar. He wasn’t following the conversation at all well, but seemed deep in thought. “Not your usual type,” Dan commented, following Vern’s gaze over to the guy, looking like he was in his mid thirties and completely lost in this bar. He was handsome in his own way, but his flat stomach was never going to get him any attention in here.

“I’ve got a feeling about that one,” Vern grinned.

“Really?” the guys all asked, looking over at the loner at the bar.

“Am I ever wrong?” Vern smiled, looking more certain than ever. “I know a potential pig when I see one!” He wrapped his arm over Dan’s shoulders and pushed his hand into the rounded gut that had blossomed on the guy he had introduced himself to just over a year and a half ago. The fat Dan had gained in that time had completely transformed him. He sat, nursing a beer on the new shelf of his belly, with love handles that touched both Vern’s and Roger’s to either side of him: over one hundred pounds of pure lard added in the last year alone; his dick and feeder boyfriend hungry for more. He could have told Vern to leave the guy; to spare him from all of this: the mind games, the subtle training and manipulation that they had worked out so perfectly between them. Instead, his dick throbbed as he watched Vern make his first move, inviting the guy to sit with them.

It was amazing how the small talk was almost exactly the same as it had been that first time Dan sat with the guys. They were charming, they were funny and friendly. They were already playing their games.

An hour later, Roger went up to get a beer and Dan’s sexy boyfriend slid in, having just arrived that night. Dan lifted his big arm up over the guy’s slender shoulders and allowed the feeder’s hand to slide across the tank of belly he had grown. They kissed in that drunkenly erotic way that always happened after midnight; hands roaming everywhere. When Dan came out of it, he saw the new guy looking on, perplexed. Although he didn’t say anything, Dan could tell exactly what the newbie was thinking in his head; wondering how such a lardass like him could get himself such a stunningly hot boyfriend.

“Let’s go back to your place,” Dan’s boyfriend insisted, slyly pinching his love handle from behind.

“Right, guys…” Dan called to the table, standing as best he could and manoeuvring his large butt out to follow his kinky feeder to a cab. “I’ll catch you all on Wednesday.” He reached over and shook hands with the new guy, leaving him in Vern’s capable hands; knowing with absolute certainty that in a few months time, they’d all have a brand new piggy to play with. Then, placing his hand on the tiny butt of his boyfriend, he left them all; feeling that familiar hunger in his stomach that he always got when he was horny. He was sure he would have to eat a lot of food before he was allowed to climax later, but he was absolutely ready for it. And always would be.

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