#some people love striking a minor cords

[zestylemonsz]

mfs really be saying "believe all victims" until the one being accused of the crime is someone they like.

[theblueflower05]

First Love/ Late Spring

A/N: I had no right to listen to Mitski and write for Neteyam but here I am. I’ve been working on this on and off since December but finally decided to get serious and post it. Hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Masturbation(F receiving). Breeding Kink if ya really dig. Angst. Talks of self doubt and insecurity. All Characters are aged up 18+.

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: Neteyam has passed his Metkayinan Iknimaya, and is now free to choose a woman. Why did you ever think he would choose you? Neteyam X Na'vi Reader.

Series Masterlist(All parts can be found here)

Next> Crawling Back to You(Part Two)

One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.

Tell me don’t so I can crawl back in- Mitski, First Love/Late Spring

As the beloved niece of the reigning Olo’eyktan, in your life you had wanted for nothing.

Had spent the last nineteen years in isolated bliss. The island of Awa’atlu and your tribes familiar inhabitants were all you knew. Your life moved to a steady beat, as sure as the morning eclipse. As rhythmic as the tides.

And you had been content, really you had. Too busy to be bored. Too beloved to truly dwell on the gap. On the absence of a mate no matter how much your Uncle; Tonowari urged you to accept one of the many offerings of courtship. Lonely maybe, but happy.

Useful. Focused.

Ever since the Sully’s arrival, you have felt anything but.

Descending from the skies on ikran back, they left plumes of sand in their wake. Shook up everything you had ever known as they stood there on the beach, adrift. Out of place, different then anything you had ever seen with their dark skin and thin tales. That morning had been a whirlwind of harsh words and brief but tense negotiations.

So much change had happened in such a small amount of time that it was hard to wrap your head around-

The leader of the Sully Tribe, Jake, had begged Uturu for his family. And ever benevolent, your Uncle Tonowari had granted it to them.

Overwhelmed by crowds, you don't recall much more of that day except for the desire to run away. To escape the strained aura’s of the hesitant clans people and the exhausted newcomers. You’d gone to away, eager to get back to your herbs and tinctures. To the safety of familiarity to digest the entire situation.

You’d been stopped in your tracks, rooted in place, by a pair of striking golden orbs.

A stare like none you’d ever known. His eyes resonated with you. Plucking a cord n your chest that echoed throughout the rest of your body. You’d never felt anything like it. Never been so affected by a stranger.

Never been so affected by anyone.

Even now, months later, thinking of Neteyam that look he’d given you on his first day here makes you hot. You dream about it, about him often. He plagues you, has taken up permanent space in your subconscious.

You wake most mornings to phantom touches. To his voice ringing in your ears and an empty bed mat that feels too cold.

This morning is no different. Your eyes flutter open with a gasp and your heart is beating madly in your chest.

It's early. You have only moments before you will be expected to wake and start your daily routine. Really, you should’ve been up by now-

Instead you lie in your corner of the family mauri, the privacy curtains pulled around your bed as you shoulder into the woven blankets. Your hands slip down- lower on your belly and into the dip of your tweng.

Between your legs you’re hot, soaked and pulsing as you always seem to be these days. Your clit swollen almost painfully as you press your fingers to it, rubbing firm little circles as you search for some kind of relief. Humping harshly into your small hand, cupping your sex desperately as you recall Dream Neteyam.

He’d pinned you to a tall palm, your belly pressing against the rough bark as buried his nose in your hair. All panting breaths and wandering hands.

“You’re so beautiful”

“I’m right here”

“Let me have you, I have to have you”

Dream Neteyam says all the things you want to hear as he ravages you. He’s sure footed, cocky in that way that you knew he could be. He’s pushy and needy and you’d give him anything if he asked for it, Eywa all he had to do is hint that he wanted it-

“Spread your legs for me, sevin ”

You bite your lips bloody, your fangs digging into them as your thick thighs clamp shut around your hands and your pussy spasms. You want to cry out as you come. Fight the urge to whine because it’s not enough, you’re still so empty.

Neteyam’s name is always on your tongue as you come down from your self induced high.

“Y/N? My Child, are you awake?”

There’s no time to bask in the afterglow, you wrench your hands away. Wiping the mess on your blankets as you shoot up straight-

“Yes? Yes. I’m coming, i’ll be out a minute” You try to keep your voice from breaking and just barley succeed.

Ronal who had peeked a head into the empty mauri isn't convinced, but accepts it anyway “Hurry now, we have to get going. The tide pools will be filling and we need to restock the sea-tsam(kelp like herbs), you haven't even eaten breakfast yet. Up!”

You only release the breath stuck in your chest when she’s scurrying back out of the home- one of these days you’re going to get caught.

Your people are free with their sexuality, there’s no shame in pleasure whether it be self inflicted or given by another. But it would make those pesky questions arise- if you’re so needy, Y/N- why do you refuse every eligible bachelor that comes your way?

You huff, thinking about that very thing as you get ready for the day. Bruising through your long hair almost violently as you chew it over.

If you need to be fucked so badly, why are you three years into adulthood without a mate? You don’t even have a possible suitor- your friends are having babies, building lives, and you’re still living with your family.

It used to be that you we’re hyper focused on your role in the clan. On your training as part of the Tsakarem. On preparing Tsireya for the day she reaches adulthood and takes over her mother’s title.

You had always been family oriented, and the clan had accepted it-

But now there were whispers. Inquiries, never spoken to you but always about you. It’s an oddity that such a pretty young woman with such high standing is choosing to be alone.

Is there something wrong with you?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The only thing that’s wrong with you is your inability to focus on the most mundane of tasks as of late.

After a quick breakfast, you’d taken off. Determined to knock the long list of chores down.

You’d collected herbs until your fingers hurt and the satchel slung across your chest was full to the brim. You’d tended to the Elders, and checked in on the mother with newborns, still so fresh to the world that they’re connected to their Sa’nok kuru, constant Tsaheylu necessary at such a young age.

Healing isn't always glamorous, and while you’d much rather be mixing potions and sketching in your journals- you check fevers. Change chamber pots. Kiss the scraped knee’s of young ones.

You’re supposed to be heading back to the Healer’s Mauri, the large hut where Ronal waits for you-

But instead you get sidetracked.

It’s all you seem to do these days.

Lounging in the soft warm sand is so much easier then running around the village.

You’d come across your cousins who were circled by Roxto and the elder Sully’s, and it hadn't taken much convincing for you to tag along on whatever little adventure they had planned for the afternoon. It had led you to one of the smaller isles, a tiny thing that was mostly white sand beaches and deep rocky cove tunnels.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung practicing their breath holds, taking turns weaving through the underwater caves. The two had went from going for each others throat’s to thick as thieves, and your glad. Lo’ak’s troubled, but he’s not trouble. Not the way that your cousin's other asshole friends are.

Roxto and Neteyam wade through the crystal clear shallows, hunting for clams that are abundant at this time of year.

You’re sat with Kiri and Tsireya, the three of you staying in the beach and giggling about current clan gossip. Chattering endlessly.

Neteyam’s shoulders are broad and glisten in the bright afternoon sun. You can barely tear your gaze away from him. Hungrily, needing to glance back every few seconds-

“The celebration is in less then a month's time” Tsireya states, a small grin playing on her lips as she takes in the scene.

She knows about your feelings for the eldest Sully son, you’d confessed them to her in a fit one night. Unable to keep them caged in your chest anymore. She can understand the appeal- her own eyes had been glued to the family since the arrival.

What she can't understand is why you wont tell him- or at the very least why you’re being so damn shy about it. You had never been this demure before.

“I know, the preparations have been a real pain in my ass” You reply, turning on your side to face her. Arm bent at the elbow, chin propped in your hand. “Tonowari has me assisting with getting the ceremonial mats woven. It’s not fair”

“I think he just wants you to be…a more active participant this year” Tsireya chooses her words wisely, ignoring your side eye “It’s sweet”

“It’s annoying” you hiss, eyes rolling harshly. Your tail swishes behind you, a firm pat on the sand.

“This is the celebration that’s held for the hunters. The ones that pass their Iknimaya’s?” Kiri asks, intrigued. She’s inquisitive and you’d assured her early on that she could ask you anything, that you’d help her understand the customs of your people.

“Yes and it’s so much fun. You’ll see, the Hunters come back from Motnaui(ritualistic hunt) and we spend the day roasting their catch, thanking Eywa for her abundance. There’s dancing and singing- “ Tsireya’s eyes sparkle as she talks about it, glazed with nostalgia.

You let her rant a bit more before cutting her off, “And mating. Most of the hunters will stake their claim on any courtships that have been started”

Because yes, it is a celebration for the newly joined adults of the clan, but goes hand in hand with the fact that it is their first chance to choose a mate.

“We have something like this back in the forest, it's the start of Fertility Season right?” Kiri verifies and you nod. “Does it coincide with the rains here, too?”

“Mhmm, most newly mated pairs will spend the week or so tucked away…-” Tsireya’s cheeks get red and you roll your eyes.

“Coupling” You interject and she shoots you a look that has you tittering. Awe, your sweet young cousin, still a year away from her own Iknimaya. Innocent and shy when it comes to such topics.

Kiri doesn't look scandalized- she’d come to adulthood back in the forest. Though she hasn't chosen a mate she had partaken in many of the festivities.

“Yes, coupling” Tsireya continues. “Its all beautiful really, its my favorite time of year. Right after the return of the Tulkun of course”

Its nice listening to your cousin's version of the celebration. You think that yeah, your own view of it all used to be mostly the same. That was until you’d reached adulthood, and had spent the last cycles without a mate of your own. This week that Tsireya found so beautiful had just been wet for you. Yourself and other unmated , able bodied Na’vi took on the duties of the disposed clan members.

It was an honor to take care of your people while they were vulnerable.

It was embarrassing to have not found a mate of your own yet.

You wonder if this year you’d spend the week in the rain again.

“You don't seem excited” Kiri whispers and you force a smile onto your face almost instantly, not wanting to come off so extremely transparent.

“It’s not that I’m not-”

“Y/N hasn't mated yet”

“Obviously Tsireya, thank you for pointing that out” you deadpan at the girl but she continues on, not phased in the least by your attitude-

“But I do think that will change this year”

Kiri perks up, big eyes interested, a brow arched “Really? Has someone caught your eye? Every time any one even tries to start courting you, you give them the cold shoulder”

“That’s not true, I’m nice about it” you defend your actions “I just haven't been interested in any of their offers”

“‘Their’ being half of the unmated men in this clan” Kiri’s sarcasm rivals your own, you flick a small shell at her forehead.

“It hasn't felt right and Eywa wouldn't want me to settle. '' The words taste condescending as they roll off your tongue, you don't blame them for scoffing at you but it's true.

If you had accepted an offer in the past, you wouldn't be free to follow your hearts desire now…your eyes flick back to the shore. Back to the broad shoulders.

“I’m sure whoever you choose will be honored,” Kiri chuckles. “Surprised though, probably. I overheard a couple of Elder’s making bets that you’d make another suitor cry this year”

The peel of laughter that Tsireya lets out is shrill and loud,

Roxto and Neteyam’s heads turn, far out enough now that the surely cant hear the conversation but can hear the shrieks of joy. Roxto grins and signs something that you can't quite make out and Neteyam gives a small wave.

You can feel the big stupid smile on your face, it’s no surprise that Kiri acknowledges it.

“You didn't answer my question. Is there anyone in particular that you have your eye on?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. You’d been wanting to run it past her for weeks. Desperate for her insight but too embarrassed to muster up the courage and ask for it.

“Tell her, tsmuk’tu” Tsireya urges gently.

“I have been hoping that…Neteyam might choose to court me. After his Iknimaya” You admit it, carefully watching her for her reaction. Your own ears are pressed to your head, your fingers winding around each other nervously.

“I was wondering why that idiot was going through his rites again” Kiri nods, like she’d found the missing piece of a puzzle.

One that she wasn't willing to share with the group.

“What’do you mean? If he wants to be a hunter, he has to” You point out the facts, the law of the village.

“Well yeah, but I mean look at how our dad did it. He didn't jump through all of the hoops, he just tamed his Skimwing on his own time. My brother has been adamant about wanting to be apart of ceremony”

You ingest Kiri’s words greedily, letting them expand in your chest. It’s hope, the fragile kind, the scariest kind.

“Maybe he just wants to prove himself as a hunter. We’ve heard his skill is legendary to the Omiticaya” you suggest and Tsireya pushes at your shoulder, shaking her head.

“Maybe” Kiri shrugs her shoulders “But mating is important to Neteyam. He’s always wanted a big family, I think he really idolized our parents' marriage. Mom said he must’ve taken an interest in a mate if he’s making such a big deal out of being a recognized adult here”

A big family. Neteyam wants to be a father.

The thought is heady. The seed has been planted in your head and you know there is no way that you will ever be able to dig it out.

“Do you think that-”

You're cut off by booming laughter, by clatter and chaos. Who else could it be but Ao’nung and Lo’ak coming back from the caves, they had the worst possible timing. You shoot daggers at your cousins fat head.

“What are you girls whispering about over here?” 'Nung teases as he drops next to you in the sand,

“That would be none of your business” You snipe, “Skxawng ass”

“Why so hostile, cuz?” Ao’nung starts “I was the one who invited you out here? You don't want to spend time with little ol’ me?”

“I spend too much time with you as is. I was hoping you had drowned down in those caves so I could get a break- NUNG!” you squeal as your cousin shakes his head, wringing out his wet hair all over you. The water is shockingly cold against your sun soaked skin.

Soon enough, Neteyam and Roxto come in from the waves, baskets full of multicolored shells. More than happy to share as they join the small circle.

“You had such a bountiful catch!” Tsireya applauds, happily accepting the oysters that Roxto offers.

You’re awkward around Neteyam on a good day- there's something so intimidating about his beauty. So tall and angular. But today? After the admittance you’d made to his sister? You can barely look at him.

You feel heavy and clunky and ugh, why does he make you so nervous? You’re playing with your hair, twisting the thick tendrils around your fingers idly when Neteyam turns to you.

“Do you want some?” He asks, already prying the tough shell open with his knife.

“Oh, yes please. They’re actually my favorite” You grin, and at least your voice doesn't project all the nerves you feel.

“I know” He hands you the oyster once he opens it and you try not to pay too much mind to how his fingers brush yours.

“How would you know that?” you slurp at the rich juice, grateful.

“Roxto was telling me about it” He says simply, already working open another shell to hand out.

“Oh yeah! Y/N remember when you ate so many of these that you got sick at dinner! I’ve never seen someone puke that much, it was never ending” Roxto chuckles, igniting laughter from the group.

You wince, the memory is not a particularly good one and you don't enjoy reliving it. Especially not in current company. You can feel your cheeks heat intensely.

“It was so bad! You got it all over dad’s lap and he didn't know what to do” Ao’nung adds hysterically “He just started panicking- picked you up by your tail and tossed your ass outside”

Tsireya breaks, giggling behind her hand and Kiri all but chokes. Lo’aks shaking his head good naturedly as Ao’nung and Roxto are in stitches- the only one who doesn't laugh is Neteyam. No, instead he gives you a gentle kind of smile, before going back to his task of shucking.

You’re only the butt of the joke for moments more before it ping-pongs to Lo’ak, who has almost cut one of his odd five fingers off in the process of prying open an ornery shell.

“Oh! Look brother, how pretty” Kiri points out the large blush colored pearl that Neteyam had almost swallowed.

“That’s good luck!” You grin “They don't usually get that big”

Huh. Good luck you say?” Neteyam picks it out of the shell, holding it between his thumb and pointer as he examines how it shines in the sun. Beautiful…

You’re frozen when he reaches out, the pearl in the palm of his hand.

“Here” he offers it to you.

The purple flush that completely takes over your face crawls down your neck too. You're completely flustered by the simple gesture of good will.

You should tell him that you can’t take it- that he should give it to Tuk, his little sister that loves making jewelry. Instead you’re hungry for anything, will accept any scraps of himself that Neteyam will give to you.

“Irayo” you beam as you accept the pear, tucking it away in your satchel for safe keeping. “I love it!”

He just gives you another one of those ever soft boyish grins, his eyes pools of liquid amber.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the weeks go by, there’s a certain light to you. A bounce in your step,

“Your aura has changed” Ronal informs you of the fact as the two of you sit in the Healers Mauri, plumes of heavy incense filling the space with fragrant smoke.

She’s far into her pregnancy now, but that has never stopped her from completing her duties. The salves she mixes with an expertise that comes from years of trial and error are potent and coveted.

Your lips quirk into a private smile as your fingers continue their threading. Working on a personal project in between your chores. “Has it really?”

She assesses you, her turquoise eyes all knowing as she takes you in. You’re a woman grown now far from the small child she had taken in with her husband all those years ago. In theses last few months you have blossomed, like a flower unfurling. She had an inkling of why-

“You are thinking of accepting courtship this cycle, yes?” It’s not a question, but a statement. One she already knows the answer to.

“I am” you whisper. “If he decides to pursue me, that is”

The comfortable quiet is back, both of you focusing on your respective tasks. You’d always been content just to bask in your Aunt’s presence.

“The Sully boy would be a fool not to court you” Ronal breaks the silence bluntly and you really should've had expected that she already knew.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Where dread usually lives in your heart at this time of year, lies only excitement. Joy, that fragile hope as you prepare for the festival. Anyone who knows you can see the change, you throw yourself head first into ceremony prep. Spend hours sitting with Tsireya eagerly sowing together new pieces of clothing for the festivities.

You sing as you tend to your house work, sweet little tunes that your family is surprised to hear.

Tonowari is beaming, endlessly happy that you are going to give a member of the clan a chance. He’d been questioning your self induced isolation for years, and was eager to see which of his warriors had stolen your heart. Ronal refuses to tell him even though he knows she knows,

“It is not mine to share” his wife rebuff’s every time he questions.

As the day of the Iknimaya draws closer you try to make sure that Neteyam knows that you are open to courtship. You spend a decent amount of time with his family anyway, Tsireya and Lo’ak always connected at the hip and Kiri growing into a close friend.

You ask him about his training, tend to any wounds he may aquire diligently. Laugh at his bad jokes, and listen to his stories of home. He misses the forest, you can tell. You selfishly hope that there isn't a pretty Omaticayan girl waiting for him.

At dinner, in the largest communal mauri, filled to the brim with clans members who are all but vibrating with excitement for the close looming festivities, you navigate the people.

In your hands, a large plate made from a recycled shell piled is high. Fish roasted over the fire, steamed rice and root vegetables that you had harvested yourself.

You’d watched Neteyam along with a handful of other training warriors limp into dinner late. They look tired and worn down.

He’d plopped down next to his family without getting himself food, and that just wouldn't do.

“Jake, Neytiri- I see you” You greet his parents as you approach. The sit close together, always intertwined in one way or another.

‘He idolizes our parents marriage’

You understand Kiri’s words as you watch Toruk Makto and his mate, as you appraise their close bond.

Jake grins, Tuk in his lap. Greeting you right back, easy to conversate with. Neytiri is quieter, hard to read. Intimidating, just like Neteyam who favors her so much in looks. Still the older woman signs the greeting back to you.

“You look really rough” is not what you meant to say to their son. Neteyams brow bones rise and you could kick yourself. Definitely would later.

“Thanks, I feel it” Neteyam responds with a tired chuckle.

Instead you laugh too, albeit awkwardly, trying to remedy the situation “What I mean is, you didn't get yourself food- and I know how exhausting training can be. Here, please eat. I’d hate for you to lose strength this close to your rite”

He accepts the plate of food graciously and you try to ignore the heavy feeling of eyes on you. His families, the clans. People have noticed you, have noticed this act of service. There’s only one thing it can mean.

“Irayo Y/N, I appreciate you” he thanks, making room for you on the log that he’s sat atop “Would you like to sit with us?”

“Very much so- but I promised Elder Raou’wal that I would help him back to his mauri. His legs don't work like they used to, and I don't want him to fall again-” you curse your nature, the fact that you offer your help so freely.

All you want to do is take that seat, so close to Neteyam that your thighs would press against one and others.

“That is very kind” Neteyam soothes “It’s okay, another time”

“Yes, another time” You know you sound like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. Standing before him and his family uninvited.

You need to make a quick escape, overwhelmed by all of the attention. “Please, get some rest before tomorrow. I’ve had to tend to over worked warriors all week”

Neteyam’s grin…is something else. Something not so sweet. Something that makes you flustered, that he’s looking at you like that in front of his parents, in front of the tribe. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Will you be there, tomorrow?”

“Of course I will” your response is quick, eager and it just makes that look on his face more intense.

“Good. Then I know everything will go well” his words make your heart beat so loudly your ears ring.

You don’t even know what to say, can barley keep your cool as you utter goodbye to his family, all of them quite obviously amused as you begin to scurry away.

You know the blush is burning up your whole face, that everyone can see your feelings as clear as day.

But-

You can’t leave him like that. Not with him facing is Iknimaya in the morning, with all of its promises of danger.

“May Eywa be with you, tomorrow and always” you give him the quiet blessing, truly hoping that the great mother looks over him.

He softens, physically. All of him slumping, as though you had put a balm on a jagged cut.

You don't wait for a reply.

Tonowari watches the exchange from his place at the head of the room,

Oh.

That is who had caught your eye, the warrior that had broken your resolve.

He shares a look with Ronal, his eyes comically wide and she laughs lowly at him.

“Ah my love, you have always been so slow”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Iknimaya rituals go as they always go, a long day full of young, strong hearted Na’vi eager to prove themselves. Most of them don’t succeed, at least half of them will need to wait until the next cycle to attempt it again.

Your family is at the center, you stand proudly behind Olo’eyktan Tonowari and Tsahik Ronal as they guide the young clan members through the rite of passage. Tsireya beside you, knowing that next cycle it will be her and Lo’ak attempting their own rites. Ao’nung cheering on young hunters that he had trained himself.

You love all of your people, the Metkayina one beating heart under Eywa’s watchful eye- yet you can't tear your focus away from Neteyam.

Your eyes are glued to him, and him only. The entire time. You watch, anxious and in awe. He’s so strong, all lean muscle and sharp mind. He mounts his Skimwing on the first try, much to the surprise of his peers. The people cheer him on, whopping loudly.

He’s beautiful, capable and skilled. He’s…stolen something from you. Abducted your soul, enthralled your thoughts in a way that almost felt intrusive.

You watch as the son of the first becomes a son of the sea, a man in both the Metkayina and Omiticaya tribes. A feat that almost none have accomplished.

The Motnaui is tradition, the freshly rited hunters will join the seasoned on a days long hunt. The time in the open ocean solidifies their bond to the tribe, their place that they have earned. Their chief will join them. Tonowari is eager, ecstatic for the time he gets to spend with his new hunters. With his ever growing tribe.

Everyone gathers to see the hunters off, so much love filling the crowded beach. Your people a buzz, tearful. Joyous.

You trail your fingers over the colorful Lei that lies around your neck. It matches the floral wreath nestled atop your head; the orchids are vibrant shades of fuchsia pinks and sunset yellows to represent your family.

They come in all shades, neon greens and baby blues, lilac purples and vibrant reds.

They are traded between your people at this time of year. Elders give them to children, sisters to their brothers. Tonowari wears many around his neck, the visual representation of how beloved he is to his clan.

To give a Lei can be friendly and platonic, sure. Especially if it is one of the dozens that are made just to be handed out- if a person wears multiple for clear decoration and celebration purposes only.

It can also be a very clear invitation for courtship- or at the very least consensual coupling. If a woman takes her lei off her own neck and presents it to a man, it is a sign of ownership. Marking that the specific male is taken for the duration of the fertility season.

You need to give Neteyam yours before he leaves, you want him to know that he has you. That you are his- and that you want him to be yours. That you will wait for him as he hunts and when he returns, he can have all of you.

You’re trying to find him in the crowd, your eyes scanning for the familiar dark blue skin that stands out so shockingly amongst your people-

Neteyam is with his family, all of them exuding proud energy. His mother cups his face in her lithe hands, his sisters hold onto his arms. His father pats his shoulder and his brother stares at him like he’s hung the stars.

You don't want to intrude on the moment, but you have to catch him before he leaves-

It’s like watching a horrible accident, like being witness to carnage that you just can't stop.

Seychelle, a clans member two years your junior, is beautiful. She’s a skilled singer and the daughter of a high ranking fisherman. She’s tall and shapely with pretty eyes, and its her first cycle as an eligible adult. As a woman grown who is available to mate.

She walks right up to Neteyam and his family boldly. Unafraid or ridden by anxiety like you always seem to be. All flirty smiles and fluttering lashes.

You’re too far away, can't hear what she says but you wouldn't want to anyway. Your chest is caving in and you feel like you can't breathe, your ears ring with the lack of oxygen.

You could challenge her. You have a high standing in the clan. You have first choice when it comes to mates,

But instead you just stand there. Bare witness to her taking off her bright orange Lei and slip it around Neteyams neck. He accepts it without a fuss, grinning and you can see his mouth form the words “thank you”.

Your nose burns and tears prick threateningly at your eyes but you know you can not let them fall. Not here.

You do what you do best;

You run away.

Not bothering to explain your exit to anyone, you probably couldn't form words around the lump in your throat anyway, you run as fast as you can. The world feels very far away, like it exists without you in it.

Your family mauri is empty, everyone's still at the beach and you don't even bother making it to your bed. You collapse right inside the entrance as the tears finally over take you and your eyes flood over.

What were you thinking?

How had you read this whole thing so wrong?

Your mind is dangerous, cruel in its confused, hurt state. It assaults you and you sob into your hands. You feel stupid now, in the special clothes you'd donned. Your hair twisted meticulously-

He had never been interested in you, you’d taken his innate kindness and skewed it. Neteyam had just been nice to you and you being the simple minded girl you were- had tried to force it into something more.

You curse yourself, curse your heart. Curse that fragile hope that you had clung to so desperately.

You cry until you feel sick, your eyes swollen and back tight from sobbing. You’re dizzy and tired by the time you crawl over to your bed. You don't even get under the covers, just stare blankly at the wall of the mauri as tears roll down your cheeks.

Who knew one person could produce so many tears? You wonder when your body will run out. You don't know how much time passes, only aware that darkness starts to fill the space as the evening eclipse arises.

“Oh, YN” the silence is broken by your cousin's soft voice.

Tsireya had wondered where you had gone, had been confused about your departure until she clocked Neteyam with a Lei around his neck that was quite obviously not yours.

“I’m sorry” Is all she whispers as she slips into the bed next to you, her arm winding around your middle.

It starts a whole nother round of tears. Of crying, mourning what you thought you could have.

“I-I-I’m so s-stupid” you stutter, snotty and muffled. She shakes her head, tears of her own starting to form as she holds you tighter.

“No, don't say that cousin. You’re not stupid” Tsireya soothes as she pets your hair. It hurts to see you in such a state. This had to be a mistake, she had been so sure of Neteyams feelings for you. Everyone had.

You shake your head, because you know you are. You knew you had little chance and still you’d paraded yourself in front of him like an idiot.

Never again, you vow to yourself.

To your shattered heart.

Wow, okay I didnt expect this to be so big, but I got so caught up in Metkayina Lore building that I kind of got sidetracked. Safe to say 90% of this story is going to be canon divergent. All of this Lore is my own creation and not Mr. Cameron's.

I have to give a shout out to two authors in the Avatar fandom that have inspired me the most as I write this.

@tiredmamaissy has really carved out a niche when it comes to the sexual nature of Pandora. I love the way she portrays Na'vi relationships and if this story leans a bit A/B/O its because I cant see the Na've not going to Heat's/Ruts now. She's just so good.

@loaksky when I tell you that reading her work makes me want to hone my craft, I mean that shit. She is a wordsmith in a way that you don't see much anymore. I am obsessed with how she long hand story tells and I def feel inspired everytime I read one of her fics. Queen of will they wont they/ slow burn.

[morethanthatfic]

Hello. First of all, I wanted to congratulate you on your blog. I found it by chance and I really enjoy the content you post.

Second, I finished watching The Office for the first time last week. It's a great series, by the way. But one thing that caught my attention is how much Jim and Pam are hated. I finished the series loving every interaction, romantic scene and even the conflicts. It's not a very complex romance to understand, but I notice, especially on the 'Dunder Mifflin' sub-reddit, how much people distort certain moments of the couple.

I also see that, I don't know if it's a recent trend, but a lot of people prefer Karen as Jim's romantic partner. I just don't get it. It's so obvious at times that she's just the catalyst that Jim and Pam needed to finally get together and how Jim and Karen have personality conflicts that would occasionally end in a breakup.

Other things that bothered me are how people demonize Pam and soften Roy's attitudes.

Another thing that bothers me is how people say that Pam sabotaged Jim and Karen's relationship, when in reality their relationship was doomed from the moment it began (the night of The Merger episode) with the character ignoring countless red flags.

I can name countless moments that people use to demonize Pam and I can just relate and realize that if I were in her shoes, I probably would have done the same things (except maybe get back together with Roy).

Why do you think this movement is so strong against the character and the couple? Mainly because the show is about characters with questionable personalities with morally questionable attitudes. Why do you think the bar is set higher for both of them?

Sorry for the long text. I was just so surprised to see that Pam is so hated. She has simply become my favorite character. With such human and relatable dilemmas.

If there are any grammatical errors, I apologize! I used the translator to help me.

Well first off I’m happy you found us at MTT. In addition to this blog, MoreThanThat is the largest and best collection of Office and JimPam fanfic on the internet so if you want to continue to the JAM love there’s many many great fics to read. And congrats on your first watchthrough of the show!

Next, I understand how you ended up at Reddit looking for fellow flans, and it’s good for memes, trivia and some general discussion. But when Jim and/or Pam is the topic, things can get toxically bad fast, especially regarding Pam. A good amount of that is Reddit being Reddit. Redditors love trying to be different and edgy, which is hard with a show that’s as popular and has been around as long as The Office. As a result you’ll see lots of contrary opinions that are often thinly veiled hate-posts. A post titled: “Jim’s a cool character,” will get some likes, maybe a reply or two. However, a post called “Jim is a bully and the actual villain of the office” will get 2k likes and 400 replies passionately debating if that’s right or wrong. Redditors are also not known for being the biggest fans of women in general, and a normal woman just trying to live her normal life like Pam will get unfathomable amounts of vitriol (do yourself a favor and never go to the Office Ladies subreddit).

Sadly, Jim & Pam hate is not contained to Reddit. I’ve run the MTT Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts and have seen plenty of it there, even Tumblr isn’t JAM-hate-free. So what’s the deal? It’s again some of that trying to get likes for different, contrary opinions. It’s also the fact that Jim and Pam are written very realistically with realistic flaws that are usually not played up for laughs, flaws that often strike a cord in viewers. Many if not most people will sympathetically relate to Jim and Pam’s flaws, they themselves might do things differently but they understand where the characters are coming from. But a very loud minority are contemptuous of Jim and Pam and need everyone else to know about it. They’ll write off Creed canonically killing at least one person as just Creed being Creed, but somehow are ready with a ten-point essay explaining why Pam having low confidence and being mopey when Jim was with Karen makes her the actual devil. 

The “Jim was better off with Karen” crowd has always been around, but are maybe more vocal now than they were when the show was airing. I felt the show made it pretty clear, especially in the season 3 finale “The Job”, that Jim and Karen weren’t that compatible and would not have lasted even without the Pam factor. But the “Jim should have ended up with Karen” argument persists on Reddit. There she seems to have come to represent Jim escaping his small hometown for something bigger and better while Pam represents Jim being stuck and stagnant. Nevermind that Karen ended up settling into a life not all that different from Pam’s life in a town not all that different from Scranton. Also nevermind that Pam eventually agrees to go with Jim onto “bigger and better things”, she just needed some time (and the characters needed the show to end to be free to move on). 

We also just never really get to know Karen that well, she never has a storyline outside of Jim, she’s just kind of a vaguely defined “cool girl”, and people can easily project their preferred traits onto (in deleted scenes and in the Superfan episodes she’s much sassier and occasionally kind of mean but overall has much more of a personality so it’s interesting how a lot of that got cut).

During the three seasons Roy’s regularly on the show, he’s pretty consistently portrayed as unsupportive of Pam’s interests and dreams and largely unenthusiastic about marrying her. So the wider fandom (or at least the Reddit part) slowing kind of “woobifying” Roy and treating Pam like the bad guy in that relationship is maddening, and I‘ll never forgive the writers for seeming to give some credence to that in season 9 with the preposterous Roy’s Wedding storyline (his send-off in S3 was already the perfect closure for both him and Pam, and his S5 cameo was fine and appropriate). 

I suppose what I'm trying to say is since the show's long ended and so much has been said about it, the larger fandom is kind of down to overanalyzing and 'what-if'ing everything. A big problem with fandom in general is how toxic fandom can get and how much hate seems to develop for the source material and for certain characters and pairings (and fans of those characters and pairings). And the Office fandom is pretty tame! But it's still far from immune. To find fun and positivity in any fandom you need to find your like-minded group of fans and (to paraphrase a famous tumblr post) block approximately two-thirds of the rest. 

[a-certainwrongness]

It’s one of those days…

Clouds billow above, trees, streetlights, even power lines sway against a magnificent roiling backdrop. The wind stirs with the aroma of petrichor and a tenuous charge.

There is a plot of swaying grass singing in the gale. Pages rustle. One scrapes along the ground and flys away over and over…

Call me Fella, Certain, or something else you may like. I’ve left something here. Read the pages if you care to… But it is against my wishes that you are here if you are a minor.

Otherwise… Treat me and others with respect? Then you are welcome here. Eternally, I reserve my right to hide the field from anyone. In turn, if you are not interested block me, and let us continue as we tend to do, worlds upon worlds right next to one another, never making contact.

This is my erotica blog. It’s here for stories and musings and maybe some light art.

I grew up alone in many ways, and became very close with the fields. Perhaps that’s why I often feel apart from others. An observer, a witness. A holding. A place. And maybe that’s why when I disappeared, I fell apart into a bunch of pages. But that’s not right, some of these pages are new, some have definitely been rained on. And where is this place?

I’m aware of my dramatics and here to reassure you I’m just here for some fun. Yes the blog can be a bit unconventional, I’ve figured that it’s already here to hold my deepest desires, I might as well practice my expression as I like. I honestly did have a little too much alone time and stories have always kept me company ever since.

Many would say I look like a man and I tend to walk through the world being perceived as one. I even have a beard I try to keep nicely trimmed these days. But it wasn’t always this way. I still keep my hair long. Men can seem nervous around me and women no longer see me as one of them. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully understood in this matter, or even be able to form a solid translation of it myself. But I am here too, as a person, and must carry my desires.

In the field you might find…

My stories, vignettes, yearnings, and perhaps a sketch…

A clipping that strikes a cord

If I create an in depth tag system I will update it here.

Leanings

Would you be surprised to find I can have a hard time doing things out in our world? As much as I love to ponder, I’m inexperienced and anything I tell you about myself is rather theoretical.

All this sexy business is fun to talk about in general, but coming down to the nitty gritty of reality, I don’t know if I could go through with it! At heart though, I’m flexible in many ways and just want to please those I care for <3

My tastes in reading on the other hand…

Can definitely be too much for some people! And that’s ok. Stay away if you don’t want to encounter:

some Bondage, cnc, Cum, Free Use, Knots, Magic (like wizards), Monsters, some kinds of Power Dynamics, Praise/Humiliation (circumstantial), Rough/Rough Housing, (mostly ancient) Royalty, Size Difference, Somno, Tentacles

Again, this is my blog and is tailored to me, this is not a complete and thorough list.

If you’re interested in speaking more in depth, we’ll discuss my limits. In general I’m down to talk but please inquire before assuming it’s ok to send me something. And I don’t always type/communicate like I have in this intro, haha

[twistnet]

hungry eyes [ horacio carrillo ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; you had your eyes fixaited on the commander most of the morning, not realizing that you had definitely been showing him exactly when you wanted him to do

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, slight smut [ illusion to smut; nothing explicitly stated, dirty talk + bedroom eyes ] + mature language

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

horacio carrillo. the commander of search bloc and one of the organizations currently in the process of helping the american dea with tracking down and removing drug lord pablo escobar from his foothold of power in colombia.

you had been assigned in colombia almost as long as your partner, javier peña, had been. the both of you bonding over your shared interests and the fact both of you had come in during a particularly rough time.

as your time in colombia extended, you quickly made friends, or acquaintances, with most of the people you worked with on a daily basis -- mainly those that worked in search bloc along side carrillo. javi had described him as a man void of emotion, other than anger, and was someone he even had a hard time getting along with from time to time. but, you found it relatively ease to speak to the commander, surprising and amazing most of those you worked with.

it also helped that you found the man to be quite attractive, definitely different from any of the previous partners or crushes you had during your time in america. and in doing so, you had formed a connection with him -- while not quite sure on what to call said relationship, you understood that he deeply cared for you.

and after a late night of love, you had found yourself staring off after him while on assignment -- not exactly the smartest thing to do, but you couldn’t help but admire him from afar. knowing exactly what laid just underneath the green fatigues he wore, and the certain softness he had for you.

horacio had noticed your stares, opting to ignore them as he worked after realizing that you didn’t even know you were doing it. and while it had only unnerved him for a short time, he found it to be quite endearing, though he would never say that out loud.

however, your stares had managed to strike a cord within him after some time. the burning feeling of your eyes drilling into the back of his skull was getting harder and harder to ignore, and when he had gone to put an end to your staring -- thinking he had done something to upset you, he had found he reaction to be quite the opposite.

as he looked you over for the first time that day, actually attempting to get an understanding for your stares, he realized that it was backed by a whole different emotion: lust.

evident by your teeth tugging at your bottom lip, the way your chest expanded each time he happened to glance your way, and the slightest hint of darkness creeping around the edge of your eyes.

so, when everyone had returned to the embassy -- carrillo heading off towards his office with you and javi making your way towards the ambassador's office, he devised a little plan to get you in his presence to talk about your ‘staring problem’.

the second you entered his office, closing the door tightly behind him, he spoke, “stop giving me blowjob eyes, hermosa.” the single sentence uttered without even a glance your direction as you sputtered, cheeks rushing with heat as you trying to rack your brain for the right thing to say, “i... i wasn’t giving you blowjob eyes...”

horacio chuckled softly at your attempt to cover, however, the slight wavering in your voice had given you away. not that he wasn’t already aware of the way you had been looking at him all day, “really, then why the looks all day, hmmm? what were you thinking about when you were looking at me? cause i can tell you want i think, but i want to hear it from you...” he practically purrs, enjoying the way you shift from one foot to the other, and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“i... i was thinking about last night. a lot about last night.” you confession, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment as your gaze drops to the floor. suddenly finding your boots more interesting than the man in front of you.

“hermosa, look at me.” immediately, your eyes snap up, locking with his as he stands from behind his desk, slowly circling around the edge until he’s standing just in front of you, eyes wide with lust, “still reminiscing about last night?”

“yes.” you answer quickly and simply, knowing he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. heart beating rapidly as he shot you a small smile, easing your worry before he scooped you up into a searing kiss, hand grabbing a hand-full of your ass and eliciting a strangled moaned from your lips.

“wait for me to finish up this paperwork tonight, then i’m taking you home.” he utter against your lips, waiting until you nod in agreement before releasing you back to work. smiling to himself as you attempt to hide your lightly swollen lips from the rest of those in the common office beyond his own.

blog navigation ⇢ [ narcos masterlist ]

[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Chapter 1)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and minor blood and wounds- nothing too major. (I tell you, we’re getting into it, I promise!)

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

If you’d like to read more of my works, please visit my Masterlist!

| Prologue | Chapter 2 |

Tags: @technicallykawaiisoul @call-me-soap​ 

Din stormed down the hall of his newly acquired estate, red cape catching the air behind him from the force of his gait and the beskar armour he proudly wore, winked in the early morning sun.

His helmet was tucked under his arm, leaving his uncovered features twisted in an enraged scowl and his untamed curls bouncing freely with his violent gait as he darted for the double doors that would lead him to the dining hall where his company would be breaking their fast.

The place in which he resided in had been bought once he had solidified the trade agreements with the Queen of England, the residence too lavish for his liking. It was more suited to Greef Karga’s own extravagant tastes, the man was his financial advisor but sometimes Din found himself lamenting in agreeing to bring the older gentleman into his court.

The house was dripping in the deepest red materials and gold accoutrement to accompany the ridiculously flamboyant furnishings Greef had purchased with the Crown’s treasury. It was a wholly unnecessary investment as Din had expressed his distaste for the country and its many crippling social demands and their tunnelled, biased view on the rest of the world around them.

When he had heard from the month’s financial statement and use of the treasury account that the properties Greef had purchased on behalf of his Majesty rivalled the livestock towns in their homeland, Din was furious but unable to do much of anything but issue Karga with a stern warning.

Karga made good on his promise to cease his incessant and improper spending habits but it seems Din was a little too late on that front.

Din growled, baring his teeth as he pushed the double doors open with one hand, dark eyes searching the table as his two Mandalorian guards, Sofir and Tatya- unhelmed, stood immediately and pressed their fists to their cuirasses. Both were young, perhaps too young to be kings guard but Din noticed their skill and the pride they had in their country. He chose them over the more experienced Mandalorian’s and he never regretted it.

Their half-eaten plates were abandoned in their hurry to address their king. The large table, some would say was ornate. A fine piece of craftsmanship.

Din would call it gaudy- unnecessary for a man who needed little and survived longer than the most socially capable of people.

For a moment, Din’s reality swirled and he was faced with humble surroundings. A different life, a life he was happier leading. With an internal shake of his head, the unwanted memories faded and he was once again immersed in the riches he was steeped in.

Din would have been fine with a crate and two boxes for chairs, but he could no longer be that man.

“Manda’lor.” Sofir and Tatya greeted him, bowing their heads in respect.

Din nodded curtly and gestured for them to return to their meals as he turned his piercing gaze to the foot of the table, searching. “Where is General Vizsla?”

Sofir turned her blue eyes to her king and swallowed the portion of fruit almost nervously, “I caught sight of him in the training room, perfecting his strikes.”

Din almost snarled his gratitude before whirling back out of the dining room with renewed vigour.

Long legs took him hurtling down the winding halls of his estate before he twisted the ornate knob and pushed the door open, revealing the training room in which Din, at the time of assembling each piece of equipment, was looking forward to utilizing at some point in between the droning events and simpering debutants and their aggravating mothers.

Even though he may not be what he formerly was, it did not mean he couldn’t keep his skills as sharp as the blade he wore on his back. Amongst the different equipment was a large ring raised off the ground, perfect for sparring.

And in the middle of the fighting ring was Paz, unhelmed and unclothed from the waist-up. Thick, corded arms jabbed at the air, testing his speed against the invisible foe he opposed. Sweat dripped from the soaked blonde strands of hair that hung over his forehead, blue eyes stony and focussed.

“You had no grounds nor merit to justify your blatant disregard of my orders, Paz!” Din’s voice boomed across the large expanse of the room.

Paz straightened, rolling his shoulders back as he turned to face his king, chest heaving with his laboured breath, “your plan to attend the ball unhelmed and unguarded was foolish at best, attempting to gain information on the most genuine of willing applicants completely unnoticed as you once used to did not go well, did it, Manda’lor? I saw you frolicking with that Duke’s daughter.”

Din remained eerily silent as he set his helmet down, the beskar rang out and he unclipped his cape and quietly folded it beside the helmet before sliding off his gloves and tossed them atop the cape. Paz watched as his king methodically removed piece after piece of his armour without a word- remaining silent as he peeled the layers of clothing from his upper half to mirror Paz’s own state of undress. Each garment was placed atop the armour, removed as not to soil the fabrics with sweat or blood.

Din’s body was not burly, nor could he hope to match Paz’s unique size but the fine definition of his upper arms and broad shoulders that were attributed to the years of dedication to his craft. His stomach was soft, not sharp and contoured like his general’s but Paz knew better than to underestimate his king and his smaller stature only attributed to his keen dexterity.

Dark, incensed eyes never left Paz’s and Din noticed the glimmer of uncertainty in the bluest part of his eyes but quickly covered it with the same stony indifference Din had been acquainted with all his life as he entered the ring smoothly.

Sofir and Tatya came barrelling through the open doorway, unwilling to overlook such a tussle from two of the most talented fighters in Mandalore.

They remained near the entrance, not wishing to overstep their welcome to watch their king and their General oppose each other in the fighting ring. “You’re lucky I do not have you punished for wearing another’s armour, least of all-” Paz was unprepared for the viper-like strike as Din’s fist shot from its dormant place by his thigh, snapping fiercely into Paz’s jaw, “-mine.”

The two guards watched, riveted by the raw display of power demonstrated by their leader.

Din Djarin was not a man easily intimidated by one’s size or power as one would be by Paz’s physical stature, but they both knew that Paz would not back down from a challenge either- not even from his king, “do you realise the precarious position you have put me in?! The young Dalton girl believes the Manda’lor and Din Djarin are separate entities!”

“You are no longer who you used to be.” Paz argued back, swinging his fist viciously and aimed right for Din’s nose but the latter was quicker and ducked from would-be blow, “your freedoms are limited as is your time to find a suitable partner in which to make your queen and rule by your side.”

“If I dare reveal myself now as the foreign ruler who she is so apprehensive of,” Paz swung again with a loud grunt and Din took his moment, ducking once more but the larger man caught on to his intent and lifted his knee, slamming it directly into the king’s stomach. The younger man rattled out a wheezing groan, stumbling back as his arms curled around his belly but Paz wasn’t finished and connected a quick blow to Din’s cheek- sending his king reeling to the floor.

“Continue, Manda’lor.” Paz mocked as Din slowly began to peel himself off the ground, curls tumbling around his head as he shook the fog beginning to blanket his thoughts

“Her trust will be betrayed as will her feelings if I choose to pursue her.” His voice was strained as he pointed at Paz, “you made the Manda’lor’s interest abundantly clear last night at the fete!” Din grunted as he straightened up, shaking off the ache in his stomach and spat out the blood filling his mouth from the cut inside his cheek, painting the scuffed flooring red. He shoved his reddening hand into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the crumpled Lady Whistledown and tossed it away as if it disgusted him, the sheet bounced on floor of the ring, rolling unevenly before it stopping directly in front of Paz’s feet.

Paz made to grab his opponent but Din twisted out of the way with ease, snapping another blow to the blonde man’s jaw. The general growled in frustration, “that scandal sheet has taken London by storm, we could not have our leader not make an appearance when he was reported to do so.” The two engaged in close combat, blocking and striking as they were taught in their tribe. “The speculation alone could ruin us and future potential alliances!” Paz rebutted, digging his fingers into Din’s wrist and tugged him forward as he screwed his dormant hand into a fist, “I did what was best for the Manda’lor’s image.”

Din dropped to his knees, narrowly avoiding Paz’s devastating strike and quickly regained his footing. Ignoring the twinge in his knee joints, the brunette used the sweat beginning to bloom across his body and twisted out of Paz’s hold before delivering harsh blows across Paz’s face- not necessarily aiming anymore. “I care not for any reporter’s musings, no matter how popular it may be!”

“Din Djarin may not, but the Manda’lor must!” The blatant rage displayed on Din’s features morphed into surprise at Paz’s argument and the man in question to slowly extricate himself from his king’s hold. “Our country is in your hands; you must do what is best for it and our people. It’s not just about you anymore, vod.”

Din huffed a soft breath, nostrils flaring as he took a step back from Paz.

The anger that fuelled him slowly began to drain as apprehensive eyes turned to his tribe-mate and Paz began, “I will apologise for wearing your armour, but I will not seek your forgiveness for my actions. I do not regret it.” Din watched his brother as he straightened his back, sweat-slicked chest speckled with his own blood. Every muscle flexing and only made him seem that much more imposing, “the Manda’lor is our leader and as such, I will not allow you to squander such a title away for a life you are no longer able to lead.” Din remained silent, staring deep into Paz’s eyes before stepping away and took a deep breath before moving toward the turnbuckle to retrieve a towel and tended to the weeping wounds across his bruising knuckles, “what are you going to do?”

Din turned to look over his shoulder at Paz, “what I have to.” His voice sounded resigned, “Sofir, Tatya, call the carriage around the front, please. We are going to visit the Duke and Duchess of Wintere, the Lady Dalton is about to receive her first caller.” He ordered without looking away from his wounded knuckles.

“Right away, Your Majesty.” The two guards promptly exited the training room, the soft clinks of armour following them.

The noise of the guards slowly tapered off, silence filling the space between Din and Paz as the king continued to care for his split knuckles, dabbing the beading blood away.

“You’ve not lost your skill, vod.” The slight pride that tinged Paz’s tone tickled Din’s amusement and huffed a chuckle in response.

“Were you expecting my reflexes to have slowed due to my recent negligence?” Turning to face Paz, he tossed the soiled towel to the general who caught it with ease and folded the fabric to an unused square before dabbing at the beads of sweat upon his brow.

“I had begun to believe that your former talents to have atrophied under the strain of the monarchy’s heavy expectations.” Paz answered easily, smirking at Din’s less restrained laugh, “I see that I was mistaken.” Thick fingers gingerly grazed over the bruise beginning to develop along his jawline.

“Good.” Din teased before bending to slip beneath the ropes, grunting in pain as the blow Paz delivered into his stomach protested at the movement, “perhaps now you will understand why I was most invested in the furnishing of this room in particular.”

Paz followed Din as he picked up his discarded garments and armour and meticulously reapplied each piece with grace, “you are going to pursue the Dalton girl?”

“I am.” The levity in the Manda’lor’s tone dissipated with the return of the hard topic, busying himself with the task of redressing.

“I wish you luck in your endeavours, your Majesty.” Paz bowed to his king before taking his leave, grabbing his linen shirt on the way out and shrugging it on without breaking stride.

Din sighed, strapping the cuirass in place before picking up his helmet and turning it face up. He could see his own reflection in the opaque visor, the silver and gold inlay winked at him in the streaming beam of sunlight.

There was no way he could attempt to court you without insulting your intelligence, nor could he take back the Manda’lor’s interest that seemed to capture this rumourmonger had shared with London’s overly curious.

“Haar'chak!” Din hissed quietly, setting the helmet over his head and stomped out of the room, cape billowing behind him.

You slowly opened your eyes to the pattern lining the border of your bedroom ceiling- the blue floral molding stood out against the stark white backdrop and in the middle was a fabulous illustration of a white owl taking flight amongst the snow-tipped hellebores and tilting upward toward the dawning sun. The mural itself was to your mother’s tastes, curved into a circle and tapered brushstrokes to blend with the ceiling to create the illusion of the image to be unfinished.

It was beautiful.

The picture was a little hard to make out from the shroud of darkness your room was ensconced in, its true brilliance remaining uncaptured.

The curtains had yet to be drawn by your maid and you heaved a gentle sigh while turning your gaze away from the artwork, your eyes slowly took in the furnishings that reflected the same blue on white theme as the rest of your bedroom did.

Your bedroom reflected the wealth your family carried and the multiple homes spanning across England were just the very same- steeped in expensive furnishings and high-end materials to make each abode even more comely. Your family’s London home was smaller than the country estate you and your brother had grown up in but it was by no means modest.

Many a suitor that had entered these halls had remarked on how grand the residence was, their eyes shining with greed and their pretentious gifts were poisoned by their determination to win the heart of the Duke’s daughter.

As your mind was overridden with thoughts of extravagance and lush surroundings, the image of an iron clad warrior flashed before your eyes, anonymous, alluring and unsettling.

Soft fingers pressed into the impressive material of your bed coverings, twisting the opulent silk between your fingertips anxiously before one of your hands slipped from the creased fabric and passed over your eyes, swiping across your brow as you reviewed last night’s events and your stomach began to twist with nerves:

As soon as the Mandalorian king was announced, overzealous mamas pushed their overbearing daughters toward him in the energetic hopes that they would be considered the new queen he had been purported to be desperately seeking.

Lost amidst the wave of hysteria, you did not realise that your partner had slowly begun to pull away from you, “I did not think he would come. What do you make-” your sentence trailed off as you turned to converse with the mysterious lord you had just met, only to see that the space he occupied beside you was now empty, “my lord?” You twisted in place, your gaze scouring every inch of Lady Danbury’s lavish ballroom until you made out the soft crown of untamed curls striding out of the room completely unseen.

“Lord Djarin!” You called, hoping you could gain his attention over the grating squawks of women fawning over the new arrival and cursed silently when he did not acknowledge you as he turned the corner out of the ballroom, out of sight.

Dashing forward, you took hold of your skirts to not tread on the material and attempted to remain vigilant in avoiding the flock of debutants elbowing and pinching their way closer to the king. You operated with a wide berth as you scurried for the exit, ignoring your mother’s calls when you felt a gloved hand clasp yours- forcing you to let go of your dress and cease in your pursuit.

Turning, your skirts fluttered delicately and the words of your polite rejection to the obviously headstrong lord bubbled at your lips- only to remain silent when you saw the silver helm of the king staring down at you. “Your Majesty,” you whispered, shock froze your intentions and you slowly curtseyed out of respect.

“Lady Dalton.” He knew your name?

With your hand still in his, he helped you rise and turned his body to face you while completely disregarding the gaggle of women who now fell silent, glaring at you with burning envy at his special attention.

“I must confess I did not realise we were acquainted, your Highness.” Your arm was still in his hold, orange-tipped leather fingers tracing the delicate bones of your wrist and you fought the urge to pull away from such a bold action.  

“We aren’t.” Blunt. Forceful. His words did little to calm the raging storm within you and you wanted nothing more than to pull away from his touch, not enjoying the coldness of his gloves, nor the anonymity that shrouded his being. Rather finding yourself wistfully wishing for the heat of another unfamiliar. An alluring lord that treated you with such care you’d never seen in any suitor beforehand.

“Well, in that case, how pray tell did you come by the knowledge of my name?” You retained your sense of propriety for propriety’s sake, your lips widening into an insincere smile that you had nurtured and cultivated over the seasons and separate events you had partaken in until you had mastered it.

It was a skill you used sparingly, mostly with unsavoury characters that had called on you with their ill intentions or their crass proposals.

“There was no shortage of envious musings in the town where your name was the topic in discussion. As for deducing you to be the wearer of such a fine name, it was rather easy,” you didn’t think it to be as trivial as he made it sound but remained silent as the Mandalorian king continued his deductions, “no one in this room fitted to such a moniker as a ‘winter blossom’ more than you.”

Your heart flipped in your chest and your fictitious simper cracked ever-so-slightly, “m-my Lord, I am flattered,” you curtseyed once again before raising your gaze to meet the blank stare of his opaque visor, “I would wish to commend on your armour, but I fear I may offend you with my lack of knowledge on the particular subject. So, in lieu of your warrior garb, I thank you for your service to your country.”

“I hope we meet again, Lady Dalton.” His gloved fingers slipped into your palm, his thumb gently curling over your dormant fingers, raising your hand to his helmet and gently rested it against the polished iron right over where his lips would reside were the armour removed.

Gasps rippled across the ballroom as he released your hand, the king nodded once before moving deeper into the room, flanked by his guards and the music began to play once again, tenuous and hesitant.

But, the sound of the sweet melodies flooding the room did nothing to drown out the wave of whispers that accompanied jealous eyes that were perpetually focused on you. You barely felt your mother’s hands on your shoulders before slipping down and kindly curling her arm around yours before leaning closer to whisper in your ear, “we will take our leave now. Leave your suitors wanting more, dearest.” Elaine gently urged you out of the ballroom- leaving the rest of the women to stew in their judgement.

Thomas and Ryder both followed you out, “I’m so proud of you, darling!” Your mother murmured excitedly and you could barely twitch your lips into a smile.

Your heart thundered in your chest and with your free hand, you clutched at the fine material of your bodice, swallowing nervously as you contemplated the fate of the season with the King of Mandalore chasing after you and a mysterious lord that became even more mysterious with every passing second-

-the sun shining down upon you ripped you from your reverie as Olivia pulled the curtains open with a chipper, “good morning, my Lady!”

You swallowed the primal groan that threatened to erupt from your throat as you lifted yourself up from the bed, the covers falling into your lap.

You sighed, running your hand down your rumpled bed-hair, “good morning, Olivia.”

Dragging yourself from under the covers, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and toed on your dainty pale blue slippers, “we’ll need a few more chairs in the drawing room I would think, my Lady.” You snapped your head up to meet a nearly vibrating Olivia’s gaze- only to see the offending scandal sheet clutched in her hands. Maintaining your composure, you held your hand out for the paper and Olivia handed it to you immediately. You mumbled a ‘thank you’ to her as you stood from the bed and walked to the vanity- taking your seat in front of the mirror as Olivia began to tend to your appearance and diligently style your hair, “your prospects this season seem rather remarkable, my Lady, I must say!”

You barely acknowledged her comment as you opened the sheet and read under the subheading:

‘The Warrior King Charmed by the Frosted Flower?

This bold writer would like report that it may be a very short season for our dear Lady Dalton, for she has caught the eye of the mysterious yet alluring king of Mandalore.

Following his jarring entrance into the Danbury Ball, the Mandalorian king set his sights on the beautiful Lady the moment he strode into the room to the call of his own title- a rather candid affair if I may be so bold to scribe.

It seems he was rather taken with our winter rose from before he laid eyes upon her, swayed by featureless letters printed on an ink-blotted page. An accomplishment that this columnist will take full responsibility for.

Lady Dalton will have her hands full this season, with mysterious kings and lords and many suitors of the ton, wishing for her hand.

Perhaps, the Diamond of the Season is not as Incomparable as previously titled. The Queen should seriously reconsider the moniker she gave so freely to the prettiest in the pool and notice that perhaps it is not only beauty that wins the hearts of men- perhaps it is a mixture of beauty, boldness and intelligence that only the Lady Dalton can express so effortlessly.

We all know how the Queen despises when she is wrong, do we not?

In other related news-’

You tucked the paper in your lap, resting your linked hands over it as to mask the words from your view. “Has my mother read it?” Your voice was small, barely audible but Olivia took no notice of the change and continued with her tasks.

“Yes, my Lady. Her Grace was the one to organise additional chairs in the drawing room.” Olivia affirmed and you sighed, drooping your head down and your chin touched your chest. Olivia tutted in friendly reproach before gently lifting your head with cool fingers to resume her work.

“Of course, she did.”

Your fingers dug into the pristine paper, crushing it in your hands as Olivia worked on your hair, “a glowing compliment from Lady Whistledown, don’t you think, my Lady? Your prospects on the mart surely should have reached the heavens itself with the interest of a king!”

“Oh, yes,” you hoarsely replied as your eyes found your own reflection in the mirror, unease clearly etched into the fine lines of your features and you swallowed gently, “a most pleasing tribute, indeed.”

There was a knock on the door and Olivia excused herself with a curtsey before bustling for the door, creaking it open as to keep her lady’s modesty. You heard Olivia and whoever had interrupted you speaking quietly- their hushed whispers filling the room yet unable to be deciphered. “Olivia, what is it?” You asked, looking through the mirror.

Olivia quietly closed the door, turning back to face you with wide, excited eyes, “oh, my lady! It’s so exciting!”

Your brows pulled together and you turned to properly catch her gaze, “Olivia?” You repeated, your arm resting over the support of the chair, waiting patiently for her to explain.

“The Mandalorian king is here, my lady!” You stood from your chair, your back ramrod straight and distress pulled at the knot forming in your belly, “he’s here to promenade with you.”

“P-promenade? Now?” You hushed, shock punching the breath from your lungs, “i-isn’t that a rather early development, we only met the night previous!”

“You must have made quite the impression, my Lady!” Olivia exhibited the excitement you should have been feeling as she helped your numb form back into the chair as she resumed her work on your hair with a renewed vigour.

The entire time, all you could think about was soft brown eyes, tufts of dark curls winking with blonde and red accents in the artificial light of the chandelier and large hands searing the skin of your back as he held you to his strong, broad chest to keep you from falling.

Din Djarin.

“Haar’chak!” - “Damn it!”

"Vod." - "brother/sister or comrade/friend."

[delldarling]

diving stars | hior

male bog mummy x male reader 3754 words citrus | mild description of death, minor mention of blood, mild description of mummy having stitches (though not getting them), kissing, implied future relationship test match-up: Waaaayyyy back when, I decided I should try my hand at some match-ups. I wanted a unique experience for those coming to me for commissions, and so went through several versions of a 'choose your own adventure' kind of personality questionnaire. Matt, or @severedreamerbeard, was one of the people lovely enough to let me test out my match-up process! Thank you a whole gosh darn bunch Matt, for letting me do so in the first place, and I'm going to heap on extra thanks because I've been such a snail about it! <3

————-　🌠　————-

Much of the bog is a terrible endless black, with nothing to reflect but the cloud covered nighttime sky. Scrubby, dried grass circles the edges of the water, the torchlight making their flickering shadows look like creeping, growing thorns across the opaque surface, ready to snag the unwary and drag them down into the depths. There’ll be no coming back out of that dark water, Hior knows, not once he’s been pushed in.

I’ll close my eyes before I go under, he silently promises, though either way he supposes it shouldn’t matter much. The last thing his body sees will only ever be darkness. He swallows, tucks auburn hair behind his ears, calloused fingers catching at his skin, and pastes on a grim smile, turning to face the gathered people. He can’t linger any longer, no matter how much he would like to, not if he wants the rest of the village to make it through this. Not many of them have gathered, either. Just enough to see the ritual through to the end. Honestly, it’s better this way. If his brother had been allowed to leave the defenses, then Hagan would have interrupted Mother Gree, ritual or not. He would have tried to stop her, tried to stop Hior, even if it meant the loss of the village.

Hagan will be angry.

Hior sweeps his eyes over the surrounding villagers, their frightened faces and trembling hands, their teary eyes reflecting the torches in the misty dark. Hagan will be angry, but the fact of the matter is that he will still be alive to hold onto that anger. Hior can’t find it within himself to regret that.

There’s no time for being maudlin, Hior tells himself, and his smile becomes a bit too wide, stretching painfully at the corners.

This will be the last he ever sees of the village if the Gods deem his offering worthy, but that’s alright. Really. As long as he knows the village will be protected, as long as he knows that his people will do their best to endure, he's willing to fight his way through the Beyond and stay there.

Mother Gree begins to speak in a rough, ragged voice, worn through by years of pipe smoke and leaning over heavily herbed fires. Her words—the spell, the prayer—drape themselves around Hior’s shoulders like a heavy blanket, sweeping away the tension of his worries and the fear of the crowded villagers. Hior’s smile softens.

Mother Gree’s only warning is the icy grasp of her fingers, twisting sharply into the hair at the nape of Hior’s neck. The blade pinches. Wet heat spills down his throat and over his chest, soaking his clothes as he begins to fall backward.

Overhead, the clouds part, and a fierce rumbling fills the air, punctuated by sharp screams. A star, smaller than a pebble, but more brilliant by far than any flickering fire, falls out of the sky. It dives after Hior’s falling body, following him down into the depths of the bog.

The last thing Hior sees is light.

————-　🌠　————-

It’s midday, or just after, and there are odd shapes in the clouds, like reaching hands backlit by the sunshine. The shifting shades of them make it look like they’re trying very hard to break through the atmosphere, a primordial being grabbing for mortals like marbles. The wind picks up, and the flicker of pale warmth and the cloud hands are blown swiftly away, hidden by a tumult of grey and violet. It shouldn’t rain for hours yet, it’s not supposed to, but you’re starting to doubt the truth of the weather forecast. The sky is very clearly telling all watchers that a storm is on the way.

And here you are: distractedly doing your best to carefully skirt the edges of dreary, muddied water, hunting for a folktale. There are weak spots throughout the area, and one wrong step will have the ground turning to mush underfoot. Which, while fitting with the tales, is the last thing you’d ever want. Risk of drowning aside, all the local stories claim that it's your soul you really need to worry about, or you'll be trapped for eternity as 'a ghost given solid form'.

In other words, from what you’ve pieced together, that might mean something like a zombie?

Water sloshes, lapping strangely at the grassy shore and pulling you clean away from your thoughts. You know you shouldn't linger with the storm on the way, but something about the water keeps you from getting more than a few paces past. The noise, rising steadily, almost bubbling, draws you closer even as tension weighs down your steps. Whatever might be down there, you doubt it's anything pleasant, and you’ve had stories of zombies running through your head all afternoon. You edge closer anyway.

The shore grows terribly soft underfoot the closer you get, and it looks like something is struggling just under the surface, wriggling, a bit like—the water fountains. It soaks your shoe and the hem of your pant leg, while icy droplets speckle over your shirt and face. For a moment, a breath, your eyes fall closed as you attempt to wipe the water away. Something smooth and cold grabs hold of your ankle, yanking your foot forward so you slam back into the ground, a quick burst of pain flares in the back of your skull. Fingernails dig into your skin. You can’t remember shouting, can’t remember a loud noise, but your ears are ringing, adrenaline rocketing through your veins as the hand—the literal hand—heaves with all it’s might, pulling you towards the water. You scrabble backwards, you kick, trying to get free, but the arm tenses, fingers curling tighter around your ankle, heavier than iron. You haven’t gotten loose, but you’re starting to pull whatever is in the water out as you struggle.

The water burbles and the haze of panic begins to clear. This isn’t a story. Someone has just grabbed hold of you. They’re not trying to pull you in, they just want you to pull them out. Because they’re trapped. You suck down air, scrabbling at the hand wrapped around your ankle, trying to get them to grab hold of your wrist instead. Their skin is strange under your touch, hard and smooth and fragile, like flowers dipped in paraffin.

A head finally crests the water, a choking, wheezing noise filling the air as liquid cascades off of his body. His breath sounds wrong though, and his cheeks are hollowed, hair and skin stained with peat. He releases the death grip he has on your ankle, bony, wet fingers smacking against your arm so you can grab hold and pull. His other hand twists into the scrubby grass, ripping handfuls of it free as he does his best to work with your desperate bid to get him out of the bog. And then a few startling things happen all at once.

Your eyes drop to his throat and the wide, old injury spanning the entirety of his throat, stitched shut with a pale cord. His eyes snap open. An eerie light gleams in his eye sockets and you do shout this time, words tripping over themselves as you give up on holding him to try and yank yourself out of his grasp. Lightning quick flashes of the zombie stories and a variety of undead flicker through your mind. He’s too strong for you, you can't push him off, even with the wasted-looking muscles of his arms. He holds on terribly tight, knees and calves and feet splashing in the water and sliding through the slick scrub grass. You continue to try to get his hands off of you, breath coming far too fast, but he lets go as soon as he’s clear of the water. His hands fall away, clutching at your thigh for balance before he finally removes his hands from you entirely. He drops to the grass, retching, and then grabs at his own throat. The tie keeping his hair back crumbles, falling away like drying clay, and though most of his hair is still slick and dark with peat, it looks like it’s normally a bright coppery red underneath the muck.

He wheezes again, hands hovering over the injury, fingers feather soft over the strangely clean stitches. After a moment, he lifts his chin, spotlight eyes roving over your face with awe.

"..you..you answered?" He asks, voice warped by withered musculature. His stained cheeks stretch, a painfully tight smile exposing teeth that don't look altogether human. They're even, and clean, but they gleam with a deep blue patina, as if they’re actually polished stones. “I—I must conf-fess,” he rasps, hands falling to his knees, nails digging into the tattered trousers barely clinging to his body, “I doubted. I..” He leans forward, gasping once more as he stares at the ground. “He answered,” he whispers, and his eyelashes flutter, the light of his eyes flickering. Despite his apparent frailness, despite his inattention, you can't bring yourself to run away now. You’re caught, the desire for knowledge outweighing the potential danger. “What would you ask of me?” He breathes, and your heart twists painfully in your chest. He sounds wretched, reverent and fearful, both, anxiously waiting for you to strike out.

"What would I ask?" You struggle to murmur, tongue thick and too-dry in your mouth. Slowly, you get up, rubbing awkwardly at your wrist and forearm. His grip had been a shade past 'uncomfortably tight', but you don’t think you’ll get anything more than faint bruising.

"In exchange," the man says, clutching tighter to his knees. He doesn't notice when you flinch, not with his head still bowed.

Your heartbeat nearly drowns out the distant thunder, adrenaline chasing the wariness out of your veins. "For what?" You demand, pleased when his head jerks up. He's acting like you're going to kick him back into the bog with a boot to his chest. "For saving you? Why would I want anything? I was just-" Your mouth snaps shut, brain desperately clamoring for you to acknowledge that there's a mummified man currently speaking to you. He’s talking, not groaning, not calling out for brains or blood or violence. He may as well be straight from the local legends and he’s… Fully conscious of his actions, nothing like the eerie embellishments all the tales carry.

"I was being decent. Helping. I didn't do it so you would owe me." Any further words slip your mind as soon as your eyes catch on the stitches in his neck again. The rest of him is withered and warped by the peat in the bog, permanently stained—but the stitches are still silvery pale. What on earth happened to make him this way?

Hesitant, he raises his head, the inhuman brightness of his eyes more than enough to make you wince. Your gaze darts to the soft glint of metal in his earlobes, trying to keep from squinting.

"For… For saving my village," he finally clarifies. "You accepted my sacrifice and allowed me the chance to speak, but surely I must complete some task to prove my faith? To win a boon and guarantee their survival?"

Thunder rattles your bones and the mummy tenses, looking past you to the sky. Nerves or not, you can’t stay out here in this, not if you want to escape the weather… Or the panic that will spread like wildfire if anyone happens to catch sight of him. You offer him your hand.

"You'll help me?" He asks, hand lifting from his knee, but not yet reaching for yours. Mist dots his cheeks, rain trying desperately to break free of the heavy cloud cover.

"Help? Yes. In the way you’re asking me to?” You can’t stop yourself from cringing, but that doesn’t seem to have deterred the bog mummy still kneeling in front of you. He’s still staring with rapt attention, caught on every word you speak. “I—I don't know if I have any answer you want, but I do know we shouldn’t stay out here in the rain." You take a single step closer, fingers splaying as you reach for him. He slips his hand into yours and the rain falls heavy upon your heads.

————-　🌠　————-

From what you’ve gathered from Hior on the trip back here, he has for all intents and purposes, traveled through time, via his death. You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, mind whirling as you attempt to puzzle out whether he can eat or drink anything. He hasn’t needed to, not while he’s been in his enchanted… sleep down in the bog. But he’s actually dead, isn’t he? You hadn’t felt a pulse when he’d taken your hand, but you hadn’t been searching for one either, keen as you were on getting him out of the torrential rain and out of sight. He hasn’t asked for any food or drink, but your brain has seized onto hospitality like a lifeline. No matter what age Hior is from, sharing what you have is always appreciated.

Decision made, you fetch the glass, ears straining for any noise, for any hint of where he is in the house. He’s done nothing but stare at modernized gadgetry since you brought him in, taking the towel you’d offered as if he were in a dream, but he’s bound to get curious eventually. You move a little faster, though when you find him back in the living room, sitting straight backed on the edge of the couch, dampened towel around his shoulders, you feel rather silly. He just crawled out of a bog, knowing that he’d given his life for his village. Maybe he’s frightened? This can’t be like any afterlife he’d expected. “Would you like some water?” You ask, still unsure as to whether he can actually drink it or not. He’d been gasping for air when he’d broken free of the bog, but that might only be reflex, seeing as he is very much mummified.

Hior clambers to his feet, lamplight eyes skittering over your face and then down to the floor before he kneels, towel flaring out like a cloak. You pause where you are, fingers tightening around the glass in your hand, but your brain doesn’t catch up to what he’s trying to do until he speaks. “I must thank you for your hospitality. Truly. To be welcomed into the home of a God-”

You nearly spill the water, breath caught fast in your throat as you hurriedly urge him to get back to his feet, fingers brushing over his shoulder. “Ah, no, not—how about some water first?” Hior rises, the fine hairs of his eyebrows catching the light as he furrows them. They’re the same coppery red as the hair on his head and arms, and even on his legs when you take the time to glance down. “Here,” you mutter, slipping the glass into his hand as soon as his fingers uncurl. “If you don’t want it, or, or you can’t, then it’s fine. But, uh, I’m not a deity. Not a God. Just a man.” Like you, weighs down the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your jaws shut. You can’t honestly claim similarity, seeing as you still have blood flowing through your veins and your neck doesn’t have eerily clean stitches from ear to ear.

"A man," he repeats, but he doesn't sound like he believes you, "of course." Hior sniffs at the water, but he must not need it. He cradles the glass against his chest, water untouched and risks another sly glance at your face, waiting, as if he expects you to change your mind and confess to a different identity. Your brain buzzes, skipping over the hint he’s attempting to fish for.

“Those… It looks like that was a bad injury,” you murmur, gesturing to the neat stitches, a permanent, unsettling necklace. It doesn’t really help change the subject.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, reaching up a single hand. For a moment, he marvels at the sight of his own skin, turning his wrist this way and that before he finally ghosts his touch over the stitches. Hior doesn’t shy away from them, or even appear concerned, fingertip dipping between each rib of cord. “I’ve little idea how I came to possess these,” he confesses. “It wasn’t you?” You grimace, and Hior croaks out a laugh when he notices. Warmth blossoms in your chest, the sound of a real, genuine laugh soothing away some of your nerves. “No. I can see that now. And it wasn’t Mother Gree either,” he says softly, eyes lowering. “No one would have taken me from the water. The… the star?”

“Star?” The God you think I am? You want to ask, but the stiffness is easing from his limbs, memory returning, and you don’t want to interrupt. Frankly, you might be a little shell shocked yourself, but something about his question makes your brows furrow.

“It followed me into the water,” Hior adds, and your heart skips a beat, your own memories a cacophony in the back of your head. You’ve read something about that before, you’re certain of it.

“The star followed you?” You ask, clarifying. “Dove after you?”

For the first time, Hior isn’t staring past you or searching your face for any hint of divinity. A wry smile twists his lips, exposing the polished stones serving as his teeth. “From what I recall, yes. Of course, I was dying at the time,” he says quietly, humor in the arch of his eyebrows. “Perhaps I could not comprehend the visage of our Gods? They often take other shapes, so as not to cause alarm. Such as that of a man,” he says. He’s hinting again, gaze heavy on your face, but all you can think about is the phrase: the star followed me into the water, on repeat.

You lick your lips, darting past Hior for the stacks of books you’d left out this morning. “The Diving Stars,” you explain, pushing two volumes to the side and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. You seize the elderly green book, whirling so you can brandish it in Hior’s direction. The title glitters, faintly golden but worn away by the passing years. “It’s a folktale, a legend, about… About you, I think.”

————-　🌠　————-

Hior never does drink the water. He sets it aside, fingertips lingering along the rim before you settle down on the floor, book laid open across your knees. He joins you, and as respectful as Hior has been up to this point, he sits close against your side, pressed against you from shoulder to hip so he can better see the pages. It’s intimate, and strange, and he’s… He’s not cold, not exactly, but the lack of human warmth is enough to have the fine hairs along your neck prickling with awareness. It only takes a moment before his attention drifts from the book to your face, staring at your mouth as you read the short tale aloud.

The Diving Stars

For the greater good of a war torn village, a sacrifice was made. A favored son was chosen, one beloved by the village, and kind to all he knew. He was strong, and clever, and though he was leaving behind his family, he knew he must act for the well being of all. When it came time for his sacrifice, he smiled and walked willingly to his ending, hoping that the Gods would accept his service and defend the village from invaders.

A God took notice.

You do your best not to lift your eyes from the text, heat spreading over the back of your neck when you realize how hard Hior is staring at you. You might keep trying to ignore his assumptions, but Hior isn’t going to let you forget about them completely. He still fully believes that you’re the deity from his tale.

Moved by his plight and coveting the favored son’s courage for his own hall, the God left his domain. He dove from the sky as a star, following the favored son into the depths and setting the entire blog ablaze with his magic. When the light faded, when the villagers uncovered their eyes, two men stood by the side of the water, the light of the stars in their eyes. One was the favored son, strange and withered, having sacrificed his vitality to the Gods. The other was the God who had accepted his bargain, and behind them, marching up out of the water, was a brigade of the village ancestors, led back from the underworld to help defend the home of their children.

When the battle was won, and the ancestors had marched back into the water, the favored son wished his people farewell. Lit up from within, the favored son and the God slipped back into the depths, and then two brilliant lights fountained up out of the water, diving back into the sky as stars.

When you lift your gaze away from the book, Hior’s eyes are still on you. They’ve grown even brighter than before, the shine of them sharp enough to make you wince. His hands, resting gently on his knees, are steadily curling into fists, and he’s smiling. Small and sweet and absolutely enchanted. “I knew it,” he whispers, voice tight and low, and then Hior yanks you by the neck of your shirt halfway into his lap, knocking the book completely out of your hands. He kisses you, in want or in gratitude, you’re not sure, the taste of rainwater and the chill of stone heavy on his lips. It’s… It’s not unpleasant at all, the kiss. His lips are smooth, and cool, and tingling, like the sharpness of static in the air, seeping through your skin and racing through your veins. When Hior finally allows you to wrench yourself away, lungs heaving as you attempt to remember how to breathe, all you can think about is the way he’s smiling, arousal pooling heavily in every limb.

“No matter what you might believe,” you mutter, trying to keep your thoughts in order, “I’m not a God. Not of any sort, Hior. I swear I’m not lying.” You lick your lips, the taste of rainwater still lingering on your skin. “Though, even if I don’t know how to help you yet?” You take his hand off of your arm, lacing your fingers with his. “We’re bound to find out together.”

————-　🌠　————-

[unholyplumpprincess]

Not the same anon, but for Seerhound, do you think Obi would get a kick out of teasing and toying with them in the ring (dirty or otherwise)? And if so what do you think his favorite methods are?

I've been saving this in excitement because I wanted the answer to be Perfect. Let's go Seerhound gang lets gooooo!!!!

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked as this contains ADULT CONTENT!!!

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblog if you hit like, and please check out my rules HERE if you wanna request :D

Warnings: R18+/NSFT under the cut, Bloodhound has a vulva and my normal headcanons of their appearance, mentions of asphyxiation, exhibitionism, they're in LOVE and in an established relationship.

____

Obi is just as patient as Bloodhound is. And both, equally, get a kick out of trying to make the other's resolve drop. Obi is much kinder, patient, taking into account Hound's aversion to PDA- but of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't do it. He's just mindful of their moods. Knowing when to strike, what cords to strike, and how to play them right into his games.

Hound, on the other hand, is much more subtle of their teasing. Obi will admit, they always know how to stoke the flame within him. Especially if on opposite squads, with the knowledge they're looking for him. That they probably had their sights set long ago on him before he would even take note of them. A predator in the fog.

But when it's Obi's turn? At first, he plays subtle. Their sponsors put them in a duo together for a portion of the season, and it's his time to strike. Storm Point is such a beautiful place, it reminded Hound of home, and at some points they let their guard down. In those moments, Obi can't help but want to see them that gentle.

Sometimes Obi is playful. Holding their gloved hand as they muse, kissing the backs of their knuckles and murmuring that perhaps this place could be their new home. And when he says 'their', he knows he puts emphasis as he peers into their goggles. In his heart, he knows their flushed. His heartbeat sensor picking up their quickening pulse.

It's not enough for him. He needs to hear them. He needs to see them visibly blush. He needs them to scoff at his attempts at flirting.

But most times? Most times Obi likes to play dirty for a better reaction.

~NSFT under the cut here~

"Beautiful form, my beloved. Your fingers are as talented as ever." Obi's voice is smooth as Hound lowers their Triple Take from decimating a duo. Their helm tilts towards him in a glance through their goggles, and he can practically feel their narrowed gaze as they await for him to finish. Obi can't help but smirk.

"Mind your tongue." Hound chides, searching the boxes for any good loot. Obi is a simple man, one who cannot help but to stare at their ass in their tactical pants. His smirk growing to a grin.

"It is not my tongue that needs minding. In fact, I think I would surely like to mind yours." His tease is low, sliding up behind them to look in the other box. He hears the rustle of their clothes, knowing they're looking right at him. But he hears his heartbeat sensor, picking up that higher 'thump thump thump' of their heart.

"Obi Edolasim." Obi could moan anytime they said his name, their voice low and warning. But he knows that tone. They're embarrassed. Possibly because the communications are still on. People would hear them.

Good. Let them hear. Let people know that the Apex Predator that was Bloodhound was brought to their boiling point from a bit of teasing.

--

The next time they meet, it is on opposite squads. Hound normally got the upper-hand on him. And not that Obi minded, but sometimes his beloved pup needed a lesson in manners and being humbled.

It's how they end up where they're at now. Hound had struck him in close combat, their hatchet narrowly missing him if it wasn't for Obi's heartbeat sensor picking them up. Obi had been chased into the upper levels of the Command Center on Storm Point, Hound hot on his tail. But Obi managed to dodge, sending them both into close combat.

With Obi's flexibility and clever positioning, he manages to throw them off their rhythm. It sends Hound to the floor, but Obi knows them too well. Quick to fit between their legs and snatch their wrists to force them onto the ground, leaning his weight forward to bend them in half so they couldn't twist their legs up and kick him.

"Hello, beloved." He breathes, smiling down at the panting he hears behind their helm. Hound snarls, their hips bucking to try and throw his weight off, but only results in grinding their body up against his. Something he doesn't hide with a low groan and shuffling his hips closer. "Be careful, pup. I am merely a man, and I am not immune to a beautiful creature. Especially one below me."

Hound is still winding down from the chase. Another buck, another snarl, and this time following a low, needy sound from Obi. What? He, again, was a simple man. A simple man looking at the love of his life underneath him.

Eventually, Hound does wind up settling. Their body going lax and their head thumping back with a huff. "You do not intend to eliminate me, do you?"

"Not if you play my games right." Obi grins, gently releasing their wrists and going for their helm. There's a click of the comms going off as he reaches the mic, doing the same to his own and double checking for any cameras before he releases their helm.

Their face is flushed, their crimson curls having been tied up into a bun to fit in their helm with curls now framing their face. Their golden gaze looks up towards him, their singular slit pupil razor thin and looking just as hungry as Obi is.

"And if I do not wish to play nice?" Hound breathes. Yet their hands stay by their head where they were put. Watching as Obi smirks down at them, as if having expected that answer. Pulling his hand back to wave their own hatchet in their face and nestling it under their chin, tipping it up so their gaze falls on his face.

"I take no issue in putting down a rabid dog." Obi replies coolly, enjoying Hound's quickened heartbeat despite their teeth clicking together. They're just as into it as he is.

Good.

--

Hound winds up with their arm over their face and their tactical pants shucked off. They're in a beautiful arch as Obi lies between their legs, hugging their thighs as they squirm and snarl as his tongue works them over. Suckling their clit, licking up the mess that their slick makes and moaning into them. Obi's hat has been knocked off long ago, making room for Hound to clutch his locs to keep him in place.

When they cum, it's with a loud thunderous snarl and their eyes flashing, glowing red. Obi greedily licks up the mess that squirts from them, obscenely moaning into them and letting his sharp nails slide over their thighs.

Of course, eventually does finally sit up. Finding his own belt as he shuffles on his knees between their legs, hurriedly trying to work his pants off. Only to get shoved onto his back by Hound, who is panting as they hurriedly do it for him and quickly straddle his hips to ride him at a bruising pace. Their hands finding purchase around his neck and squeezing his breath from him.

No, Obi never got his way for long.

But he spares thanks to Hound's gods that they were so easily riled up after a good fight.

[scatterpatter]

"Where's the essay OP" Said no one, and yet here I am

Lampy isn't stupid, he's neruodivergent: a rushed-together masterpost

Disclaimer: I'm not a liscened medical professional but I'm neurodivergent who's close to many neurodivergent people so I know when certain traits strike me as very familiar... Also tblt is my comfort movie I've seen it probably over 100 times, not exaggerating, so if anyone here's an expert on it, it's me.

I'm only going by the first movie because while To The Rescue and Goes To Mars probably have evidence to back me up, I don't feel like sitting down to watch them as I don't have them as memorized as the original

Point #1: Lampy is arguably the most intelligent appliance in the movie

Honestly it apalls me that so many are convinced that Lampy is an idiot when he displays some of the most intelligent traits in the movie. I'll just list off some of the most important scenes that show this

1: When discussing a way to get to the city, Lampy comes up with plans that end up failing, true. But we should also consider that not only did Radio and Toaster come up with bad plans before deciding on the swivel chair, but 2/3 of Lampy's ideas involved the same mechanic: on something with wheels(yes the mattress had wheels for some reason) being powered by Kirby

2: "From here you can see the really big lamp!" This scene is simply due to the appliances being sheltered from the outside world. Lampy displays the same level of naive-ness as everyone else: Radio seems earnest in calling the sun a "really big lamp", and Kirby calls the grass "shag carpet". Lampy is not at a lower intelligence in this scene, he's exactly at the same level as everyone else

3: The scene with the storm really sells his intelligence. The appliances have a rudimentary understanding of electricity, most likely from being appliances, but Lampy displays an excelled level of understanding by sacrificing himself for the battery. He understands that batteries are powered by electricity, lightning is electricity, and by using himself as a lightning rod, he acts as the conductive metal to easily transfer this energy from the bolt to the battery. Technically this should have overcharged and fried the battery but we'll suspend disbelief for the sake of this movie.

4: He knew that stacking the appliances to roughly human height, creating a dark environment with ominous sounds, and putting Toaster at eye-level to scare the human with his own reflection... Again, this is an intelligent understanding of how to scare a human

5: It's unclear on whose idea it was to look up Rob in a phone book, however this shows that not only can Lampy read(most likely picked up from being Rob's reading light), ESPECIALLY when Toaster struggles to read, but also has an understanding of phone books, addresses, and finding humans based on family names. I cannot stress how intelligent this is for a sentient desk lamp

There's a few more minor examples, but these are the biggest cases. Lampy is intelligent.

Point #2: Lampy struggles with social cues and doesn't empathize as easily as others

My biggest point here is when people think neruodivergents are "dumb" for having trouble picking up on things like sarcasm when that just... isn't the case. A few notable examples include:

1: When Air Conditioner says "You're a real bright little lamp", Lampy doesn't pick up the sarcasm and thinks he's being complimented. Though he definitely shows a level of emotional intelligence because he looks to Toaster to confirm "hey I was complimented", sees they're still looking angry, and gets the hint that he was insulted without someone needing to explicitly tell him that, to which he then responds with "Heyyy >:("

2: Sometimes he's able to read the room and pick up on tones, but other times he shows a level of emotional density. Legitimately not knowing if Rob had returned even when seeing Blanky disappointed to the point of near tears... But then knowing "brains wouldnt hurt either" was a jab at their intelligence and reacting with appropriate annoyance... But also when Radio says "Things could be worse!", doesn't realize he's just saying that to make Toaster feel better and asks "How could they be worse?"

3: He bullies Blanky alongside Radio and the others, unclear if he's actually being a jerk or just "oh this is what everyone else is doing so this is the normal way to act", but he's legitimately confused when Toaster tries to explain why they're suddenly being nice to him. He doesn't get the "now I feel better" argument because his argument was "Well you were never this nice to him before". Even when Toaster tries to explain why it feels nice, it just doesn't click... until Toaster finds a way to explain that connects personally to Lampy's own emotional state. He has trouble empathizing until realizing "oh this is like this thing that I feel sometimes"

4: Something I've noticed when gathering evidence is that more than once, Lampy goes "Wow..." After someone gloats about themself(Twice with Radio, once with the Computer). It's clear by the third time, when Radio goes "What does that mean?" And Lampy responds "I don't know. [To Computer] What does that mean?" That he doesn't even know what's being gloated about, let alone why he should be impressed. He has the emotional intelligence to recognize when someone's gloating and the "appropriate" response of amazement, but it seems like it never comes from a place of earnest. (While Neurotypicals can and do engage in "performative" behavior, I tend to notice this way more commonly with neurodivergents)

Also the "wow..." Performative thing is VERY reminiscent of Peridot from Steven Universe(a characters who many autistic fans see themselves in and the creator herself saying she doesn't consider Peridot or any of the gems to be neurotypical) going "wow thanks" as her default "this is how I've been taught to show gratitude" response

Point #3: Miscellaneous traits that could be neurodivergent

These traits COULD be interpreted as neurodivergent, but I will admit they could also be interpreted as something else so like take these with a grain of salt

1: Lampy appears to have sensory needs. When sleeping, he needs to tap a rock a few times(presumably to make sure it's "right") before clonking his head on it. It's interesting because rocks aren't a very "lamp" thing whatsoever, and none of the other appliances look for pillow-ish objects to rest on, so this could be a sensory thing.

2: Lampy has an interesting vocal quirk: repetition of phrases at the beginning and end of a sentence. Instances include "How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly?" "All of a sudden you're being so darn nice to him all of a sudden" "The fact is there's just not enough facts" The third one is a bit of a stretch but the first two seem to indicate a possible pattern of speech. Part of me wants to say this could be a verbal tic or some type of verbal stimming, but I've never met anyone who has a tic or stim like this so I can't say it's a neurodivergent thing with confidence, but I wanted to mention this quirk regardless.

3: Physically saying how he feels. Two instances where multiple characters are laughing, Lampy speaks while laughing "That's funny - I'm dying!" "I'm aching with joy!". It's just interesting that no one else speaks while laughing and for whatever reason, Lampy needs to verbalize "Yes I find this very funny" as if simply laughing along isn't enough. I've seen somewhat similar stuff in neurodivergents who have issues expressing emotions implicitly so they state them explicitly instead.

4: I've noticed Lampy isn't touchy... except with Radio. Some neurodivergent people can have issues with physical contact, which could explain that. But I've also noticed that Radio also gives me huge neurodivergent vibes... But more importantly Radio is extremely touchy with everyone, Lampy included, hence them often getting into physical fights but also just- tapping them or wrapping a cord around the other and pulling him close(they're so in love but that's a post on its own). A possible explanation is Lampy having issues with touching others, but either feels comfortable being touchy with Radio(due to emotional bonds and trust) or simply recognizes "Radio likes being touchy so I should be touchy back". A stretch of an argument, I'll admit, but I think the interpretation is there and valid.

In conclusion

I mean idk if Lampy was written to be neurodivergent or if the writers just wanted him to be "quirky" and accidentally gave him a lot of neurodivergent traits, but he reads as very neurodivergent to me(probably autistic or adhd but I'm not a professional and can't diagnose him). But while I can chalk up neruodivergency being one of many possible interpretations of his character, I WILL argue that he's not "stupid" given the evidence we see throughout the movie

Tl;Dr: Lampy is evidently intelligent, but sometimes struggles with social cues, empathy, and overall shows numerous traits of neurodivergency

[bibliocratic]

tim and jon

part of a series of archive polycule oneshots (minor cws and mentions in the tags - ask if you would like anything added. these cws are explained in more detail in the ANs on A03)

“Would you hurry up?” Jon hisses at him, his eyes scattering skittishly to dart and interrogate every night-echoed noise. His expression is bow-strung and embroiled in a hundred outcomes where they get caught, and he furiously shakes his head when Tim indicates through rough and basic mime the next stage of this impeccably-organised plan. There is a flurry of disagreement about who gets to take the starring role in the next part, performed entirely through gestures and whispers before Jon, snapping a ‘fine, fine’, takes the leg-up Tim’s offering. There’s a medley of ‘shit’ and ‘woahwoahwoah’ as both of them adjust to balance and Jon clings to the wall for a moment, psyching himself up prior to shimmying his lanky body worm-like through the open letterbox-shaped window.

There is a clattering, a worrying thump. Tim winces, and cautiously calls out “Boss?” as loud as he dares.

He gets a seething cats-hiss of “Keep it down!” so he presumes Jon’s not too badly damaged.

A minute or so later, Jon is opening the lock from the inside to let Tim into the building. His jumper is rumpled, his hair and face caked with dust like a talc bottle’s gone off in his face.

“Bit grubby there,” Tim grins. Jon gives him a look that promises untold violence and an unmarked grave if he doesn’t behave himself. Tim mimes zipping his lips shut before passing Jon the spare torch.

Despite Jon’s protestations, this outing was his idea. The security tapes and records are in here somewhere, the owner was cagey enough that it’s practically a given, and if they can use them to prove a case of a possible active entity, well, a little sneaking around can’t hurt. Jon had avoided calling it exactly what it was (‘It’s just some looking around’ / ‘It’s trespassing, boss’ / ‘It’s harmless, we’ll be in and out, we’re not really stealing anything valuable’ / ‘It’s breaking and entering and trespassing on private property’) so much so that Tim had laughed, declared it a case of Schrödinger’s illegal and told Jon he’d buy them both some gloves for their night-time ‘looking around’.

Moving further into the property, the flashlights they’ve brought arc with echoes of illumination a split second slow, like the dragging light of a Bonfire sparkler, eventually casting over to a metallic-walled office tucked off to the side. This place looks like a pre-fab, out on an industrial estate somewhere, and from contents inside, has spent the last few years being a motorcycle showroom. Gleaming structures are displayed proudly and buffed to shining in lines, the large open-plan room interspersed with load-bearing pillars. Off near the end, there’s the accessories part of the space, with metal shelving and stands and racks where helmets and gloves and leathers are clustered.

The office is locked.  Jon wordlessly pushes the torch over to Tim, who holds both it and his own pointed at the lock, and pulls out a black rectangular carry case. Kneeling down, he unzips it with a quiet tug, revealing its contents as an honest-to-god lockpicking kit.

“Are you serious?” Tim expels in a high breath, his mouth curved high in delight.

“Childhood hobby,” is the only thing Jon will say, and any further questions are refuted with a ‘I am trying to concentrate’ or a stone-wall silence. Tim files all a hundred and one of his follow-up questions for a later time. He’s half tempted to snap a photo for Sasha, but then remembers with a guilty jolt that that would probably be a bad idea if anyone catches them.

The office is no better than their archives, and Jon is visibly disappointed at the lack of an easy job. Stowing away his kit back into his pockets, they settle into a routine after a few muttered back-and-forth suggestions. Tim takes the paper-drowned desk, the stuffed layers of the in-tray and the desk drawers, while Jon braves the rattling filing cabinets taller than he is.

For the most part, they work in silence, which means it’s a surprise when, after a few moments rifling, Jon says in a painfully faux-casual way:

“So. You and um. You and Martin.”

“Hmm?” Tim replies. His eyes flick over several receipts, a few carbon-copies of CBT papers and full licenses.  He tries to separate some, only to find that they’ve started to stick together, and he sighs with irritation.

Jon remains quiet. Tim turns to look at him, and he’s still got his hands in the stomach of the highest and dustiest filing cabinet, obviously no longer looking with the entirety of his attention but still trying to keep up the charade.

“Was there a point you wanted to make, or…?”

Jon pulls his hands out and swings his face around, and Tim can’t read his expression.

“At the… At the Institute party. You seemed… close.”

No closer than usual, Tim had thought. Martin’s efforts hadn’t been enough to completely vanish his anxieties over the socialisation. He’d stuck close to the other three all night, tugging at his new jacket at intervals, running his fingers over the fabric to settle himself. He’d avoided the alcohol entirely, and had picked at the snack foods. Tim had been as free with his affections with Sasha as usual, casual touches to her hip, the small of her back, calling her ‘babe’ and ‘love’. Sasha had pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek and dragged him over by the hand to their merry band when he’d arrived later than the rest of them. Tim and Martin hadn’t touched because Martin had confessed earlier that he’d prefer if they didn’t, not in this setting, not where other people could see or comment or judge, and so Tim respected that and kept his distance. Apart from once, when they were sat off to the side on plastic-backed chairs pulled out of some store cupboard somewhere, unnoticed by anyone else. Sasha had been drawn into conversation with Rosie about something political, and Jon had been extricating himself from talking to Elias after being summoned over to meet a few of their investors, and Martin had nudged Tim’s hand with the back of his own and murmured ‘Thanks. For, um, convincing me to come’ and then he’d glanced around before leaning in and kissing him demurely before moving back, his cheeks clawed with pink.  Tim had felt a bit like a firecracker going off.

“You’re a bit late for any juicy office gossip,” Tim replies slowly, uncertain of where this conversation is going. “I mean, it’s not a new development.”

Perhaps Jon had seen him and Martin, although it wasn’t a crime, what they did, wasn’t inappropriate for work. He’d assumed Sasha would have told him, on the nights when Jon stayed at hers. Martin doesn’t tell anyone about them, but Martin doesn’t tell anyone about a lot of things, and they’ve spoken about his insecurities and fears both unfounded and painfully historical. Tim doesn’t mind Martin’s reticence, doesn’t mind the slow-building thing between them. Martin pretends not to smile at his jokes and beats him at Mario Kart every time and oversalts his chips and undercooks his eggs and finishes Tim’s onion bhajis when he’s ordered too much and scolds him for forgetting about the bins again and has started to kiss him for the first time like this isn’t something he’s going to lose. Martin hasn’t said he loves him, and that’s alright. Tim’s pretty sure he’s been gone for Martin for months now.

“Does he know?”

Jon’s follow-up is flint-strike, whiplash-corded. He’s set his jaw and his mouth in a tight line that looks like a wound in the unsettled torchlight.

“What do you mean?” Tim asks nonplussed, and if anything, Jon winches his body tighter and says, almost impatiently.

“Does Martin know about Sasha?”

“What about her?”

“About you and Sasha?”

“I mean… yes?”

“And does Sasha know about you and Martin?”

“Have you talked to her about this?”

“Well, no. I wanted to ask you first.”

Comprehension rocks him tidal with a sudden drenching wave.

“Christ, Jon!” Tim hisses out, and Jon gestures him to be quieter and it’s only with real effort that he manages: “Of course she knows. They both know about each other – I’m not a complete bastard!”

“I didn’t say that!” Jon counters defensive. A coil of embarrassment has begun to wind its way through his tone.

“Is that what you think? That I’ve, what, started seeing Martin on the side and just… what, haven’t told Sasha about it? That you’ve uncovered some sort of sordid little office scandal? The fuck, Jon!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“You’re the one who wanted to have this conversation right now,” Tim snaps back.

“I – ” Jon huffs, irritated with himself. The torchlight makes his expression stretch, take on more weight. “That wasn’t what I meant, and I didn’t intend it to come across that way.”

“What way did you intend it to come across then?”

“It – it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it sounded a lot like you were a second away from accusing me of cheating on either one or both of them, so no, actually, I do want you to give me an explanation. Like, right now…. Is this some jealousy thing, with Sasha?”

“What? No! No, Sasha can, Sasha can date who she likes. It doesn’t bother me that you two are together as well.”

“So, what, Jon? What’s the problem?”

“I…” Jon makes an aggrieved noise. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“You can say that again.”

Jon breathes hard. He fiddles with his fingers and Tim waits, making Jon be the one to speak first. Because for all Jon’s protesting that he didn’t mean it like that, Tim’s hurt,  slighted by the idea that Jon might think that of him, might read callousness or deception into his actions so easily.

“I don’t think that of you,” Jon says eventually. “I know – you wouldn’t hurt Sasha and you wouldn’t hurt Martin. I didn’t think you were cheating. I just… I didn’t know that you and Martin… I thought that you and Sasha, not that you were exclusive, but that … and then I saw you with Martin and I wanted to make sure, because I don’t… so, I get that Sasha, she likes you and she likes me and that’s – I get that. But I don’t understand how you – what, you were with Sasha, and then you just… what, started dating Martin? How does that work? How are you with one person, and then you meet another and then you want to be with them as well?”

Tim does not have time to teach Jon Polyamory 101, considering they’re in the middle of something that, pretty euphemisms aside, is definitely a crime. If Jon was better at communicating, this was something he might have been able to broach with Sasha, or with Tim at literally any time other than right now.

Jon’s intensity is misplaced. He’s always been good at that, reflecting the inward out to something he feels he can tackle. Tim privately thinks that Jon’s had these little boxes in his head of what he understands poly to be, and that Martin’s involvement has jostled them out of alignment. That Jon might not be as monogamous as he’s previously considered himself to be and is having to work through all the baggage which comes with personal growth.

Tim’s seen the way Jon looks at Martin when he thinks no-one is looking.

“Jon,” he says, and he does well to strip the irritation from his voice. “Me and Sasha, we talked about it, early on when we first started seeing each other. About the whole exclusive thing. And like adults, we came to the agreement that we were happy for the other person to be in a different relationship if they felt drawn to be so, as long as all parties were informed and consented to the arrangements. And then, this thing with Martin came along… and I told Sasha about it, and she suggested I try seeing if he’d be interested. And luckily, you know, he was, and the three of us have talked about the logistics of it all, and it’s working out. I’m not sure what you’re finding difficult to understand.”

“So… Sasha and Martin are together too?”

“Nah. They’re, um – how did they put it… ‘incompatible in a few key areas’. But they love each other in their own way, and they’re happy, and that’s all there is to it.”

Jon ruminates on this for a bit before he seems to mentally prepare himself for another question.

“And how did you feel, when Sasha started seeing me?”

“Er. Fine. Questioned her taste in men a bit, but…” Jon’s face is a picture at that moment. “I’m joking! I was fine about it. Is… is that was this is about?”

“It’s… not exactly…” Jon looks at the dust on his shoes, rubs at a grubby spot on his face that he’d missed with his sleeve. “When she told you that she wanted to see me, it didn’t… it didn’t make you feel, I don’t know, hurt? That you weren’t enough for her?”

Tim loves Jon dearly but god, he can be an idiot.

“It doesn’t work like - Look. You’re not – it’s not about one person being ‘enough’, yeah? It’s not a finite resource, kay, people can love their friends and pets and family and partners and it’s not… it’s not going to run out or anything daft like that. When Sasha started seeing you, and going to pub quizzes with you, or when she’d be at mine one night and then she’d leave in the morning to go on one of your museum jaunts or whatever…. You being there didn’t reduce how she felt about me, or make our relationship any less meaningful. And when you’re with Sasha, you don’t feel she cares about you less because I’m in the picture, right?”

“No.”

“Exactly. She loves you differently, not less. And the same when me and Martin got together.”

“I… I understand,” Jon says slowly.

“Then, what about this is bothering you exactly?” Tim says, and his voice has quietened now.

“Sasha wouldn’t feel… hurt. If I wanted to, um, hypothetically see someone else. She wouldn’t think that I – I wasn’t happy, or that I wanted more than what we had together, or that she wasn’t… enough for me. And if I did see someone else, they wouldn’t feel like I was, I dunno, messing them around?”

“Jon,” Tim says. “I think this is a conversation you should really be having with our girlfriend, yeah? But… personally, I wouldn’t worry. Wanting to date another person isn’t bad. You just need to be honest and communicate.”

There is a long pause.

“Thanks, Tim.” Jon looks tired, mulling over things, but his face is plastered over with something like relief compared to his earlier tension. “I do – er. I do appreciate you. Talking to me about… about all this.”

“Don’t get soft on me, boss,” Tim says, and he gives Jon a wink. A deliberate gesture that says ‘it’s alright’. “I know I’m a delight to be around.”

Jon relaxes and his expression flint-sparks into a small smirk.

“Whatever Sasha and Martin have been telling you, you’re absolutely not that charming.”

“Please. I’m a catch. Irresistible.”

“I seem to be immune.”

“You sure about that?” Tim teases and Jon rolls his eyes and gives him a put-on look-over.

“You aren’t my type.”

“It’d be different then, if I was, say, a winsome-looking redhead?” Tim says. “If I looked like I’d fallen backwards into a tragically retro clothes shop. Would that, perhaps, be a little bit more your type, boss?”

It’s too dark to see if Jon’s complexion has flared with embarrassment.

“Where are you going with this, Tim?”

“Nowhere!” Tim sing-songs and turns his attention back to the desk. One of the drawers is stuck and he yanks at it before it opens with a complaining screech. “Nowhere at all.”

Jon doesn’t respond. For a few moments, they sink back into their search.

“He’s seemed happier recently,” Jon says after five minutes or so. “You’re good for him.”

“You could be too,” Tim says.

“Well. Ahem.” Jon has definitely gone a different colour at that thought.

And then his face hardens. He clicks off the torch sharply, and he's yanking Tim forwards by the arm, tugged him next to him into the cramped space next to one of the filing cabinets. Tim would have yelped, but Jon gives a sharp 'shhh', and grabs at Tim's torch to press it off as he pulls them both down crouching. For a moment, there's nothing but breathing, Tim trying to ask Jon what's wrong with his limited movement and Jon equally communicating that he needs to shut up immediately.

Then Tim hears the noises outside.

He thought they'd have more time. The doors to the office and the main building aren't locked, and they won't be able to get out now, not without facing whatever is out there that the statement giver warned them about.

"What'll we do, boss?" he whispers to Jon, the words threaded onto one breath.

"Plan B?" Jon suggests. He passes his torch to Tim, and goes for the inside of his bag again, bringing out the items Tim had argued repeatedly for bringing and Jon had repeatedly shot down.

Tim grins despite himself.

"Plan B," he affirms, and helps Jon light the firework.

[highordinal]

When a Man Dies, It All but Fades to Black

“Give me the scythe.”

Kayn raised a brow as Jarvan stepped forward, the emperor’s arm extended outward. Although he didn’t feel threatened, he simply rolled his eyes; what a ludicrous request from the other. Now where had he heard this line before? Ah, yes, with Nakuri when his mind was clouded by Rhaast’s false promises. With the Syndicate that were lured in by the entity’s calls.

He had heard this all before but for someone so pure of heart, someone who cared not for the domination of the galaxy, someone like Jarvan, to demand this wretched steel from him… He must admit, he was taken aback. It was concerning and it left the Ordinal a little miffed. Had Rhaast been gossiping behind his back? Fraternizing with those around him and feeding them lies? It was impossible, with how loud and brash the dark star was, Kayn would have heard it.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, your majesty.” The Ordinal finally stated with a slight upturn of his lips; his voice shrouded in its usual sarcastic tone.

Rhaast screamed in the back of his mind, threatening him with a fate worse than death if he relinquished him to the emperor. Ah, so the demon wasn’t playing his usual tricks then? So then why was Jarvan so intent on obtaining the scythe? So many possibilities to ponder, but not enough time to narrow down any suspicions. As much as he respected his emperor, there was no way his naïve mind would have picked up on his little escapades throughout the galaxy. His tracks were covered flawlessly, those who dared to spill his secret were dealt with swiftly. He had put precautionary measures in place after every step he took, always making sure he had an alibi or a plan B.

“Kayn.” Jarvan’s tone became darker. “I will not ask again. Give me the scythe.”

Hm? Oh, right, his emperor was demanding something from him. With a dramatic sigh the Ordinal placed his hands on his hips, glancing off to the side. “As much as I would love to indulge your request, my emperor, I’m afraid I simply cannot deliver.”

The brunette’s frown deepened, azure eyes narrowing at his subordinates' defiance. He huffed before taking his polearm and slamming its end onto the metallic floors. A loud clang resonated through the room, afterwards the doors to the chamber were pushed open and a line of soldiers streamed in, cutting off any means of escape. After them a familiar, colorful crew stepped into the chamber, causing a momentary look of shock across the soldier's features.

A smile spread onto the Ordinal’s face, a curt laugh he couldn’t control passing his lips as he turned to look over his shoulder. “You called my own men on me?” He acknowledged in disbelief, golden irises trailing back towards the royal. “And you even sought aid from Demaxia’s wanted fugitives?”

“You left me with little choice.” Jarvan answered, earning a scoff from his friend. “This hurts me more than you would know, Shieda-”

“Oh?” The soldier cut in, turning to gaze at each of his men, “You call me in here under the false pretenses of friendship, demand I hand over my weapons, and then you cage me like a deranged beast using my own soldiers? Oh Jarvan,” He sounded amused, “You truly know how to break a man’s heart.”

“Enough!” The emperor shouted. “You have abused my trust for years, and it all started with that damned scythe. If you do not wish to lose your station, and by extension your reputation, you will hand over that weapon.”

“Reputation.” Shieda echoed, “As if something like that matters to me anymore. I’ve sacrificed everything I’ve worked toward to keep this weapon out of the hands of those that would use it for evil, and frankly I think I’m doing a rather swell job-”

“You think killing innocent people and harvesting their Ora is a swell job!?” Jarvan finally snapped, taking several steps forward. “You have done nothing but commit heinous deeds behind my back, hiding behind the excuse that it was in the name of the royal family! I never permitted such deeds and yet- yet you hid behind my name and tarnished Demaxia’s image!”

The Ordinal twitched, anger swelling in his chest. “Nothing? You say I’ve done nothing? While you sat there looking all pretty on your golden throne I was the only one scouring the galaxy doing your bidding! I conquered for you, negotiated for you, killed for you, and you say I’ve done nothing!?” His throat was hoarse with raw emotion, his shouts straining his vocal cords as he seethed in anger. “That blood is on my hands, not yours.”

“No.” Jarvan hissed through clenched teeth, “You wanted domination. I wanted peace. I’ve had enough of this- guards! Reprimand Ordinal Kayn and strip him of his weapons.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boys. You know full well what I am capable of.” He laughed wickedly as they stalked towards him, “You’re no match for the one who trained you.”

Kayn watched as they continued to advance forward, their weapons drawn, beginning to circle him as if he were an animal. And perhaps they were right. A primal urge to kill awakened within, one hand reaching up to draw the scythe sitting snugly against his back. Rhaast hungered for rendered flesh, something the ordinal was all too willing to provide.

“Oh, Rhaast.” He sang sweetly, “It’s time to play.”

“Yeeeess…”

A low rumbling shook the room; frantic eyes darting around the space in confusion and fear. Jarvan yelled over the commotion and readied his weapon, quickly closing the gap between himself and the Ordinal. There was no use in hiding Rhaast’s sentience now, and so he decided to embrace it.

Hearing the clanking of armor behind him, Kayn dropped low just in time to dodge the emperor's spear. He deftly kicked the royal’s feet from under him, watching as the bigger man stumbled to the floor, barely able to catch himself. As the soldiers began closing in all around, the Ordinal jumped back to his feet and raised Rhaast, swinging the neon blade in a wide arc. Those who blocked the attack were pushed back, those who didn’t had a nice new gash across their chest.

It was at this time that he noticed the crew of the Morningstar begin to act, Captain Yasuo unsheathing his blade, the crazy girl pulling out a plethora of guns. He sneered at them before turning his attention back to the fight.

One by one they got up and charged him again, only to be knocked back down into pools of their own blood. A few of them managed to get a few lucky hits in on the Ordinal, but those were nothing but minor scratches that healed up instantaneously due to the Ora running through his veins. He ducked under steel, weaving his way through the men with a grace so deadly they dropped like flies.

As he regained his footing he felt a presence appear beside him, a white blur rushing past. Thinned steel was brought down upon him, giving him mere seconds to react. After dodging the slash, flittering gold locked with the Captain’s hazel irises.

“Lookin’ a little tired there, Ordinal. Might wanna throw in the towel before it's too late.”

Annoyance bubbled within the Ordinal and the Captain smirked, unleashing a flurry of blows before Shieda could put some distance between them. He managed to deflect most of the attacks, however, a well placed strike caught him off guard and he staggered back.

“RAAAAH!”

Kayn’s head shot towards the thundering stomps as Malphite dashed toward him. He cursed under his breath, diving out of the alien’s path. Before he could recover the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face. Looking up he saw the crazy girl tightening her grip around the pistol, an apologetic looking grin on her face as she pulled the trigger.

The Ordinal swiftly evaded the shot, shooting his hand up to grab her wrist. With a tug and a twist she grunted in pain, the gun falling from her fingers. Using his weight he yanked her down, jumping up and spinning around to drive the butt of the scythe hard between her shoulder blades.

“Oh just kill her already!”

Kayn raised Rhaast and readied to strike the ginger and end her pathetic existence.

Seeing his crewmate’s peril, Yasuo maneuvered himself toward the Ordinal and set forth a wall of cyan energy, forcing the man to back off. Kayn ended up being pushed back into a precarious position, yet again surrounded on all sides. He was feeling sluggish, exhaustion starting to lock his limbs into place. He panted heavily, blood and Ora spattered across his uniform. His hair had been cut loose and hung disheveled over his face.

He waited until the foot soldiers pounced before emitting an animalistic snarl and hoisted Rhaast, heavy in his hands, up and tore through his former compatriots. Rhaast reveled in the bloodshed, and for a time Kayn did too, that is, until he saw the faces of his more recognizable men staring in disbelief as their own Ordinal raised his hand against them.

He shook his head, he shouldn’t be thinking of this now, they decided to get in his way so they are to face the consequences. And yet his memories of his time with these soldiers flooded his mind. Images of his senior disciples goofing around during training, taunting their master as they sparred, enjoying the merriment of bonded brothers.

The thought made him hesitate.

Rhaast noticed immediately, “What are you doing, fool!?”

But it was too late, Kayn felt a ripping sensation in his side as Jarvan drove his spear into his flesh. The Ordinal shrieked in pain, twisting partly around and jamming the butt of the scythe against the other’s clavicle. A delightful crunch emitted after it impacted the royal’s body, yet the other stood firm, instead gritting his teeth and leaning all his weight on the Ordinal, driving the spear further in.

“N-No!” He gasped, the searing throb caused one of Kayn’s arms to lose its grip on Rhaast, the weapon clanging against the tile as his now emptied hand came up to try and push Jarvan's off.

Captain Yasuo had strode forward and plunged his blade through the Ordinal’s thigh, rooting him in place, another soldier piercing his other calf. Golden speckled sanguine spilled from his mouth as he watched the soldiers take advantage of this moment of vulnerability. One sprinted forward and slammed his boot against Kayn’s hand, breaking some fingers and knocking Rhaast completely to the floor before they all forced him onto his knees. The others surrounded him, guns aimed directly at his head.

The dark star howled in fury, reverberating on the cold tile as Malphite callously swatted him away from the Ordinal's reach.

Kayn thrashed around as much as he could but the steel only cut further into his skin, drawing more blood which drained his energy further. He was starting to become lightheaded, his breathing becoming ragged and labored, lungs struggling for purchase from the pain.

“Let me go! I’m not done- I’m not-” Fear overtook him as he continued to strain against the emperor's hold, Ora streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Shieda.” Jarvan pleaded against his ear, “It’s over. It can’t control you anymore-”

“Unhand me! Only I can handle the power that thing wields-!” Kayn protested, his voice shaky as he choked back reddened sobs.

“That thing has killed many of our own and has brainwashed you!”

“No!” Kayn screeched, “With the voice of Ora we can become unstoppable! Finally the Empire will have the strength to carry out what it’s always dreamed of-”

“Listen to yourself Shieda!” Jarvan cut him off, desperation evident in his tone, “It has blinded you with delusions of grandeur- the Empire doesn't need that power, you don’t need that power.”

The emperor freed one of his arms and slowly wrapped it around his old friend, pulling Kayn’s back flush against his chest. “Please… It’s over…”

When a man dies, it all but fades to black. But when someone like him succumbs to fate, why does he see gold? It’s dull, unimpressive and looks worthless, but it’s gold none the less. The excess Ora pulsating through his veins- he watches as it trickles down his skin from open wounds. All that hard work was wasting away, all those souls he’d collected scattering back to the earth. Rhaast had even gone quiet, stewing in his own frustration for having entrusted his life to such a feeble mortal.

“Why did you stop me?” He asks, voice low and raspy. He began to shake, the Ora withdrawing from his system so quickly he body couldn’t keep up. He leaned his head back against Jarvan’s shoulder, lolling his head slightly to look into his eyes. His injuries were numb, head dizzy and vision unfocused. “I finally had the strength to give you everything.”

“Shieda…” The royal’s face twisted in pain, “The day you became Ordinal and stood at my side- that was when I realized I did not need anything more.”

Kayn’s body went slack at his words. The soldiers backed off and watched as their emperor cradled their Ordinal in his arms, slowly removing the spear protruding through his flesh.

“You will live, Shieda,” Jarvan demanded, “We will destroy that scythe and you will live. We will make the Empire prosper through our own means, not that of monsters.”

Live. Prosper. No, not any longer. He had thrown all that away in the pursuit of power, and now he lays incapacitated before his men who have lost all respect for him. Everything he had worked for, his station, his pride, gone in the blink of an eye. It was a risk he took and it backfired. Surely Rhaast blamed him for being unable to fulfill his side of the deal, and surely his emperor held some resentment for his actions. His plans were put to a stop before they ever truly began- how humiliating.

“Live.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue, “And what could I possibly live for now?” His words were hollow, devoid of fire.

Jarvan stayed silent for a moment, hands pressing hard against the gaping wounds in the other’s side. “We will find a reason together, but for now, live for me.”

All the Ordinal could do was scoff before his vision became spotty and he was forced to shut his eyes. The sounds of shuffling feet filled the room as soldiers filtered in and out, medics being called and special units moving to carefully collect the cosmic weapon. At some point he was removed from the emperor's warmth and onto a stretcher, but his body shut down before he could comprehend any more.

His vision faded to black, but it was not the reaper he saw on the other end. No, He was still so stubbornly alive, denied the sweet release of death and forced to live among his sins. He didn’t want that, and yet when an angel bathed in light extended their hand towards him, he foolishly took it.

When their hands touched, his eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by a blindingly white room. He felt a hand clasped over his own, a welcomed warmth contrasting heavily from the plethora of frigid needles piercing his skin, syphoning out the extra Ora in his body.

A muffled voice spoke beside him, although he was unsure if it was addressing him or not. Blurry shapes passed his view, coming closer for a moment before disappearing again. As his eyes adjusted to the light, a figure came into his line of sight, Jarvan, who sat loyally at his bedside with a gentle smile.

“Shieda.” The other said his name so sweetly, so full of relief that his heart throbbed, “Good morning.”

The Ordinal exhaled slowly, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds and reached a bandaged hand up before resting it against Jarvan’s cheek. No more words were said, just tired eyes coming to a silent understanding. He might never be granted the title of Ordinal ever again, but knowing Jarvan's generosity he still may be permitted to advise on the sidelines. Even so, he wouldn’t be permitted to do that so soon.

It would take time to heal, and probably months of therapy and reflection, but it would happen. Slowly but surely it would happen, and as his emperor demanded, he would live. No matter how much he struggled and protested, he would live.

[creaticare]

Heroes Rising pt3. (But Analysis)

This was written as I watched the movie, and based off what I remembered from the first time so If stuff seems a bit out of order it’s because I wrote a bit from memory. Also the movie took me like 2x longer than normal to watch because I was writing this as I watched.

What if some of class 1-A hadn’t made it, like I mean died during the final battle. This is also just a analysis of the injuries that everyone should have by the end of the battle. 

Lets starts with these two, logically speaking Momo and Yuga got buried under a giant pile of rocks once their quirks had been majorly depleted. That means they would be way weaker than their normal forms, which contributes to the fact they should be dead after that. 

Now let’s move onto Ashido, it clearly shows that after she got the hair’s into her leg then fell down a couple levels of rocks she was bleeding from the head. I’m not saying this should have killed her but this would definitely leave her with I’m guessing a Major Concussion. 

Then we got Sero, he is first hit straight in the face with a rock that breaks into his helmet and probably makes contact with his face. I’m guessing by the force of the rock being thrown that would probably break a bone in his cheek and/or jaw. Then we see him get thrown probably over 8+ feet tumbling the whole way, which would leave him out of commission as it shows, I also think that would give him a few fractures in his body. 

Next Subject Kirishima, when they go through with Todoroki’s plan he was hit with the full power of Chimera’s blast. This should have caused chipping of his unbreakable form, because you could tell the amount of raw power that blast had by how Chimera took down the forest. So Kirishima logically should have been chipped apart and starting to bleed out as soon as he returned back to his normal form. Also for Tsuyu, Iida, Todoroki, and Kirishima all their eye’s should be a bit worse now because of how bright Chimera’s blast is, that amount of light being shone straight into someone's retina would definitely cause some permanent damage.

Iida and Tsuyu got smacked together and you can watch as they fall, blood falls along with them. This means that something had to have caused blood to come out of them, it could have been a outer injury or internal injury. Internal Injuries is something that probably a lot of the characters would have from the different events in the fights. Those two or I think at least one of them got a Internal injury from that collision, because it might not have seemed like a hard hit, but the power Chimera possesses can make it so you would know that was a hard hit. Then also you will see they are both bleeding from their heads which like I have said multiple times already, probably means they have concussions just like Ashido.

Todoroki, it does not matter that he can regulate his own body temperature for this. When he freezes Chimera from the inside out he gets a lot of major frost bite. People probably over look this fact since ‘Oh he can regulate his temperature’ no it will still leave a lasting effect on the outside of his body. Also you can watch that he passes out before he can Manually warm his body back up, that means his heating up process will take a bit longer. The cold for too long probably messed with some of his internal organs and that is not good for the body. You also should be able to hear when he does his inner monologue of ‘did we do all that we needed to do’ his speech is way slower and his breaths sound more cut off. The exhaustion and frost bite were already taking a tole on his body and brain as soon as the fight was over.

Time for Jirou and Ojiro analysis, they tried to face Nine head on even though they have some of the weaker quirks (not meant to be a jab at them I love them). Ojiro was shown to still be a bit Injured from the first fight, while Jirou did not have any major Injuries to show. Both were taken into the Jaws of what I think is a Blue Dragon skeleton that Nine has direct control of. They are then crashed into the wall of the castle, this definitely would cause something more than a light scratch. This would probably result in multiple broken bones scattered all throughout both of their bodies. No doubt that Ojiro’s tail would be broken in many places, since he was probably slammed into the wall on his back first, which means his tail would actually make contact before anything else.

Shoji, he was carrying Katsuma and Mahoro when Nine had started shooting the lasers at him. Minor cuts are shown to be inflicted on his arms, but they never show what is really happening to his back. His back was what was taking most of the shots, and the first couple that are shown don’t seem to affect him much. His hero costume might be made of special material but at some point it would need to give in. So if you think about it enough his back should be all sliced up and burnt from the lasers. He literally sacrifices himself so that the two of them could get farther ahead and away from Nine. During the Fire Tornado when debris and ruble was about to fall on Katsuma and Mahoro you see him fling his body to cover them. Also right before the screen goes to show the full castle the scene shows a giant rock that looks like it falls straight onto Shoji’s back. If this was incase the fact then his spine would either be fractured badly or broken. Don’t get me started on the amount of nerve damage he would have from a rock falling straight onto his spinal cord.

This is a add on too Jirou, Ojiro, and Shoji. Ojiro and Jirou show up to help Shoji against Nine, and let the kids run. The two of them should have been out of commission but they weren’t because it’s a movie. But all three of them or Just Ojiro and Shoji hit Nine’s force field and then were flung through walls. Even if Jirou wasn’t on the force field it had expanded and probably picked her up also and sent her flying through the wall. But as I have said many times before Bricks and Bones don’t mix, that equals many broken bones.

Kaminari, yes he can take electricity but only so much. I think that when he got struck with the lightning bolt that messed up more bodily functions then they thought it would. His blood stream probably absorbs the electricity or at least some of it. My mind also believes that some blood cells absorb too much and they can burst in a unnatural way.

During the major storm and fire tornado you could see lightning striking all over the place. More than once those strikes probably hit close to some of the others who are already out of commission. If any of them actually got struck which someone probably did (I’m thinking about the four near the water when I say this), that would mess up their brain functionality.

Sato, it isn’t much but when he has to hold up the ruble from falling into the cave that probably causes a good deal of Mental and Physical strain on him.

Tokoyami was litteraly buried under ton’s of rock and ruble, their should have been no way he survived that. Because a human body would not be able to take that amount of strain for as long as he had. It doesn’t matter if it hit dark shadow first in the end all the weight was put onto his body.

Don’t even get me started on Bakugo and Deku, they were tossed around a lot between all the battles. After their first battle they got healed by people with healing quirks and Katsuma cell activation. But I still think they would have some residual fractures and stuff, since the healers said they couldn’t do much about the bones, and I doubt Katsuma is strong enough to heal breaks fully. SO when they get thrown around during the final battle that probably cracks lots of bones, their rib cage’s probably being a big target. If their ribs are broken and they are being thrown around that means the bones shift, it is lucky that it didn’t pierce their lungs, cause if it had they would have been out of commission and killed. Then their is also the fact that they have probably gotten a lot of blunt force trauma to the head, this could cause major concussions that would render movement hard or even impossible. You also have to take into account that Deku breaks his bones just by using his quirk. While Bakugo’s quirk probably leaves some burns of varying degrees depending on how long he over uses it, which in that battle he probably went far past his limit.

Both Deku and Bakugo are taken into the jaws of the Dragon Skeletons as Nine goes over his Monologue about his new world. When they dissed him the were dragged along the ground still in the mouths of the skeletons. That would be a lot of unnatural twisting and turning that gets put upon the body. When the jaw starts to close on their stomach’s that probably puts pressure on Rib’s that were most likely already broken. When Deku proposes his Idea to Bakugo you need to look at his body closely, he is hanging so that his head is upside down. But also his one arm is so unnaturally limp, his shoulder looks like it has been dislocated, that is the only explanation for how far back his arm is in that position. But also like I said Deku breaks his bone’s with his quirk, for a short time Bakugo also had the quirk and used it so he also broke some bones cause of it.

In the Finale Finale battle (I meant to say Finale twice) there was ruble falling everywhere, there was no way in hell that didn’t land on someone. Like the whole part of the island was scattered with Class 1-A rocks needed to have landed on someone during that battle.

Deku and Bakugo literally fall head first towards the ground once the battle is over. you can’t tell me that they somehow landed gracefully on their backs and that was that. They probably hit their heads very hard on the ground which would have them out for I would say at least two days.

Now this one has something to do with all of the kids of class 1-A. All of them had been thrown around in the battles, more than once hitting their backs on something very hard. Depending on the severity of the hit this should have left them Paralyzed. Some if you look close enough have even hit their necks, which is a even stronger case to show that they should have gotten Paralyzed.

So there’s that 1,854 word Spiel, this was actually a lot of fun to write. But this is what I feel everything would have come out as if it was a bit more realistic and that was me going a bit nice.

[iamverycrappyatwriting]

A Final Rest

A mage reborn fic

Leon x F!MC Dephria

Not fully canon compliant

Mild NSFW 16+ but minors DNI

Tw some body horror, grief

Leon wasn't sure how long he'd been lying in this meadow, warm and sleepy as a gentle breeze stirred the long grass and wild flowers cushioning him. His bleary eyes made the meadow almost sparkle in the afternoon sun, giving the day an etheral quality. He didn't remember the last time he had been allowed a day off of respite like this. Not since... His memories blurred as he tried to pull them forward. It had been a long time, anyway. Since there was a time when he didn't even need to bring a sword with him, or wear armour.

He shrugged off his shirt, leaving himself with a bare chest as he lay back once again, crossing his arms behind his head as he closed his eyes and settled in to bask in the sunshine. This is exactly what he needed after everything that had happened lately.

He almost jumped when he felt the small, cool hand touch the hot skin of his stomach and run up to his chest, forgetting - or unaware? - he hadn't been alone. But as soon as he felt the familiar soft skin exploring his, he relaxed. Of course he wasn't alone. Why wouldn't Dephria be there to relax with him? There's no one he'd want there more, nor anyone else who deserved a break as much as she did. He opened his eyes to stare into her shining violet eyes as he felt her settling her body in next to his, her head nestling into his shoulder, her soft, long auburn hair spilling out around them. She flushed in response to him staring into her.

"Sorry," she murmured, clearly embarrassed to have disturbed him.

"Don't be sorry." He grinned as his heart swelled at the sight of the mage, her cheeks tinged pink as she looked down away from him. She looked so small and cute to him in that moment and he wrapped his arms tightly around her to pull her on top of him. She let out an indignant squawk as he did so but it made him grin even wider. God, he had missed her.

"Leon!" she scolded, as he pressed her into his chest, pressing his face into her head and inhaled deeply. And enjoyed her warmth, her softness, her smell - she always smelled of petrichor with a hint of jasmine. By Jove, he had missed that smell so much. Nothing else compared. He pressed his lips onto the top of her head, caressed gently by her silky soft hair.

At the feeling of his lips on the top of her head she looked up at him from his chest and grinned - that damn crooked grin - and she pulled herself up on her elbows and leaned in and kissed his lips. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, still when they kissed. Still. Her lips were soft and she tasted sweet every time. He would never tire of these lips, it felt like a release to all his worries, all his stress. It felt like home. What had been clearly intended as a relatively chaste kiss turned into something heavy as he deepened the kiss himself. He had missed this so much. Where had she been?

Dephria leaned heavily into the kiss after Leon had chased her lips down to deepen it, her hands reaching into his hair as she straddled his waist as best she could with her bad leg, her tongue touching his lip begging for entry. With a gasp he let her in, his hands falling to her hips, squeezing her curves - Jove, was she soft - and pushing and pulling her to create friction as she moaned into his mouth, their tongues and lips dancing together, passionately, frantically like they might run out of time. He burned all over, he could never have enough of this, of her. He needed more, wanted more.

Sensing his craving, or perhaps equally as excited, Dephria pulled her lips away from his and kissed first his cheek, then his jaw, nibbling his earlobe, kissing down his neck, savouring the sensitive skin there. Leon found himself shivering despite the warmth of the day. When she reached his chest Dephria looked up at him with those tantalizing purple eyes of hers making a sultry expression as she stuck her pink tongue down, running it along the divet between the muscles in his stomach down towards his navel.

"Jove be damned, Dephria!" He huffed as she smirked into his skin and kissed his hips. He couldn't handle much more teasing. He wanted to touch her all over, sink his fingers into her voluptuous curves and make her moan and shiver, to undo her as she was undoing him.

She looked up at his again from her spot on his hip and smiled again.

"Remember our first night together?" She asked laying her head down on his lip looking up at him, a mischievous grin on her face. Where was she going with this? He squirmed impatiently, wanting to adjust himself for comfort. But he found when he tried to bring the memory to the forefront of his mind it was blurry, constantly flitting away from his grasp. It distracted him momentarily as he quieted himself to try and catch it, but it evaded his grasp continuously and that was a strange feeling.

As though she could not notice his change in demeanor, Dephria carried on, her mischievous look taking on an icy edge.

"The night I gave you my innocence, and my heart," she continued, her tone flirty, a grin on her face but a steely look in her eyes like she was setting a trap. Leon was beginning to feel less excited and more, nervous. Since when was there clouds in the sky? When did the day turn grey?

Dephria adjusted herself to be looking more directly at Leon, still running her hands over his skin but he was not excited anymore, more apprehensive. The breeze turned cool as goosebumps appeared on his skin, a heavy feeling settling over as if lightening were about to strike.

"I..." He began, he wanted to say yes. He knew they had made love when they finally admitted their feelings for each other, he knew they felt it was now or never, that it was life or death and they wanted to be together at least once if they were to die but he couldn't remember the act. He couldn't remember the where, the when. It was an empty feeling he was chasing trying desperately to grasp and the harder it was to remember the more everything felt wrong. He couldn't bring himself to lie, or admit something was wrong even as the grass he lay on felt rough, dry and stabbed his now cold skin when previously it had felt soft and comforting.

Dephria's smile took a sinister quality.

"I asked for you to wait for me, I asked for you to trust me," her voice was no longer her soft lilt, but harsh and rough, accusing. "But you didn't trust me in the end, did you, your Highness?"

Leon flinched away from the title. Leon, he was Leon. She knew that, she didn't call him that. She knew how much it bothered him to hear her call him that. When it was just them it was just Leon and Dephria. Just two regular people. In love. Not King, not prince, not royal mage, not loyal retainer. Just them. No title, no expectations. Why was she calling him that?

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the sky, drawing Leon's gaze as fat rain drops began to fall, cold and icy. It was sunny, it was warm, where did this weather come from? His eyes fell to the meadow where not only had the grass turned brown and dried up but also the wild flowers were gone, replaced with thorns and stinging nettles. What was going on? What foul magic was afoot?

"Leon!" Dephria snapped loudly drawing Leon's attention back to her as she knelt over him now. "I gave you my innocence! I gave you my heart! My everything and you BURNED ME!" Cold terror filled Leon as he looked at Dephria, her voice hoarse and rasping as her hair singed to nothing before him, dark smoke stains appearing on her skin, turning into blisters, bubbling all over her skin as flames with no source licked her. Heat rolled off her in waves making him sweat, drying out his mouth and lips despite the cold wind and the rain, which had whipped up into a frenzy as she screamed.

She was burning, he realised with horror.

He remembered now, he remembered everything. Skin sloughed off her body, pink muscle glistening underneath as the acrid smell of burnt hair and flesh assaulted his nostrils. She glared in fury at him as her lips burned away revealing her teeth as she gnashed at him.

"I did EVERYTHING for you and you BURNED ME!" Leon felt a tight nausea in his stomach as he stared up at her, frozen and speechless at the accusation.

Her beauty fell away, her muscle peeling back to reveal bone, her violet eyes the only thing remaining as she accused him, her voice dry but booming and full of hatred. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even reply as he just stared in horror and her bones blacked before her eyes, and still she screamed with no vocal cords left.

"I gave you everything, I loved you and you KILLED ME," she accused. "You didn't even respect what was left of me, you threw me away in an unmarked grave to forget me, so no one could mourn me."

He did, he had. The woman he loved. He hadn't let his loved ones change his mind about her, hadn't let them save her. She had told him she used him to kill the saintess and he had believed her when everything he knew about her would've led him to believe her incapable of such an act. She gave of herself again and again for his causes, burning herself out over and over again for him. She gave him everything, mind body and spirit and he took and took and in the end he killed her. He watched her burn at the pyre.

Her bones slowly began to turn to ash, crumbling away to blackened dust, but even as her bones charred and fell away her eyes remained, accusing, hating.

"You killed me!" She shrieked again with no form to scream from. Lightning cracked as the wind whipped around his hair, throwing her ashes into his eyes, rain stinging against his bare skin. It felt like a pressure building endless as lightning cracked in the sky, a storm in full swing now.

"I did, I'm so sorry," he wailed, his own chest alight, the wind stealing his words away.

"You took my innocence and killed me with it!" She shrieked as all that was left of her, her violet eyes swooped towards him. Leon flinched, raising his hand to protect his eyes, embracing for impact.

He awoke with a jolt, half falling out of his bed, trying to jump to attention, holding out an invisible sword, tangled in sheets, his heart beating hard and his breathing harder.

He was no longer in that accursed meadows, but rather in his own royal bedroom, alone.

The nausea left from his dream was too much and he grabbed his bedpan to wretch the contents of his stomach up into it.

After vomiting he sank to the floor still tangled in sheets as he tried to calm his breathing.

It was just a dream, just a dream. But his attempts to calm his breathing failed as his breath hiccuped and turned into sobs, slow at first but the more he tried to repress them, to calm them down the more they choked him until his body was wracked with sobs as his heart reminded him it was an open wound.

[secret-engima]

ARCHER. A WARPTASTIC LC ARCHER. WITH A TWIN SKILLED IN SHORT STABBY THINGS. THEY CAN BOTH USE THE ARROWS- ALL OF THEM- AS WARP POINTS. So you think they missed you? Think again! You've just got knifed in the ribs from behind. Pinned the archer? Syke! Now on the other end of the battlefield. Up a tree. Laughing at you. Who needs a gun? On unrelated note, are my last asks still there? Or did tumblr sneak back in and have a snack?

...

........!!!!

NEW AU NEW AU NEW AU NEW AU. RAMBLE FICLET INBOUND.

...

-It starts with reports of a very strange daemon in the area, one that kept attacking Hunters only to retreat the moment they started to retaliate, almost like it was trying to lure them in a specific direction, or to guard something. Some Hunters had attempted to give pursuit, only to pull back the longer the chase went on, wary of walking right into a daemon nest. The daemon would then double back and harass them all the way out of the area, as if trying to incite the chase again. While at first Hunters just avoided the area, as the need for supplies and fast travel routes increased, more and more had to deal with the strange daemon, some nearly dying when the thing’s harassment hit a vulnerable area or its screaming attracted other daemons down on the Hunter’s head.

-There is no time to dedicate an entire party of Hunters to deal with the daemon, but something has to be done.

-Gladiolus takes the Hunt. Eager for any excuse to get out of Lestallum and its grim atmosphere, the ever increasing depression that comes from not having seen the sun in three long years. That comes from their only hope, the Chosen King (Noctis, his brother, his king, the king he FAILED) being missing with no sign of return.

-He does not expect this to be anything other than a Hunt for a particularly wacky daemon. It’s a three day trek on foot from Lestallum, out near one of the old, now thoroughly abandoned tiny burgs that had dotted the landscape. They don’t have any gas to waste for his trip, so he hoofs it there, sleeping on Havens and fighting his way through the ever increasing number of daemons that have figured out the day-night cycle is well and truly busted. He finds the area marked on his map and starts stomping through, making no real effort to be stealthy, but not enough to be noisy either.

-Sure enough. The daemon finds him. It springs down from a cluster of rocks, screaming and striking with long legs and sticky webs and Astrals does Gladiolus hate Arachne. Even if this one doesn’t have an entire brood of tiny minions to help it, it’s fast and it definitely wants his attention. He lashes out and scores a minor hit, nothing nearly serious enough to bring it down, and it turns and flees, just like the reports said.

-Gladiolus gives chase, and the longer he chases, the more convinced he is that he’s being led somewhere. It stays just far enough ahead to make attacking pointless, but always close enough he has a chance of catching up. He can SEE IT looking over its shoulder, making sure he’s following, sometimes throwing webbing at him like he’s an aggressive beast to antagonize into maintaining the chase.

-If this turns out to be a giant daemon nest trap, some kind of new tactic from the monsters, and he dies from it, Ignis and Prompto are going to be SO ticked at him.

-Gladiolus starts to slow down as caution wins over the desire to just get the Hunt over with, and the Arachne starts harassing him with increased vigor until it.

-Stops.

-It twists around to look in the direction it’s been going this whole time as if listening for something-.

-It screams in a tone of fury and desperation Gladiolus has never heard from a daemon before, a note that is so shrill as to be almost human again, and then it’s gone, crashing through the undergrowth at easily three times the speed it had been using to lead him on.

-It’s curiosity, even more than his task, that makes Gladiolus break into a flat run in pursuit.

-He breaks through the snarled, browned undergrowth and is surprised to find himself on a demolished property. A farm by the looks of it, ruined fields and a half broken house that must have been one of the first things to fall when the Long Night fell. There’s an Iron Giant there, and from the damage to the house, it looked like the thing had been trying to crack open what remained of the building for some reason.

-Survivors? Refugees that had tried to take shelter in the house since the nearest Haven was still a decent hike away?

-Gladiolus steps into the cleared out area, ready to fight the Iron Giant and the Arachne both before they could get to the refugees (assuming there was anyone still alive in the house), only to falter and gape.

-Because he won’t have to fight the Iron Giant and the Arachne.

-The Arachne is fighting the Iron Giant for him.

-He can’t help but stare, because while he’s seen daemons squabble sometimes, especially over a meal, he’s never seen something like this. The Arachne is screaming, an endless, shrill, desperate note as it crawls all over the Iron Giant, stabbing and striking and sparking, heedless that one of its own legs has already been crushed in the grip of its opponent when the Iron Giant flung it off the first time.

-The Iron Giant grabs the Arachne again with a bellow, flinging it into the ground with a crunch that makes Gladiolus flinch on instinct. The screaming hitches, almost like a sob. It’s the kind of damage that daemons do to people, not to each other, and it’s definitely the kind to make even the most territorial daemon back off. The Arachne crawls upright again as best it can and starts fighting again.

-The Iron Giant picks up the sword the Arachne had managed to shock out of its hand, and that’s about the moment Gladiolus thinks “screw it” and jumps in. He can take an Iron Giant and a half-dead Arachne, and if there are refugees in that house that the daemons are fighting over, sitting around gawking won’t help them.

-He isn’t sure how long it takes him to realize that the Arachne is leaving him alone. It’s sole focus is on the Iron Giant, and even when Gladiolus dodges in a way that puts him right next to the smaller, limping daemon, it ignores him in favor of screaming and fighting the bigger daemon. He doesn’t get it.

-The Iron Giant goes down with a gurgling groan of abused metal and he turns to face the Arachne, blade raised and ready.

-The Arachne keeps ignoring him. It’s dying. He can see it in the dark smoke leaking out of its wounds like blood, too fast even for the daemonic healing factor. Two of its legs are crushed beyond use and a third is dangling by a proverbial thread, part of its abdomen is caved in from being flung around. It staggers and drags itself away from the area the Iron Giant had been destroying, claws it’s way around the side of the house as Gladiolus follows with an increasingly bad feeling.

-Half-buried under a piece of rubble, there’s a cellar door.

-The Arachne shoves at the rubble, struggling to haul it away, panting a low noise with each move. Gladiolus raises his blade again. If there are survivors trapped in the cellar, he can’t let … it …

-He isn’t sure what makes him focus on the noise the daemon is making as it shoves aside the rocks and paws uselessly at the door, too weak to lift it open. But he does.

-It’s not a noise.

-It’s a word. A word and a bit of a word, like its part of a greater thought that daemonic vocal cords cannot convey.

-“Babies. M’babies.”

-Gladiolus stares. And thinks of a naga looking for its baby. Of the revelation of what the Starscourge was. What daemons used to be.

-Oh no.

-Please no.

-He takes the flat of his blade and pushes the daemon aside, trying to move it as gently as he can as far as he can. It finally notices him again, hissing and swatting the flat of his blade until it … stops. Watches him grab one of the cellar handles with his free hand and crack open the door all while keeping a close eye on the daemon, ready to finish it off in an instant. It still doesn’t move, even as he forces open the door and risks a glance down-.

-Light. Flickering light and the rusty noise of an old generator. Enough light to keep daemons from spawning directly inside the cellar, if not enough to keep them from entering through the door if …

-If the rubble hadn’t been hiding the door. Holding it down.

-No-no-no-no-.

-There’s another rasp from the daemon, a coo of sound from a rattling throat and within the cellar, there is movement.

-“Mama?”

-Astrals.

-Gladiolus is going to be sick, he just knows it. He is going to be sick and its that feeling that keeps him from moving, from doing the smart thing, the safe thing, and stopping the two children (CHILDREN) from crawling out of the cellar and catching sight of the Arachne.

-He isn’t surprised when they start crying. Start screaming as they rush and tumble to the daemon’s side, chanting the word “Mama” over and over.

-He isn’t surprised somehow, when the daemon- the MOTHER, coos at them, cradling their faces in her hands, trying to offer comfort even as she bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

-Gladiolus slowly sets down his sword, wary of any OTHER daemons coming to the sound of crying and the smell of human children, but right now he … he has to help. With gentle hands, he pulls them away from the Arachne, doesn’t flinch when they turn on him, biting and scratching and screaming. He is startled, somewhere beneath the ache in his heart that is numbing his emotions, when the Arachne does not lash out and try to get her children back. She just- watches him. Coos at her children as her hands quaver and go limp.

-He wonders how long she’s been daemonified. How long she’s clung to … not sanity. But love. The love of her children that kept her from turning on them, that made her try over and over to lead uninfected humans to her children to save them.

-At least three weeks. That’s about when the first report came in.

-He hugs the children, not trying to move them more than a few feet away from their mother (he wants to prevent infection, if that’s even possible at this stage, but … he can’t just leave with them. Not yet.) They cry and fight his hold, but they are tiny and he is a soldier.

-Astrals they’re only three years old at best. Their mother is their whole world. Their only anchor that stayed even after the infection turned her into a daemon.

-And now they’re losing her.

-“P-Pan…” Gladiolus looks up sharply and finds himself locking gazes with the mother, there is an eerie sort of clarity in her eyes, a human clarity in an inhuman face that chills him. “Pan … do … ra…” The gaze flicks to the child pinned by his right arm, “Pan … do … ra…” Her gaze slides to the left child, “O … or .. i…on.”

-Pandora. Orion.

-She’s telling him their names.

-Her gaze locks with his. Her legs are gone now, dissolved into daemon smoke that is slowly climbing toward her spider abdomen, “Ta-ke … care … o-of…”

-The light snuffs out. So fast he almost doesn’t process the loss before she goes entirely limp and the smoke consumes her form. Damage done by the Iron Giant too great even for daemon healing. He gets the message anyway.

-Take care of my babies.

-Gladiolus stands up slowly, tucking his sword into his armiger with a thought as he picks up the sobbing children and slowly tromps down the stairs of the cellar, checking for supplies, clues, anything useful on autopilot. He finds a few toys that he tucks into armiger as well as some food (not much, hardly any, they must have been running out right before he took the Hunt), and a set of blankets that he fashions into a front and back child sling to carry the inconsolable toddlers. He’s got a long way to walk and he’s going to need his hands free.

-They stop crying audibly once he steps off the farmland’s grounds. Silence already drilled into their small heads by danger and … their mother. He can feel them crying though, confused and angry and heartbroken, wanting the mother who disappeared before their eyes to come back, not understanding why he was leaving. Or even who he was really.

-It’s a long walk back to the nearest Haven and from there back to the nearest outpost that might have someone willing to give him a ride to Lestallum.

-The entire trip back he watches them for signs of infection, gives thanks when the Haven gives no reaction to their presence, which was a quick way to see if someone was infected. Havens would flare if the Scourge touched them and infected people tended to get sick immediately after stepping onto a Haven. With the two toddlers there is no such reaction, so the likelihood that they’re clean (somehow) is high.

-He skips customs and checkpoints by using his Shield title and books it straight to a doctor to get them checked out anyway. A preliminary blood test comes up clean, but the doctor does note an anomaly in their blood that he intends to look into when he has time (so approximately never, Gladiolus knows, the doctors in Lestallum are always swamped and lab materials for testing is at a premium). After that Gladiolus carries the very quiet toddlers to the crummy apartment he shares with Ignis and proceeds to finally freak out. Quietly. So as not to wake up the two kids that passed out in the bed the moment he put them on the pillows.

-He texts Prompto and Ignis and thanks whatever is good in the world when it turns out that both of them are in town and willing to drop everything to answer his panic text.

-One very quiet powwow, story, and a lot of agitation later, Prompto offers to fill out the papers to put them in the Lestallum orphanage and Gladiolus nearly strangles his friend on instinct. Even though he knows it’s the right choice, he’s busy, the world is ending, he has no TIME for kids…

-Take care of my babies.

-He couldn’t. He couldn’t pass them off to just anyone and everyone he knows is as busy as he is.

-Ignis translates his agitation without issue and sighs. “You’re going to have to stay in Lestallum more often. And fill out paperwork for a new ration card.”

-He knows.

-“We all will I guess,” Prompto says lightly and Gladiolus stares. Prompto grins, a shadow of the smile he used to have, but bright nonetheless, “well, we’re all in this together right? We can take turns keeping them, that way we can still get most of our work done. I’ll bet Iris and Cindy will help too. Maybe even Cid!”

-Gladiolus could cry. Even though the hole Noctis had left was deep and weeping, a wound that had tried to pull them apart despite their best efforts, they’re still here. Still ready to stand with him in this … utter insanity.

-Ignis reaches out with gentle fingers and traces the dirty hair of Orion, the boy of the pair, “At least tell us their names before we collectively adopt them.”

-“Pandora and Orion,” Gladiolus murmurs, “no last name.”

-“We’ll sort that out tomorrow,” Ignis hums, free hand adjusting the glasses he no longer needs but wears anyway.

-And just like that, Gladiolus, Prompto, and Ignis are back together. A group again. A bumbling trio of brothers, united in their goal to care for another. But instead of the king-brother they still ache and search for, it is the two three year old twins the Arachne Mother gave Gladiolus. The grieving stage is painful to get through with them, but after it fades and they acclimate to their new guardians … the twins are sweet. Orion is the quiet one. Not very social to outsiders, someone who appreciated his distance (“Quite in character for an archer”, Ignis jokes and they all laugh, but somehow Orion gets a little toy bow for his next birthday and an obsession is born in the four year old). Pandora is … well.

-Aptly named.

-Trouble seems magnetically attracted to her. Thankfully harmless trouble, but even so. If it’s something that can be climbed, she will climb it, if its something that can be snatched, she will snatch it, if it’s a question her little 3 to 4 year old vocabulary can say she will speak it all while Orion trundles behind his sister, looking at everyone with big, thoughtful blue eyes that sometimes make Gladiolus’s heart stop and his brain think of another little boy (little prince, little brother) he once knew. But that is just coincidence and he pushes it away.

-Until it isn’t coincidence anymore.

-Until Orion and Pandora are five years old, bright lights and anchors in Gladiolus’s, Prompto’s, and Ignis’s ever darkening lives, and they get into a fight over who owns what toy.

-Gladiolus is not there for the fight, it was Ignis’s turn to raise them (with some additional help from Iris and Cid that he needed less and less as his blindness became less and less of a handicap) while Gladiolus helped with Hunts and with training the Kingsglaive alongside Cor, always pushing forward into the dark to find more supplies and more light and more room for refugees if they could.

-He gets back and isn’t even allowed to fall into his bed before Ignis is cornering him with shaking hands, “We should have kept a much closer eye on Noctis.”

-One, what. And two, ouch. Gladiolus growls, exhausted and testy and NOT in the mood for some kind of unexpected guilt trip only for Ignis to hiss, “I am not talking about That Day. I am talking about the road trip. We messed up somewhere, took our eyes off him for too long and now-.” Ignis stops and gives a watery laugh that alarms Gladiolus, “Now, impossibly, we have been blessed for it.”

-“Iggy, you aren’t making any sense.”

-“The twins have magic, Gladio.”

-Gladiolus freezes.

-He must have heard that wrong.

-Ignis senses his disbelief, his confusion, and repeats with a faint hysterical edge to his voice, “The twins. Pandora and Orion. They have magic, Gladio. They got into a fight over one of their toys and Orion set the curtains on fire. I tried to run over and nearly broke my glasses because Pandora had panicked and thrown up a shield around herself and her brother.”

-“That’s impossible,” he whispers back hoarsely even as his sleep-deprived brain flings up picture after picture of Noctis as a child, blue eyed and black, flyaway hair and sweet smile, bright giggle that filled the room with an oddly musical tone-.

-The twin’s eyes. Orion’s sweet little smile as he looks up from beneath his flyaway coppery brown hair. Pandora’s laugh that lights up a room as she scampers away from her latest mischief, a musical quality that comes out ever more strongly as she learns to sing along to the battered audio tracks Prompto keeps finding for her.

-Gladiolus is on the floor suddenly. He isn’t sure how. A blink and Ignis is crouched next to him and the twins are peering in the doorway, looking scared and concerned.

-The twins.

-His twins. The twins he loves with all his heart and soul, the twins who’s mother clung to humanity through sheer force of will long enough to save them.

-The twins with magic. Ignis wouldn’t lie. Not about something like this. And for all he was blind, Ignis had known Noctis the longest, known Noctis from the youngest age. He would know what magic felt like, what it sounded like, how little royals just coming into their power would use it-.

-The twins had magic.

-Noctis’s magic.

-Noctis’s kids.

-He blacked out to the distressed sounds of the children that were both his and now apparently his missing king-brother’s and Ignis’s exasperated calls for Iris to come help him.

(NEW AU. Calling it Last Stardust because I’m addicted to the song and it fits the space theme of Noctis’s and Orion’s name. Also Orion is going to become the archer LC and his sister is gonna wow the glaive and get her very own set of stabby kukri so there. Also also the last ask I have from you is the Obi-Wan Ulric one from the SW/FFXC crossover I played in forever ago.)

[twi-sight2020]

Genesis

That’s how the book begins, with a quote from the Bible. And, I get it, it ties in with the forbidden fruit theme, a classic, if not a a bit overused, trope. Not a whole lot to unpack here, even with my Religion minor. And so we move forward to the preface. This I remember pretty damn well, Our narrator-Bella- though not yet named, muses on death and sacrifice. The movies do a good job incorporating it in BUT, they leave out my favorite line. ‘When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.” Just...damn. There are a lot of times when this book falls into the flowery language, no teen talks like this, trap, but this line...it makes the rest of it worth it...mostly. But chapter one, that’s when we really get to know Bella, and I develop a love hate relationship with her. I know we’re supposed to see her as selfless with her giving up her “Life in the sun” in favor of moving to Forks, just so her mother can be happy, but I can’t help but feel Bella relishes in being a martyr. Then again, maybe it’s just me being too far removed from being a teenager? I remember how everything that went wrong seemed like the end of the world back then. And moving is a challenge even when you’re an adult.  Of course, in chapter one, we don’t don’t have the full story of why Bella moved, only that her mom tells her she “doesn’t have to “ Bella “Lies” and says “She wants to.” And she describes it as an “exile.” it almost leads one to believe that their is some dark secret behind this, that Bella is moving because of something she did that is compelling her to move. But alas...no.... And then, then, she complains about it being too green. which, as an allergy sufferer, I do to, but Bella ....not exactly sure what her issue is other than it being different from home. But, she’s been here before so...*shrug* again, teenagers. However, before everyone begins to think all I’m going to do is harp on Bella, I do suddenly gain a moment of respect for her. She loves  her big ass truck. The thing most teenage girls would bitch and moan about, she embraces. And this, well this strikes a cord with me. When i was a kid , my great -grandfather used to drive me around in this HUGE diesel running monstrosity, and it remained basically my favorite thing for years. suddenly, I’m feeling a kinship with Bella I haven’t felt in a long while. Also, her appreciation of a non-hovering parent does not go unnoticed. I empathize, Bella, really I do. If only because I have a few relatives that are quite....overbearing? And I’m definitely a type that likes to be left alone to read or write, and sometimes wish I’d grown up around people that weren’t so, verbose. Charlie=best parent Bella being scared of Fork’s high school is amusing to me. I grew up in a small town, with a School that sounds suspiciously how the school is described. Of course, i live on the otherside of the country buuuuuut....it does rain a lot here...is incredibly green and mountainous.....yea I get it Bella. You can hate it all you want because i grew up in one of these places and...I couldn’t stand it either. Of course, then she goes back into teenage “Not like other girls” and “I don’t fit in” mode and I’m back to doing a deep sigh for a hot minute. I just have to keep reminding myself that ,yes, even I used to sit and stare in a mirror and feel like I was the only person in the universe who saw the world the way that I did. Melodramatic? Yes. Annoying? of course. But, there is something to be said about an author getting pretty into the mind of a teenager, flaws and all. Her first day of school starts out pretty slow, not  alot to say other than we realize that Bella has already read everything in the English curriculum and is not above getting her old essay to reuse. You know what, good on her! I like these small tidbits we get of personality  that the movies don’t give us. Like, Bella is Smart and yes, a bit shrewd. We get more of this in a few moments when Eric pulls his “You don’t look very tan and she retorts with “My mother is part albino” and notes that he doesn’t understand this and she;s worried that after a few months in town she’ll forget sarcasm. book Bella has a snarky side that the movies seem to have forgotten, and i had as well. Also, Bella hates trig,and that makes her basically me at all forms of math, rip me. And then, we get it, Lunch, The Cullen’s, EDWARD. I’m not gonna go all crazy on the descriptions and how they differ from the films, BUT....I do have a few notes.  -Jasper is described as taller but leaner than Emmett. Taller -Alice is supposed to be thin in the extreme - and, despite how beautiful they are, the Cullen’s are supposed to have shadows under their eyes. described as purplish and bruise like. That’s the thing the movies never quite conveyed. Yes the family is beautiful, but they are beautiful corpses. Incredibly “chalky” pale, circles under the eyes that Bella compares to one recovering from a broken nose. and features that are perfect and angular. I’m not trying to be morbid, but they truly look like beautifully made up corpses, beautiful, yes, but unsettling, inhuman. perfect but....imperfect in their perfection. Small note that Jessica’s first really bitchy moment isn’t so much of just ‘Edward is too good for anyone here” thought she has that to, but implying that Mr. and Mrs. Cullen’s kindness in taking in kids is lessened because she “Can’t have kids.’  Again, while the movies made her seem simply shallow, this also conveys that she’s got a true mean streak. Then the biology class, Edward is ....weird. That’s really the only was to describe it. And, though we know what his secret and problem is now, I can see how Bella would be baffled and bit concerned.  i do love this contrast with Mike and “He obviously  didn’t think I smelled bad.” I admit this got a laugh from me. I also had forgotten that Mile had also moved from out of state, and that the two bonded. And that he noticed how odd Eddie boy was acting. Yea, Subtly is not Edward’s game. Personally, if I have been Edward, i would have immediately faked sick and left the room, might have made less of a stir then glaring daggers at the girl, but...what do I know? Bella hates gym, another thing we have in common! Edward trying to change classes, sigh, oh boy Edward, if Forks school as anything like mine, you have the first like...four days of the semester to change. After that? Tough luck no matter how charming or handsome you are. Maybe , just maybe, you should have looked into homeschooling. I wasn’t particularly sure why Bella was fighting tears all the way home, was it because of Edward? Or just the over emotions of moving and starting a new school? Sidenote: Did anyone else find it weird that she literally started school the next DAY after moving? Like this flight and settling in and then BAM school? Just saying, all those changes at once are rough on a  well adjusted adult, much less a teenager. And that’s it, Intro and first chapter. I was going to do more, but....this  kinda turned out longer than I planned, tbh. And, since I’m on an all liquid diet for a medical procedure tomorrow, I’m more than a little tired. But, if I’m feeling better later I may try to get up chapter two.

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

Rating: M Tags: Lingerie, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Corsetry Chapter: 2/4 Summary: Rey’s part-time job at Holdo’s lingerie botique is going surprisingly well. She may not be an expert, but Poe’s there to sweet-talk the customers, and it helps pay her bills. But one particular tall, dark-haired customer catches her eye while he’s looking at corsets, and she’s about to learn a whole new meaning of customer service.

Chapter 2: Ben’s fitting

read on ao3

So glad people are enjoying this! Here’s the link to the post with reference photos for the lingerie described in this chapter, for anyone who wants to see those.

Also! @alhenacrimson on twitter did some lovely art of Kylo in this chapter!! <3

@persimonne also drew Kylo in lingerie last year which is also v important

(Disclaimer: We're taking some small liberties with the retail industry and men's lingerie here purely for the purpose of getting Ben (and eventually Rey) in as much pretty underwear as possible. Pls understand the minor sacrifices in service of this important cause.)

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Rey willingly stays far later than she ever has before to put Ben's order together so it'll go out first thing in the morning, once Amilyn approves it. The security guards are starting to give her nasty looks by the time she finally closes the boutique behind her. She tells herself that she's just dedicated to her job. Absolutely no personal interest whatsoever in seeing the giant tree man who can fill out a corset like nobody's business again. Especially not in lingerie she's picked out for him. Completely impartial. Totally professional concern only. If she says it enough times, it'll be true, she's pretty sure.

So there's no reason for her heart to leap in her chest when Amilyn tells her that the new inventory has come in when she arrives at work a week later.

“This was for one of your customers, wasn't it?” she asks, her bangles clinking as she gestures to a box of pieces put aside by someone on the morning shift when they went through the delivery.

Rey bends and sorts through the clothing. “Yes!”

Amilyn smiles at her. “Some very nice sets there, and good variety. You did very well. It's good to see you getting involved with the customers.”

Rey colors. Entirely professional. Just helping a customer. “Thanks,” she mumbles. She does her best to walk at a normal speed to the register to call Ben.

He doesn't answer, and as a professional she is not at all disappointed. She simply leaves a message, letting him know his order is here and he can come to the store at his convenience.

She knows it's unrealistic for him to show up that evening , but that doesn't stop her from jumping every time a customer comes in. She's never been so attentive a greeter, and even the ever-chipper Poe gives her an odd look when she beats him to welcoming the third customer in a row.

She manages a more relaxed stance the next day. Ben could come in when she's off shift, or prefer to work with Poe instead of her. Which would be completely reasonable. He may be a very striking man, but she has no claim on him. He's just another customer.

And of course, once she's come to that peace towards the end of her shift, Ben comes walking through the door, looking even better than she remembers in a tight cut navy suit, hands shoved into his pockets.

She smiles brightly at him and ignores the rapid beating of her heart, the traitor. He half-smiles back at her, his lips pressing together and one side twitching upwards, then ducks his head down as he walks right to the register.

“Hey, Ben! You got my message?”

He nods. “Sorry, was hoping to get here earlier, but work always runs late.”

“It's fine! You have plenty of time.” She glances at the clock. “Well, an hour, but that should be enough. Do you want to come back to the fitting rooms with me? Or, if you want, I can get Poe, he can help you.”

He shakes his head emphatically, then glances at her and swallows noticeably. “No. I trust your judgment.” He suddenly looks at her nervously. “I mean, if that's okay with you?”

“Of course!” she says, a little too loud, and winces. She steps out from behind the counter and leads the way to the back.

She pulls out the small rack she set aside earlier where she carefully hung up each of the items she'd chosen. It's an array of delicate fabrics in shades of blue, from nearly teal to a bright royal. She'd not gotten far in her research before realizing she probably should have asked him more about his preferences, and decided to go with consistency. “I ordered everything in a similar color so we can focus more on the styles than the colors; I hope that's okay? If you want anything in a different color, we can order that in for you if our supplier has it, but we'll at least know which ones work for you.”

Ben looks at the rack she's assembled and nods. “That makes sense. I like the blue; I don't have anything in that color.” He glances down at himself. “Well, not for...underneath, I mean.”

She nods in return and they look at each other for a moment, until Rey turns away and blindly grabs for the first thing on the rack. “I thought we could start with something similar to what you'd already tried on?” She holds out a corset to him, this one in a sheer light blue, as opposed to the leather he'd bought last time.

“There's, um, underwear with it too; do you have anything to try it on with?” By his blank stare, she can tell that he doesn't. “It's okay, I can go grab a plain thong for you, just a second.” She runs out and grabs a plain white pair of men's underwear from the small pile near the register, something that'll be small and unobtrusive enough that it won't get in the way of the lingerie, but with just enough coverage that he can try everything on. She makes sure to grab one of the larger sizes.

She thrusts it at him along with the corset, and he takes them and turns for the first fitting room. The small metal bar to keep the door shut slides into place, and she looks back out into the store. Poe, very casually, passes by.

“You good?” he mouths at her with a look of concern. She gives him a quick thumbs up and he nods. She can hear Amilyn’s chiming laugh from the front of the store as she helps another customer.

It takes a couple minutes before Rey hears from Ben. The lock slides back and his face looks out at her from a crack he opens in the doorway. “Do you want to see?” he asks hesitantly.

“If you want me to!”

He considers, then pulls the door back more, keeping himself mostly behind it. She steps inside and he closes the door behind her, clearly not wanting to be seen by anyone else.

“Could you help me with the laces?” he asks, turning his back to her. One hand holds the laces tight at the base of the corset. She takes them from him with trembling hands.

He's removed all of his clothes except for his socks, and replaced them with the sheer periwinkle corset and matching panties, the tight white thong underneath. She can see his front in the full-length mirror on the side wall, the mirror just tall enough to show up to his wavy hair.

Instead of the clinging leather she caught him in yesterday, this one is made of sheer panels with the channels holding the boning showing clearly in between. The top and bottom are bound in the same satin that makes up the corded laces. The shocking paleness of his skin shows through the fabric, the soft blue setting it off nicely. The way it hugs his torso makes her want to run her hands over it, see if she can feel the warmth of his skin through it. The panties match in style, made up mostly of the sheer and bound in the satin, spanning his hips and cutting across his firm ass. The thong fits entirely under them, and she thinks she probably should have dug for an even larger size, judging by the heavy weight of him pressing against the tight fabric. She imagines what it would look like without the modesty of the additional garment, his thickness held back only by the blue sheer, every inch at once exposed and concealed. The outfit almost makes him look delicate, while still not taking any inch away from the power of his body. She rips her eyes away from his reflection in the mirror, though the view from the back isn't any less distracting, and quickly tugs the laces tight and ties them in an efficient bow.

“Good?” she asks, immediately annoyed with how breathy she sounds.

He nods. “What do you think?” He doesn't meet her eyes.

“You're beautiful.” She realizes what she said and flushes. “It's beautiful, I mean. Not that you're not, just--" Her mouth snaps shut in embarrassment. “It looks really good on you,” she finishes.

His cheeks have turned pink, but there's a hint of a soft smile at the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

He turns to the side and looks at himself critically in the mirror. She watches his hands hungrily as they run down his sides along the length of the corset. The muscles in his arms flex with the motion.

“I like it,” he says finally, sounding almost surprised.

“Good. Good!” she says, nodding and smiling. “Glad we're starting on a high note.”

“How many outfits did you prepare?” he asks, turning to her with hints of laughter in the way his eyes crinkle.

“Not too many.” She waves dismissively. “And whenever you want to be done, just let me know.”

He nods in agreement. “What's next?”

She stands and opens the door just enough for her to slip through. A moment later, she passes through another hanger. “Try this.”

The pattern repeats; she waits just outside while he changes out of the old outfit into the new one. She turns when she hears the creak of the door and he lets her in. She can tell by the half-amused, half-unsure look on his face that this one probably isn't a winner. Sure enough, when she sees the full length of him, her expression matches his.

“It's a little, um …”

A bodysuit of dark blue lace goes from his shoulders to his crotch, with a deep vee at his chest. The color is rich and the lace looks soft and touchable, but the way it hangs in folds off his shoulders, the waist-deep vee, and the cut across his hips creates a weird kind of a vibe, something uncomfortably…

“Pornstar.” Ben says bluntly, giving himself a judging look in the mirror as he turns. “I look like a seventies pornstar.”

Rey winces. He's not wrong. If the fabric was more synthetic, he wouldn't look out of place on a skeevy magazine to be shoved under a teenager’s bed. His hair, while gorgeous, is not helping the impression. “A really hot one,” she offers apologetically. “I'd definitely risk a sketchy video store for your stuff.”

He laughs. “Thanks,” he says, grinning at her. “But still, maybe not quite the look I'm going for.”

It takes her a minute to recover from the full force of his smile. She can tell why he only offers awkward half ones normally. The power of the real thing is devastating.

“Fair,” she says finally, smiling back. “Something else?”

“Yes, please.”

She passes him in another bodysuit in a similar shade, but this one in mesh and straps instead. It doesn't take him long to slip out of the last one and into this one.

His expression is still unsure when he opens the door again, and she's starting to feel disappointed after their initial success. When she sees him, she has to keep herself from scrunching her features.

It's not a bad look, it's just… not well suited to him. The wide mesh of the fabric that covers his front isn't really his kind of aesthetic, and the wide bands crossing it and circling his back are oddly placed for his frame. The straight edges of the front piece make the proportions of his torso seem awkward, and she can tell he's becoming more uncomfortable the more he looks at himself in it. She immediately feels guilty for making him feel that way.

“No?” she asks gently, letting her apology show in her face.

He looks at her and shakes his head. “No.”

She nods and stands. “Just a minute, we'll get you something better.”

She feels more optimistic about the next piece she gives him, even if she's not entirely certain it'll be his style. Her heart lightens when he looks less unhappy when he invites her in again. His expression is somewhat undecided, but open.

The floral set she's given him this time suits him much better. The applique stretches from the collar around his neck to where the sheer fabric bands just above his waist, the edges of the flowers flat against his skin. The way his chest strains the fabric makes her a little insecure about her own struggle to fill out a bra, but she shoves that aside. The small panties do him plenty of favors as well, the simple straps around the sides emphasizing the jut of his hips, and the way the matching sheer with embroidered flowers in the middle struggles to contain him, even with how he's clearly adjusted himself to fit. She thinks he might be half hard with how the fabric bulges, and she blushes and quickly looks up.

“What do you think?” she asks as he considers himself, turning to the side and back again.

He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes slightly at the mirror. “I'm not sure. What do you think?”

“I like it,” she tells him honestly. “It's a good fit, and the cut really flatters you."

He nods, but doesn't look entirely convinced. He turns back and forth again. “I don't mind flowers, but I'm not sure about the embroidery.”

“Okay! But you like the shape of it?”

“Yeah. I think so.” He considers. “I think this might actually look better on you,” he says thoughtfully, then meets her eyes and blushes furiously.

Rey turns red too. Now they he mentions it, she can see herself in something like that, the flowers curling around her subtle curves. Even better is the thought of Ben seeing her in it, his eyes drinking her in, followed quickly by his hands, broad and warm over the sheer material.

“Thank you,” she stammers. She meets his eyes and wonders if he's imagining the same thing. “I have a couple more for you though.” She retreats from the room.

She's saved some of her favorites for the end, and she has a good feeling about her next option. So does he, judging from his look once he's changed. Her mouth goes dry when she sees all of him.

Lace cups the bottom half of his chest, two curved triangles supporting his pecs, the scalloped edge just covering his nipples. Straps cross over the top of his pecs above the lace, joining the ones wrapped around him. His underwear is designed similarly to the thong he has on underneath, cutting directly across, low on his hips, with the lace extending down to just cover him, exposing half of his cheeks in back. It's an incredible play of showing and hiding, the teasing edges of the lace playing at revealing the rest of his pale skin. The rest of him is left bare, his strong legs, firm stomach, and toned arms. Rey's never seen a businessman look quite so good. She wants to trace the lines of his body, trail her fingers along the lace, before finally slipping her hands underneath…

She shakes her head, trying to focus on the moment. Unfortunately, Ben sees.

“You don't like it?” he asks worriedly, looking down at himself with newly critical eyes.

“No! I do! Very much!”

He raises his eyes to meet hers. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says emphatically. “It's good. Very good.”

He twists to see a different angle. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” She knows she's not being very eloquent, but she's not sure how much she can say without embarrassing herself. ‘I'd really like to lick your chest’ while honest, might not go over well. It could, but she likes her job, and it's not worth the chance.

She sits, watching him, until he clears his throat. “Did you have any others?”

“Oh, yes!” She leaps up and grabs the next to last piece. The design is similar, and she's excited to see that he's still looking pleased when he opens the door again.

She hopes he doesn't expect her to give any kind of coherent evaluation of this set, because the only thing that falls out of her mouth is, “Um. Yes.”

There are straps with this one like with the last, but this is more strap and less fabric. A sheer panel covers the top of his chest, elegant curving lines running through it, covering nothing but his collarbones. Straps cut diagonally over and around his chest, dusky blue intersecting pale skin. They run around his sides, down from his chest, and up from his hips, meeting low on his stomach, just below the lines of his abs. More straps cut across the top of his thighs and down from his hips, cradling his now prominent erection between them. Another sheer panel just barely covers his modesty, from his low stomach to between his thighs. If it weren't for the thong, his ass would be left bare, framed by straps above and below. Rey can see him wearing this between her thighs, her hands braced on the patches of his skin revealed by the straps as she leans over him. She swallows.

His lips curl up in amusement. “You like it?” She nods wordlessly. He trails his fingers along the sheer collar over his chest thoughtfully. His hand drifts lower, but he looks over his shoulder at her in the mirror and drops it back to his side. He looks down at the floor as his cheeks redden. She's startled back to herself and looks away, cursing herself mentally for embarrassing him.

“I've got one more,” she says as she stands.

She absently bites her nails as she waits for him to put on the last set, then drops her hand as soon as she realizes what she's doing. The door creaks open and she turns quickly. Her eyes are as round as saucers before she's even through the door. She can't believe that she's outdone herself after the last one, but she's looking at the firm proof of it.

The last piece is mesh again, which she wasn't sure about after the earlier failure, but this redeems the material completely. The mesh only covers his pecs, from his collarbone to the line above his stomach, a medium blue with plenty of stretch to it, as evidenced by the way to struggles to contain the breadth of him. It's helped, however, by the window cut in the middle, splitting the top in half, forcing it to curve around him to meet at the top and bottom. It's practically begging for her to bury her face between it, feel the dips and lines of his chest under her lips.

The bottoms are almost an afterthought after that sight, though the way the fabric shows how it's stretched and distended by the thick and heavy shape underneath is extremely interesting. He could walk out the door in this right now and cause mass casualties right and left.

“That's...wow.”

The thought that immediately springs to her mind is him braced over her, panting and sweaty, as she nuzzles into the gap of the garment. She can practically taste the salt of his skin on her tongue.

His hands come up to cover his chest, and her own palms itch to cup it. “You don't think it looks… weird?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Not at all. It's hot.”

He grins back at her. “I love the way you say that. Hot.” He mimics her accent and she wrinkles her nose at him playfully.

“It's true though,” she insists.

“Well, if you say so, it must be true.” He smiles at her, and she senses even with his teasing tone, he's genuine in the meaning.

“Exactly,” she says with false haughtiness, crossing her arms as she smiles.

“You do have good taste,” he admits, pulling at the waistband with his thumb.

She laughs. “Thanks, I'm glad you think so. I was worried you were going to hate everything, honestly.”

“You did a fantastic job,” he assures her.

“You ready to check out then?” she asks, even as she's loathe to have this end. There's no reason for Ben to come back after this, at least not anytime soon.

Ben hesitates. “Actually, I was thinking...I might be interested in looking at some women's options too?”

Rey's stomach drops. “I thought you said you didn't have a partner?” She tries to keep her voice light and pleasant. Not accusing. He's just a customer; it's none of her business if he wants to get lingerie for a woman.

“I don't!” he says quickly.

She furrows her brow. “Then why…?”

“Just… in case?”

“Just in case,” she repeats, looking at him in disbelief.

He nods, embarrassment spread clearly across his features. She can see the bright red tips of his ears through his hair again.

She mentally throws up her hands. Fine. Whatever he wants. “What size were you looking to have ‘just in case’?”

“Um. I was thinking possibly about your size?”

She stares at him, the shape of what he's saying very slowly start to take shape in her mind.

“What kind of styles?”

“Whatever you think is best. I trust you.” He looks at her with a great attempt at seriousness, somewhat ruined by the red of his cheeks.

She nods slowly. “And... you want someone to try them on to see how they'll look?”

He nods emphatically. “Yes. If you'd be willing, that is.”

She considers. If he wants to buy lingerie he doesn't need in order to spend more time here, she's not really against that. Not only is it more product that she'll have helped him purchase, she wants him to stay too. Ideally they could get each other's numbers and go out on a date somewhere where one of them isn't half-naked, but, well, this isn't entirely a normal situation. Once again, this probably isn't company recommended customer service methods, but she is still helping a customer. And to be honest, the fact that she's having this conversation while staring into his tit window is very possibly affecting her higher judgement.

She takes a deep breath. “Okay.” His face lights up with another of those beautiful, adorable, breathtaking smiles, and she smiles back, biting her lip. “Where do you want to start?”

Notes:

Again, here's the reference post I put together for this chapter. The findings for men's lingerie online were generally disappointing, so there's some imagination required, but hopefully it still works. (Unfortunately, given that this was originally written last year, not all of the links at the bottom of the post work, but the photos are still there and are in chronological order for the fic.)

(The disclaimer at the bottom of that post also still applies, and to expand on that: clothes are made to fit bodies, not the other way around, and whether a piece of clothing fits a person, flatters them, or makes them feel confident is a reflection on the clothing, not the person. All bodies are wonderful and deserve clothes that make them feel good <3)