#something something intricate rituals to hold each other

[whoredmode]

so if you punch troy in sr2 he’s excitedly like “this takes me back!” which is so like……..that implies to me he likes fighting with the boss. and i’m 100% adding that to my canon.

i imagine early on after anteros woke up, he asked troy, one of the first people he got back in contact with, to help him get some of his strength back as well as help him practice his fighting skills. unfortunately being bedridden for five years isn’t great for your combat ability. but that’s okay. more time to spend with each other. it helps them reconnect in some ways.

[e-hibiscus]

Pairing: Demon!Ningguang x reader

Authors Note: Happy Hallows eve 👻

As part of @edgeray ’s Halloween Event, I’ve written you all a fic for the spooky season‼️‼️

Warnings: Nsfw, suggestive UTC

As a hobby you enjoy sifting through old estate sales. It’s always an entertaining thing to see objects that people hold onto. Each thing is tied together with a story from the past. Anytime you see a sign posted about a garage or estate sale, you always go to take a look because there’s always a hidden gem in the sea of “junk”.

Stepping out of your car, you see a man out by the garage, organizing an assortment of toys, books, clothes, and other nicknacks. The crunching of gravel lets the man know of your arrival, and after some small talk you're sifting through the mountains of mementoes. Looking through faded pictures and books for anything of interest.

While looking through some old posters, something catches your eye. An old book in excellent condition despite how dusty it is on the surface. In some odd way… you’re compelled to take it with you, so you buy it along with a few other things , like a beautiful hairpin and intricately designed pipe.

Standing before your small haul of items, the book falls to the wayside. The worn and dirty gold hairpin is the first thing you decide to restore and you’re glad you did because after cleaning the damn thing it was simply beautiful. Feeling the pattern underneath your fingertips, it’s clear this was a masterpiece in its own right. You decide to keep it on your vanity incase you ever want to use it. The pipe too, is a very similar line of event. Restoration and then ultimately you display it in your collection with your other bits and bobs.

It was only months later that you get around to the weird book you’ve picked from that estate sale. A few times you’ve found yourself staring at the cover while it sits on your shelf. You bring the worn book in your hands, being careful not to cause anymore damage to its delicate body. Despite its clearly aged appearance, your able to read the characters written in the pages.

Only some seem familiar to you, but there was much more you didn’t understand about it. It was clear that this was a ritual of sorts, that much was clear if the images and diagrams were anything to go off of. Tracing over the characters, you decide that you’re going to try and summon whatever this thing is. Everything is confusing though… so you brush up on your researching skills for the sake of finding out more about this ritual. Your curiosity got the best of you, so you began pouring in hours of research in your free time.

After years of on and off research and deciphering of the characters you’ve finally figured it out.

You couldn’t get in any faster than you already were. The frantic jingling of your keys was the only thing you can hear other than your labored breath. Your eyes continue to dart between each key and the time on your watch until you finally get the door open and shut behind you.

In your living room, mostly everything had been cleared out so you could make space for all the things necessary. You spent hours the day before crafting the sigils, referencing your notes so things would be absolutely perfect. You didn’t come this far to half-ass this, right? You couldn’t help but cover your eyes when the characters light up brightly, and you miss how Ningguang’s pulled from her slumber. The demon manifests from the smoke, to see her new “master” and when she sees you the demon only raises a brow.

Slowly, you crack your eyes open to see not an ugly scary demon… but an older woman who eyes your body almost as if she’s picking jewelry instead of looking at a person. Even under the scrutinizing gaze of the demon before you, a small “Woah…” escapes under your breath because Ningguang’s beautiful.

••

The ruby eyes take in the room around her. It’s bland for her taste. There’s only a few things amongst all the “junk” Ningguang could appreciate however the succubus can’t help but be disappointed by your taste in decor.

“Well,” Ningguang’s voice draws out smoothly. It’s not often a woman summons her, and a rather cute one at that. “What do we have here?”

The way you averted your gaze from her immediately when it became clear you’re reserved and inexperienced. With a firm grip on your face, Ningguang forces your attention into her face. A chill ran down your spine as her pertent gaze bore into you. The sharp manicured nails leave light crescents on your cheeks before her thumb gently runs over the markings with faux care. She drinks in you slightly panicked expression.

She doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches as her thin tail snakes its way around your thigh. The desire in your core grows from the sweet scent filling the air and you only grow more sensitive to everything. From the fabric of your shirt to your panties your body is getting worked up in the presence of such a power succubus. You remain still as she turns your head, a pleased hum escaping her lips before she lets go satisfied by your obedience. Ningguang’s praise sounds smooth like honey. “What an obedient little master.” Her delicate fingers swipe over your lips, before she plants an indulgent kiss to rile you up some more.

Your hand reaches out to grab her wait, however Ningguang grabs hold of your wrist. “Have patience, little master. You’ll get a taste soon enough.” Her words ghosting the shell of your ear. Ningguang leans in to steal a kiss with an indulgent chuckle before setting her smoke aside.

Soon enough you’re laid in the sheets presenting your pretty little pussy for her. Already the thin fabric of your thong is soaked through with your arousal, pupils blow wide as you stare up at her figure leaning over with nothing but grace and elegance.

The way her nails scrape against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. You should be embarrassed that a simple swipe over your clothed sex has you rolling your hips against Ningguang’s hand. The needy feeling aches from the lack of stimulation.

“All you have to do is say yes,” Her words break through your clouded mind with a tempting offer. “and offer your body to me?”

[cabinetofquriosities]

The Ritual

Agatha x Reader || Warnings: Smut, violence

Done for an exchange with @marril96 who made this gifset as a preview for my upcoming detective Agathario fic. Check her stuff out!

Agatha hadn’t been able to use her magic for months.

She couldn’t sense a hex or a binding spell. If there was one, it was intricately done. No, there was a block. Regular people had the flu, witches had blocks. It wasn’t often and it typically never lasted more than a few days.

It was sometimes brought on by being near overpowering magic while your own was unstable. Other possible causes were new overwhelming emotional changes, mental torture, or lack of practice for more than a few decades. It was often psychosomatic, caused by the mind rather than anything external.

Agatha had never suffered from it, given that her major life changes were almost immediately followed by absorbing the powers of a coven. Nicky died, she created the con of the road. Rio left her after brief reunions, she would find more witches to use. The pair had finally let go of one another decades ago, so it couldn’t have been Rio.

When she met you, though, her entire world shifted. She was finally feeling grounded by someone who wasn’t running off for a greater purpose like her ex did. You both made each other your purpose.

She had plunged the depths of her mind to figure out what the cause of her block was, but couldn’t find anything. She researched every text on the subject of blocked magic. All it said was to find the cause and make peace. Agatha had always considered peace to be overrated.

Agatha had moved in with you a few months prior, right around the time of her magic freezing up. You both lived in an old victorian at the edge of the woods. You found yourself holding her at night, whispering words of comfort in her ear. You would help her look for answers while reading up on your own healing magic. You supported her the best you could. She was happy with you, but incomplete without her purple. It was a new thing for Agatha to feel happy and to feel powerless. Both were unnatural states for her.

One day, you were working on a new healing salve as the sun set outside. You plucked a bloom from the dried flowers you had hanging over the kitchen island amidst the pots and pans. You dropped it into the boiling water, watching the color change.

A crash yanked you out of your focus. You froze, conjuring a ball of energy in your palm as you listened for a possible threat. Instead, you heard a familiar groan. You extinguished the orb before running to the source of the sound.

Agatha had collapsed after opening the door. Blood poured from a wound in her side. She had bruises and cuts all over her form. You knelt down, moving her onto her back so you could get a better look at the damage.

“What happened?!” you asked in a panic.

Agatha let out a pained wheeze. Your heart raced and your chest tightened.

Agatha coughed up some blood before saying, “A warlock… he followed me from the magic shop in town… he knew who I was. Wanted to… be the killer of the witch killer.”

As if she had summoned him herself, a tall man appeared in the doorway. He was unable to come inside due to the sigils surrounding the house. He smiled and laughed.

“A healer? Oh, this is going to be far too easy. I am surprised the great witch Agatha Harkness couldn’t find a protection witch to keep her s-“

You cut him off with a powerful beam of destruction shooting out from your palm. So many mistook healers for being peaceful or having passive magic. They didn’t realize that such witches also held command of the opposite end of the spectrum. While you could heal, you could also harm more harshly than other types of witches. It was the balance of magic that some so easily forgot.

The warlock landed in the dirt like a ragdoll. You stepped out onto the porch, looming over him. He winced, opening his mouth to say something before you shot him with another blast, holding this one until it left him a blackened husk of meat.

Once your were assured of his demise, you ran back to Agatha’s side. She wasn’t doing well. You knelt down, having a second look at her injuries. She gasped sharply in pain as you moved her shirt up enough to see the wound. It was definitely one that could prove to be fatal with how much blood was being lost. You were too far from any hospital, so you would have to find a way to somehow heal an injury that was damn near impossible to do with magic.

You were a healer, yes, but you were a healer of witches. You could only help so much with fixing regular people, especially when they were harmed by a witch or warlock. With witches, she could channel her magic into theirs to heal their bodies. The fact that Agatha no longer had access to her power meant that you couldn’t save her life without going to extreme lengths. Even then, there was only a chance of success.

You stood up and ran to the kitchen, leaving Agatha on the floor in the entryway.

“Oh no… it’s fine… I’ll stay right here…” she called.

You would have smiled if not for your fear. As long as she was being her sarcastic self, she was still alive. You already had half of the concoction done since you had been working on healing salves already, but the substance itself wouldn’t be enough. It needed a ritual to go along with it.

You threw in more ingredients and let them boil as you ran to the living room to retrieve candles. You rapidly and clumsily set them down in a circle around your girlfriend. You noticed her eyes had drifted closed. Your stomach dropped and you bent down, shaking her awake. Agatha woke, groaning in pain.

“Owww! Damn it!” she scolded.

“Good! Keep yelling at me. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be right back,” you said before running off.

She did just as you said, finally following orders for once. You ripped a page out of one of your spell books. She loudly complained about everything she could as you brought the serum, gemstones, matches, and chalk out. You set them all down and got to work. You drew sigils in chalk between each candle before lighting it. The gemstones were placed in a specific order.

You consulted the torn page that detailed the ritual. You had never attempted this ritual before. It was too risky for both parties involved. If it went wrong, your own form could be drained of life along with hers. Agatha, who had been bitching just a moment before, recognized the preparations.

“No…” she said.

“Yes,” you said back while lighting the final candle.

“No… there has to be another w-“

“This is the only way.”

“My love, you can’t…”

“I can and I will,” you said with an assuredness that you weren’t sure you completely felt.

You moved into the circle with her, stripping her clothing from her. She gasped and winced, but neither of you had the luxury of being delicate. You carried on, taking the serum and pouring it from the pot over her torso, coating the injury. Her back arched as she screamed out in pain. You hated that you were unable to let it cool properly. The salve instantly healed the burns caused by the boiling temperature. She passed out from shock, but you slapped her awake.

“Agh! What the fuck?!” she yelled, “You couldn’t have BLOWN ON IT or added ice before giving me THIRD DEGREE BURNS?!”

“Oh, hush, they’re already gone,” you chided.

You began chanting in Sumerian as the energy around them shifted. The ritual was older than most, something that was created before Latin. The candles would be the first measure of how it was working. The flame shrank to nearly nothing, signifying a lack of effectiveness. A second passed before the wicks re-ignited with bursts of fire. You felt your body relax slightly as you kept chanting.

You then changed your chant, moving to her wound. You hovered your hands over it as they glowed. The imbalance of power created a vacuum, with Agatha’s lack of magic causing your own to begin breaking down. Your face began to lose color and your arms shook. The gemstones vibrated against the wooden floor as a warning that you swiftly disregarded. Agatha realized what was happening, watching your lips turn blue as her own body began going cold. You doubled over, your face close to her shoulder.

“S-stop,” she whimpered, wanting at least one of you to survive the ritual.

You simply kept chanting, even as your voice constricted. Agatha brought her hand up and cupped your cheek. You turned your head to face her, knowing in that moment that you would rather die with her in an effort to save her than sacrifice her to save yourself. The only way out was through, for better or worse.

You leaned into her touch as your skin began to warm again. You watched pink returning to her lips and cheeks. The wound was also beginning to heal slightly. You could tell from Agatha’s smile that you looked better as well. You finished the chant and looked back at the page showing the steps of the ritual. A sly smile tugged at your lips.

“I doubt we will have an issue with this part,” you said.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer as you hiked up her loose skirt. You said an incantation before bending Agatha’s legs. You leaned down, your eyes gazing into your girlfriend’s as your tongue slipped inside of her. Agatha whimpered before arching her back. She shook from the shooting pain of the wound, but the pleasure outweighed it.

You slid two fingers into her, curling them with every thrust. You needed to bring her to the peak of pleasure to essentially give her body a jump the way you would a car. It would give Agatha a magical influx on par with adrenaline in combination with electric shocks to the chest. With nothing to work off of on Agatha’s side, you had no clue if you would survive this. Her climax could restore her or it could drain you both depending on what the universe allowed.

Although you would never tell Agatha for fear of giving her a fatal case of performance anxiety, Agatha was familiar enough with the ritual to know the stakes. She looked down at you with so much love. She had been so terrified of having someone who she loved like this in her life, but this risk you were taking for her cemented what she should have already known. You were devoted to her more than anything and would never leave. As that realization clicked into place, something finally changed within herself.

Just as you were beginning to feel another drain, Agatha’s body began to emanate energy. The magic rushed through her, finally flooding in after months of being blocked. Her acceptance of you as a constant in her life sparked it.

You could taste the power restoring itself as you devoured her. You sucked aggressively on her clit as your fingers thrusted faster. Both of your eyes locked, your magic balancing with hers. The wound healed with a blinding glow, closing completely with her orgasm.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment with her energy visibly engulfing her. Shades of purple licked at the outline of her form. Her eyes shone with violet and gold. Her walls clenched and pulsed around your fingers.

One candle flame extinguished itself after another. The stones stilled. The aura of Agatha’s power absorbed back into her. She took a shaky breath, lifting herself up on shaking arms. You crawled over her before kneeling, straddling her lap. Your palm rubbed over her now unharmed skin. You couldn’t believe it had worked.

Her hands held your face and guided you to look at her. You beamed at her like you had fallen for her all over again without knowing.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Ambrosial

summary: he knows your scent— he knows your heart and now he knows your people.

pairing: din djarin x fem!black!reader

contents: longing, pining, fluff, cultural differences

wc: 2.5k

an: this has been a longggggg time coming but this one's for you @cptn-nash and for all of the black women who feel left out of fandom. there’s always space for you.

pedro characters masterlist

The crest always smells like citrus with a hint of cinnamon these days. If Din closes his eyes he can imagine himself standing in an orchard with you by his side.

The warm, fresh smell is all thanks to you— to your hair, your people, and your culture. All things that you hold close to your heart and in turn, Din tries to respect. But, it is not lost on you that he cannot understand the importance of hair to you and your culture completely, not when his is hidden inside of a helmet day in and day out.

What he does know is how much he enjoys yours— watching the way your curls move when you walk, how they pile into the crown when you tie them up, how a bit of them spill out of the silk scarf you wear at night when Grogu refuses to sleep without you and the two of you take over his bed. He has to tear himself away from the sight of you—dark skin lit up in the moonlight and his foundling in his arms— slinking off to your bunk. But there is a reward when he gets there— the sweet, concentrated scent of you rests on the fabric of your pillow.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, there’s a place where there’s just the three of you. Din holds to his creed, unwaveringly so, but here there is no worry of exile. No worry that you or Grogu will be taken away from him on one of your adventures through the galaxy. There is just you, holding his son, curls blowing in some light evening breeze. There is just him, wrapping his arms around the both of you, his nose pressed into the crown of your head as he is able to succumb freely to your scent. He doesn’t let himself go there often, not when he is so unsure that he will ever have it.

The two of you are charted for a bounty when you ask him to make a detour that is quite out of the way— you need something for your hair. And while he’s more than happy to make sure your needs are met, he has to ask.

He glances back at you, his voice soft and not unkind as he asks, “Could you not use my things?”

If you didn’t share the fresher with him you doubt he even had things. He does, though they aren’t as intricate as yours. There are worse things than smelling like the Mandalorian, yes but proper hair care is sacred to you and your people.

You smile at him, shaking your head, “No, it doesn’t work like that. There are specifics, rituals, ingredients.”

“And it is…strict? Necessary?” You can practically hear the confusion in his voice, his lack of understanding.

“As necessary as this,” You murmur, leaning forward and raising a hand to cup the cheek of his helmet.

He blushes within the space of his helmet, unable to bite away the grin that spreads across his face. You and Din teeter on the edge of more— never explicitly naming or acknowledging any of the affection that passes between you, but undoubtedly knowing that the other is devoted. There’s something particularly sweet about his dedication without words. There is no doubt in your mind that he cares for you, but with this lifestyle, with his creed, neither of you make any move to change your relationship.

This is enough. It has to be.

When the silence sits thick between you for a beat too long, you start to ramble, “Like I told you before, hair is integral to our culture, it helps build every facet of relationships in my village. It sounds silly, but it's the basis of community. We would not be nearly as devoted to each other without hair at the center.”

He hums, delicately taking one of your curls in between his fingers. He studies it closely through the dark t of his visor, noticing the intricate way that it spirals. You let out a soft, shaky breath– feeling his eyes on you is something you’ve become used to, but the effect it has on you never dissipates.

“I could show you,” You murmur shyly, feeling the fascination in his gaze.

“Show me?” He repeats cautiously.

“Show you how my momma taught me to take care of it,” You suggest. After a moment of hesitation, you add, “Show you my home as you’ve shown me yours.”

The two of you have gone to Mandalore—just once, to show Grogu what should be his home and collect water from the sacred waters. You’ve always tried not to put too much stock in Din letting you tag along— where else were you meant to go if you’re his travel partner?

His helmet tilts, shock in his sandy voice, “You would take me to your home?”

You gaze with the black void of his visor breaks for a moment before you look up at him through your lashes, “Of course I would, so that you could see where I come from, how I’ve become who I am. You let me see yours. Would you like to see?”

He nods, finally releasing the curl that he was still holding between his fingers.

“Chart the course and then I will show you why I take so long in the fresher,” You say, backing out of the cockpit.

He meets you there just as you finish turning everything the correct way, labels up. You keep it all in a bin that you take to and from the fresher, not wanting to take up too much space.

You can’t see his shock but you can hear it in voice, in the way he tilts his helmet as he says, “This is…a lot.”

You laugh softly, before explaining, pointing at various bottles as you do, “There are different products for different times of year, holidays, special occasions.”

“Special occasions?”

“For one’s birthday or wedding. Even for a funeral. All milestones in life, from beginning to end.”

“And you must have all of it at all times?”

“You are to be prepared for all of the days of your and your neighbor’s life. If we were to meet someone from home during our travel and they were in need of something, then its my duty to help. It is our custom. Our way so to speak.”

Din hums in understanding. He understands living life a certain way more than anyone you’ve ever known. He starts to understand the importance— but this is just the beginning. He wants to know everything about your people, to fuse the two of your cultures into something loving and uniquely your own.

—

It takes the night to make it to your home, allowing you to arrive in the morning. You’d sent a communication to your mother as soon as Din had agreed, and she had excitedly responded, eager to see you after such a long stint away. Eager to meet Din, though you’d given her no indication that things had progressed romantically between the two of you.

When you wake in the morning, you find Din a little nervous to have the conversation that made you toss and turn most of the night. You know that he’s quite fond of Grogu, that he loves him with all his heart. You feel the same way, happy to take care of the little creature in any way that you can. It’s a bit confusing, raising a child with Din despite not knowing explicitly what you are. But, you love Grogu. Though you don’t let yourself think about it much, you love Din. You’d do whatever you could to make things easier for the two of them.

But what would your mother think about such an arrangement?

Din tilts his head at you in concern when you inhale a nervous breath, fingers twisting in your lap. He reaches for your hands, steadying them. “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind?”

You gaze down at his gloved hand that covers nearly both of yours before you shake your head, assuring him quickly, “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Then what is it?” He asks gently.

“I know that Grogu is yours, and I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. But, I think it best he stays on the ship while we visit my mother. I don’t want her to assume anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You were nervous to ask me this.”

You snort, “He’s your son, Din, of course I was nervous.”

“I understand,” He says, squeezing your hand in reassurance. “The next visit, we can introduce him to your mother.”

The next visit. He plans to make this habitual?

“You’re sure?”

“It’s your home. I’m sure if you’re sure,” He declares with a shrug. As if the decision is that easy for him.

“Thank you, Din.”

He simply squeezes your hand again before clearing his throat, saying that he needs to make sure Grogu is taken care of before you two land.

—

When the ship door opens, you and Din are met with a plethora of people, headed up by your mother. Din can’t help but notice how much of her is in you— the same rich color of your skin, the curls though they are greying. Some of your beauty comes from her, and some of it is uniquely you.

She gathers you into her arms immediately, hugging you tightly. She guides your curls back so that her lips are at the shell of your ear, “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

“I know, mama. I’ve missed you too,” You whisper back, pulling back to give you a watery smile.

She turns her curious gaze to Din, looking him up and down. “This is who you’ve been traveling with. A Mandalorian who will keep you safe.”

Din nods his head, and you about melt with embarrassment at the way she’s sizing him up.

“Yes, mama, this is Mando. He is my—“ You start to say but Din cuts you off smoothly, extending his hand to your mother.

“Her partner. Din, Din is my name,” He murmurs, taking her hands into his.

The smile on your mother’s face matches your own— wide, flustered and accompanied by warmth that spreads through your entire body. He may be encased in metal but he can always make a woman swoon.

“Din. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Mama,” You scold, giving Din a nervous smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” He murmurs to her, his voice just as sandy and nonchalant as ever.

Your mother starts to guide you towards the villages, and Din offers you his arm which you take readily. You’re happy to walk in silence as your mother catches you up on all the happenings— who’s married, given birth, changed professions, or died. All of it goes in one ear and out the other as you try to digest what’s just happened.

He gave her his name. What more is to come?

Eventually, the two of you are sequestered in a corner of your mother’s house as she helps another woman with her hair when Din turns to look at you. You raise a brow at him in question.

He leans closer to you, speaking in a hushed voice, “One day you will teach me to care for my own appropriately.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

You feel his gaze meet yours through his helmet as he says, “When you are truly mine and I am truly yours.”

Your heart skips a beat before pounding rapidly in your chest. You stare into the dark t of his visor, mouth open in shock. He’s full of declarations today, ones that you had hoped would be true but never got your hopes up for. He simply nods his head at you, one of his gloved hands coming to tangle with your own.

Meeting your mother has clearly changed things— all that’s been left unsaid is now cleared up with just a single sentence from him.

His hand doesn’t leave yours as your mother shows him around the village, introducing him as your partner to everyone she can get to speak to her. Din feels a little sheepish, heat creeping into his cheeks by your mothers candidness, by the curious stares of those she speaks to. You keep him close, answering any questions and doing all of the talking if anyone is curious enough to bypass your mother and speak to the two of you.

You don’t even let go to hug those you recognize, holding onto his hand firmly as you wrap an arm around a few of those you encounter. At this, Din’s flush deepens, butterflies in his stomach.

You make him feel like just a man— the most ordinary man in the best way— like he isn’t bound to his creed or this life of hunting. You make him feel like he’s just your Din. A man so desperately in love with a woman that he’d do anything she asked and then some.

Your mother sends you home with droves of oils and butters and soaps. Some of them are for you, but by the labeling and color you can tell that many of them are for Din. There’s a variety, as with the helmet she couldn’t properly see the texture of his hair and gather the corresponding products. It’s your mother’s way of telling you she approves and you hold her tight, murmuring a soft thank you as you bid her goodbye.

The two of you unpack Din’s things, setting the bottles and containers up in a perfect line. You even fetch your own, adding more clutter that both of you are immediately quite fond of. It means more than Din could know, but he’s starting to learn.

He invites you into his bed that night and unlike all of the previous times he stays, gathering you into his arms in the pitch-black space. For the first time, you feel him. He buries his nose into your hair the way he’s always dreamed about.

That night once you’re asleep, Din heads to the fresher, curious about all of the things your mother had sent off with the both of you. You spent a lot of time here earlier— even more than usual. As soon as he’s inside, he sees why. You’ve labeled everything step by step and added his name to the products that are his.

He spends an ungodly amount of time under the water, closing his eyes as he succumbs to the sweet smells. And though they all smell wonderful, he finds himself reaching for your things. He wants to be surrounded by your scent.

When he slides under the covers beside you later, he smells like citrus— that telltale hint of cinnamon. He smells like you. One day, he’ll let you bury your nose in his hair so that you can smell him too. Until then, his helmet is filled with the scent of you and he will have it no other way.

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

Just a Quick(ie) Change

Papa Copia x gn!Reader smut

WC: 3100

A/N: I think I blacked out when I wrote this at 2am. This one is for @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus - thank you for spamming me with pics of Copia’s amazing thighs.

Content warnings: oral sex m!receiving. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

Hired as a quick-change assistant, you didn’t expect much from the job backstage for Papa Emeritus IV.

You never expected, one, that you’d actually enjoy your job, and two, that the two other assistants would quit right before a tour. 

It was much too close to the start of the ritual tour to hire someone on the spot. Sister Imperator always had the last word, and since the clergy was thousands of miles away from her at the moment, it was an inopportune time to be short-staffed. Papa required many, many intricate costume changes during rituals. Usually, these changes required at least six additional hands, but at least for the next several shows you’d have to make do with just your two.

It was down to you and him when he’d come backstage. Sometimes another member of the crew would bring him refreshments while the nameless ghouls stalled on stage, riffing and whatnot, but mostly it was just the two of you. This led to witty banter, goofy little mishaps, and the like. Some accidents even led to flirtatious jokes between you two as you quickly warmed to each other.

Papa rushed offstage, clutching the front of his trousers. Holding back a laugh, you couldn’t resist asking, “Are your pants falling off or are you just eager to see me?”

He put his hand to his heart, exclaiming a word in Italian before inhaling in a dramatic gasp. “My button popped off.”

You knew his button came off while he was performing - you had a small live monitor in your closet - coloring you thoroughly impressed by the movements of his hips. You had the cheesy line and a needle, thread, and replacement for the offending button prepared as soon as you saw it happen. 

The laugh you shared together wasn’t the first, and certainly would not be the last of the evening. You couldn’t place why it brought you so much joy to just make him smile in between sets. It was a moment of complete and utter glee in the midst of the madness that went into each ritual.

Zippers got caught, shoes were left untied, robes were wrinkled, the whole nine. It was like Murphy’s Law backstage sometimes… anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. 

On the second night of your solo adventure, in the middle of a particularly intricate change involving his Dracopia bat wings, Papa said something to you that would keep your mind stirring the entire night. He was on a high from the opening of the show, beaming at you from the moment he saw you, but this… this was different.

“I enjoy our time together, you know.”

“What?” Your focus was on the second, most stubborn, buckle as you stood in front of him. The harness couldn’t lace itself up so you kept working, your fingers nimbly adjusting as he kept speaking.

“Well, it’s just that I’m used to so many people poking and prodding me, shoving me this way and that, just going through the motions.” He paused, tilting his head to listen for his cue coming up before he continued, “But with you this is different, I feel like I’m actually getting a break instead of just being rushed around like a…how do they say... chicken with its head cut off.”

You finished the last buckle, securing it in place and patting his arm as you were utterly lost for words. His sentiment cut through you like a blade, but was as soft as a feather pillow. 

He turned on his heel as he walked away, but paused and looked over his shoulder, winking at you before walking back on stage. The crowd of devotees screamed and you stood alone in the dark, accompanied only by the mass of butterflies in your stomach. 

The rest of the night went by as usual, but somehow smoother than expected. The stolen glances between you and Papa were more heated, and held more weight than before. Neither one of you crossed that threshold that night though; You refused to be the first one to take this - whatever this is - to the next level.

The next show you were alone, yet once more. Sister Imperator unsurprisingly didn’t like any of the candidates that had applied for the position, not deeming them ‘good enough’ to work with Copia. She never called him Papa, you noticed. 

Sister was doing her best to assuage you while simultaneously making your head hurt. She was always kind to you for some unknown reason, but tonight she was truly laying it on thick, “… but you, my dear, are a diamond in the rough. You’ll have to shine on your own just a little longer.”

The video call glitched, her word’s temporarily interrupted by a bad connection as she said something else.

“I’m sorry, would you repeat that? It sounded like you said it’s just going to be me for the rest of the week.”

“Oh no, I didn’t say that.” The video finally stabilized. You sighed in relief before she continued. “I said you’ll be on your own for the rest of the tour.”

Your face fell. It felt like a two-ton weight was placed on your chest, or that you were shoved in a truck, locked in, and the key was thrown away. 

No help? Seriously?

She noted your facial expression before you could reel yourself in. “Don’t worry my dear, we will compensate you more for the lack of help you have, but at least I know that my - cough - er, the Cardinal, will be happy in your capable hands.”

You tried to hide your dismay, “O-Kay.”

“I’ve got to run off now little one, try to make the best out of it, alright?”

“I promise, Sister, thank you.”

You sighed again, to no one this time and not out of relief. To be on your own the rest of the tour seemed, in practice, too much. You had only done two shows solo and the limited sanity you had was already wearing thin. Suddenly, you had a strange thought that warmed your body: if you’re the only one then that means more time for you and Papa to get to know each other. 

Your traitorous heart gave a squeeze. More time alone with him couldn’t possibly be a bad thing… could it?

Perhaps? Perhaps not. But you could certainly think of many, many bad things to do.

One week later 

Your heart was pounding as you did your final checks. Everything tonight was going to run perfectly. 

The first change went to plan, then the next. Every second that passed with the two of you in each other's vicinity felt like an eternity. Your own personal hell of stolen glances and small comments. Of shallow breaths and lingering touches. 

“Is this new?” He nodded to your night-black long-sleeved dress. All-black was the dress code for backstage crew so tonight you’d opted for a racy mini dress and long black stockings to cover your legs up to the thigh. Only a salacious inch of skin showed between the garments, and Papa couldn’t resist peeking. 

Flattered that he noticed, you blushed, “Yes, it is.” You straightened his robes, ensuring the easily-wrinkled fabric lay perfectly in its place. 

“I’d like to see it off you later.” He reached with one gloved hand and ran two fingers along the visible skin of your thigh, making you tremble with want. It felt like the little room turned into a furnace, just from that.

Quick as a flash he grabbed his prop from your open palm before you could react and darted back out to the stage, leaving you in shock with the realization that he wants you just as badly as you want him. 

You pace back and forth, setting everything out for the next change. At one point the stage manager pops in, asks you if you need anything and you assure them that you’re good. 

There’s only one person who can give you what you need.

As soon as the cue hits for him to exit your palms tingle in anticipation. Your eyes lit up as you saw him, stripping him out of the floor-length robe immediately to get started on the next change. But Papa had other ideas.

His gloved hands grabbed you firmly, one on your jaw and the other at your waist to pull you into a deep and sensuous kiss. You felt the electricity between you buzz from your lips down to your toes. Your body responded before you truly realized what was happening, and you kissed him back with equivalent enthusiasm. 

He growled as you parted your lips to dart your tongue out, grazing his teeth once before going back on the next kiss to taste his tongue. You moaned, greedily, taking in a deep breath through your nose to inhale his bouquet of fragrant cologne and hair products. It felt like the two of you were kissing with the need of long-lost lovers, reunited after a decade of time. He grabbed and groped at your body, pulling you closer as though he never wanted to let you go.

You did your best not to be too handsy with him in return, as you didn’t want to fuck up his costume.

Fuck! His costume!

The head-spinning thrill of the kiss made him miss his cue to go back on stage, both of you too caught up in the passion of the moment to feel the world around you. You broke the kiss and violently threw items at him to put on. Luckily this change was one of the easier ones, but it never looked good for Papa to delay his return to the stage.

The stage manager came in again, “Everything alright in there?”

“Yes! Just a stubborn zipper again!” You laughed breathily to cover up your anxious flitting about while Papa stayed silent. 

“Alright, well, hurry it along, the ghouls are going to start eating each other out there if not.” They sounded less than pleased before cutting back out of the tiny room.

“Heard.” You replied curtly, not in the mood to have your moment ruined any further. 

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dickhead,” your breath caught in your chest. Did he regret the kiss? “You have a little, er, smudge.” He motioned towards his lip.

You looked in the mirror beside you, hells below, he was right! You had black makeup from him smudged all over. 

He giggled his way back out, leaving you furiously rubbing at your lips and chin, your face fully flushed with embarrassment.

By the next quick change, you two had a pattern working perfectly. 

First, change out of the previous costume.

Second, put the next one on.

Third, and most importantly, spend any and all remaining seconds kissing each other like giddy teenagers.

You both became a desperate mess of hands, lips, and teeth. You even picked up a few new tricks: one of which being that you could tie his tie exceedingly well while he had his tongue in your mouth. You got a little too handsy now, stroking him through his pants as his hands gripped your rear. Feeling him growing with every motion was spurring you on, making you almost delirious with need.

“I’ll see you shortly.” He exhaled heavily, palming the front of his pants to adjust the placement of his dick. It was adorable how he was going to go out there like this, pantomiming that nothing had transpired, but you were fine with it, it was a little game.

“I’ll be waiting.” You called after him.

The longest break in the show was up next, and you already knew what to do. You were on your knees before he finished the song, his cue to move backstage for his change came and when he saw you he stopped in his tracks. 

“Don’t just stand there now, come over here and let me taste you.” Your bold words seemed to almost miss him, as he looked to be in a trance. He soon snapped out of it, taking a few steps to you and closing the distance. 

He stroked your hair, “You don’t have to do this right now, we can wait until later.”

His suggestion was tempting but unnecessary, you were committed to this. “I gave you a problem, and I want to take care of it for you. May I?” You pleaded up at him and his mouth dropped open.

“Yes. Fuck, please.”

With his explicit permission you went to work. It was well-known that Papa went commando on stage. However, this didn’t make it any less difficult for you to peel the “rat-eaten” black pants off of him. His sweat combined with the stiff, unforgiving tightness of the trousers and made it quite difficult for you to wrench him from the tight fabric. 

You wrestled the fabric down, exposing the very tops of his delicious thighs and in the middle, his magnificent thick cock sprung forth. Your mouth watered at the sight, so long and hard, how you wanted - no - needed to taste him. 

You wet your lips, looking up at him and not wanting to waste any more time as you pressed your tongue lightly to the underside of the hot tip. You flicked your tongue to the very end, where a bead of pre-cum was leaking out. 

Tasting him stirred something within you that made your insides clench. You wanted so much more than just to give him a sloppy blow job in the stage right closet at a ritual. But this would have to do for now. 

The salt of his sweat on your tongue was like a drug to you, and you needed more of everything. You impaled yourself on his length, gagging obscenely as you took as much of him into your mouth as possible. 

He groaned as you sucked at him, your tongue working to massage the underside of his shaft. You bobbed your head back and forth, one of your hands coming up to follow the motion of your mouth. It slid back and forth easily, the copious amount of spit already coating his length made for ideal lubrication.

Your other hand steadied yourself by gripping his exposed thigh, squeezing the flesh lightly, your fingertips satisfied just by touching his bare skin. You felt your arousal again, a pulse at the apex of your legs thrumming to almost fierce levels. Fuck, you wanted to put one of your hands between your own legs, but right now, your focus was solely on Papas pleasure.

He exhaled with a ‘ha’ sound, another groan making its way out through his clenched teeth. You felt one of his hands curl itself through your hair, pulling slightly to get your attention.

You looked up at him, and you were so turned on by the sight. Papa’s face was contorted in lustful indulgence. Some of his hair plastered itself to his forehead while other pieces stuck out at the sides as though he had been running his fingers through the salt-and-pepper strands. You made a quick mental note to fix it before he went back on stage. 

He pulled again at your hair and you removed your mouth from him, although your hand continued to work, stroking up and down his entire shaft. 

“Fuck my mouth Papa.” The words in your desire-filled heart spoke themselves aloud.

He growled, “Open up.”

You did exactly as you were told, moving both hands now to his thighs as he readjusted his grip on your hair. The music was changing, the instrumental interlude was almost to an end. Your mouth opened wide and you got your wish.

Papa fucked your mouth as though the success of the ritual depended on it. He wasted no time pressing his impressive length into your mouth and throat as far as it could go. Your gag reflex was being obliterated with each thrust of his hips forwards. After several quick, punishing blows to your throat it finally relaxed. You were at his mercy, and mercy, he was not pulling any punches.

Tears stained your cheeks, an ache started in your jaw, and your facial muscles tensed. The pressure, the pain was all made worth it as you looked up through bleary eyes to see Papa. His chest shuddered with every breath. His heterochromatic eyes watched you and his eyebrows were knit together. Papa's mouth hung open and dirty remarks, expletives, and guttural sounds of pleasure sputtered out. 

“Look at you, so wanton, so needy for my cock that you’ll kneel before me.”

You hummed in response, pressing your thighs together to try to gain even a slight bit of friction between them. 

It could have been the vibrations from your hum that put him over the edge, or maybe it was that he knew he had to get back out there, but his grasp in your hair tightened. Your scalp flashed in white hot pain as he cried out in one final thrust and painted the back of your throat with hot, heavy spurts of his release.

You swallowed greedily, not wanting a single drop to be missed as he pulled out of your mouth and moved to quickly pull his pants back up. He knelt down unexpectedly, and you met his gaze. His gloved hands wiped the tears from your cheeks as he leaned forward and kissed you on your swollen lips.

“Grazie, mi amore, I shall return the favor after the show.”

With one final caress to your cheek with his hand, he stood, pulling his bright, glittering jacket on one arm at a time. You watched, rosy-cheeked and soft-eyed as he straightened his clothes, checking himself out in the mirror. Of course he looked over everything except his hair.

You snapped out of your lightheaded stupor with a second of time to remain, shooting to your feet, “Wait!”

He turned towards you and you wiped your damp hands on your thigh-highs before reaching up to smooth his soft hair back into place. You covered his eyes and with your dominant hand snagged the miniature can of hairspray out of your stash of supplies to fix everything back in place. 

You’d be damned if you didn’t do your job. 

Papa grabbed you by your collar once you dropped your hands, kissing you once more before heading back on stage. The scent of hairspray, his cologne, and sweat created a haze for you to dream in, thinking of the implications of his words from earlier.

You couldn’t wait for him to return the favor.

[chasedeys]

Who would you say is more feral about the other and who would you say is more protective between Joe and Ja’Marr ??feel free to give examples 😊

hiii i feel like a lot of people think ja’marr’s more feral about joe and a lot of blogs have panned out examples on how joe being just as if not more feral and i agree with both! it’s equal feralness, equal devotion, equal ‘can you both chill abt each other’ kind of way. this might be a cop out lmao but genuinely comparing actions vs words between these two is just mind melting for me so yeah they definitely don’t fuck around abt each other

i feel like all the feral moments have been mentioned 😭 joes natty game ball thrown straight at jamarr, the saints game lsu jersey that joe elected to wear for whatever reason, joe weighing in how he wants jamarr with him and bengals actually getting the guy for him, jamarr choosing to follow his college qb to ohio, the clothes saga of does joe actually let jamarr dress him up or does he not, the lakers date jamarr flew to save joes shit week, the he’s like a god to me comment, the ufc moves schtick which is a very barbara krugers you construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men kinda deal, jamarr going out of his way to fly to joe to be the one joe throws to for his fourth throwing session post wrist injury (insane btw :)), etc etc no but genuinely there’s so many more its crazy

and just like this one article that isn’t even really anything compared to the rest of their lore yk? but it just sticks to me so hard like wdym ‘i knew i was going to feed my guy he was due for one’ ‘he was excited all week’ oh ok were you enamored at how excited he was 😭 did u want to keep him happy and smiling and bouncing all around the place answer me joseph. joseph. what do you think of a happy ja’marr joseph. would you do anything in your power to keep him that way joseph or. but anyways!

‘all i can do is make him look good, he helps me look good. we make each other look good. just being there for him. that’s all i can do is be there for him’ WOULD YOU STOP???? where does he get these words jamarr chase shuttt your mouthhhh i swearrrr 😭 half the shit he says sounds like its from a 13 yo writing mafia aus for the first time and yet it hits!! every time!!!! girl learn some restraint (keep talking never stop etc)

they’re both equally protective of the other?? in a way that’s like ‘how dare you not perceive this man the way i perceive him and fault him for being who he is’

when joe—wrist in cast mind u—looked deadass ready to get down to business with someone chirping at ja’marr post kc game where ja’marr got into a fight with however many people are in that team. somebody who psychoanalyzes for a living should study jamarrs shit with the chiefs and how joe relates to that fr

ja’marr’s preseason drops where people shit on him so bad and joe couldn’t exactly cuss people out but he was sooo steadfast in his belief on jamarr barely flinching anytime someone mentions about it ‘i know the type of guy jamarr is, he’ll be ready game one’, unsmiling ‘i thought he was dropping everything’ doing the pinky shake as ja’marr was leaving his presscon seat right in front of all those reporters as an extra special fuck you that’s my guy sort of thing yk. the contract hold out people asking abt jamarr being game ready and him saying jamarr would be ready regardless (?) or something along those lines. the post kc game shove presser ahaha. to my knowledge joe never caters to anybody saying shit subtly or outrightly about jamarr and i live and breathe that shit i won’t lie

any of jamarrs twitter fights with literally anybody who shits on joe no matter if it was actual like hate or just casual opinions on who’s the better qb?? girl. honestly.

ja’marr being soooo health proactive about other people!! no but seriously he cares soooo much about injuries and everything—that one calf strain joe had preseason that he keeps saying to chill and sit back until game 5, ‘i told him don’t scare me like that again he knows how to slide he’s just hard headed’ looking deadass pissed off at the thought, ‘im here for the future, for him. i want you to be here for the future’, the stand back and look pretty in the pocket (insane. just fucking insane thing to say), saying hed rather have joe throwing from the back than running the ball in fact hed rather not joe get hit at all—just anything about joe playing through injuries and he lets out an insane quote that has people (rpf enjoyers: me) question if he ever pauses to think of the implications

and sorry brief jamarr focused word vomit: he also says the most important thing for malik nabers is to be healthy :(( he cares so much abt injuries over playing, he opted out playing his junior year during covid, etc but that week 4 (???) shoulder injury report that he keeps saying he’s fine even when the bandages peek through his shirt is so 😭 pls self reflect bub (though i guess it really was fine considering he went and did amazing that game so i feel he’s amazingly aware of his limits too?? his health vice is just shit diet ig)

and like idk if this is included in like the protective kind of way but that interview when they asked if joe was more intense and ja’marr went off saying he doesn’t look at joe the way you people do (and how he only looks at him on the field lol ok jamarr)—like he’s enraged that people nitpick on everything that joe presents himself as ‘the way yall be looking at him’ can somewhat equate to ‘yall are don’t know shit about him look away’ which is. ???? ok jamarr ok. like i feel he thinks he knows joe very well even if he doesn’t know everything that joes feeling no matter how many times reporters ask him for his insight, but he definitely feels like he knows joe a whole lot better than these outsiders who keep trying to over-analyze his quarterback but wrongly so he has to bite back sharp remarks over these misconceptions about joe via being overly defensive

theres probably more that i cant recall or not know sigh knowing that there are gems of joemarr moments i will never know because i wasnt here for their entire nfl run hurts me deeply btw

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fluffy Smut (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

After the birthday stream (ao3) - trashcanfromgallifrey

Summary: The events that may have occured after Dan's birthday charity stream;) Starts of with fluff but ends up in a steamy hot shower

all I want to do is all of it with you (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Dan and Phil are going to stay late at the rehearsal venue to...film. Yeah.

As He Comes, So I Come (ao3) - cloej88

Summary: Dan and Phil have just returned from Chicago, where they finally sorted themselves out. They’ve slept a full ten hours under their own roof, and now they have an uninterrupted afternoon to rediscover one another’s bodies.

Buffy Movie Nights are Life Changing (ao3) - angelicsam

Summary: Things get steamy between Dan and Phil during their nighttime Buffy streaming session in 2010; featuring a confident yet bashful Phil and a shy Dan who learns how to drive Phil crazy.

Burning Bibles (ao3) - cherryheartz

Summary: phil lester loved curly headed boys with tattoos on their arms and a joint made with torn bible pages between their soft lips.

and dan howell was exactly that.

Dan and Phil Take Each Other's Clothes Off (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!) (ao3) - BREAD2000yeet

Summary: Dan and Phil play dress-up based off Dan's one dailybooth

Dan stops and stares at him, “You did not just tell me a red panda fact while we are having sex.”

“They can also glow in the dark.”

Despite everything it's still you (ao3) - Frog910

Summary: Dan's just got home from tour, they've missed each other

Dick pancakes and other declarations of love (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: a series of vignettes as I imagine them on Valentine's day

disco stick (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: “Let’s have some fun, this beat is sick,” Phil sings into the microphone connected to the Xbox. It’s slightly off-rhythm, and he grins and stares right at Dan as he continues onto the next lyric. “I want to take a ride on your disco stick.”

(A fic based on the moment from “What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 4” where DnP mention they’ve sung LoveGame countless times on an old karaoke video game.)

Don't Blame Me (ao3) - ForeverJustAnEmoKidAtHeart

Summary: When Phil gets a new job at the Tops Only Bar, he's just looking to make ends meet over the holiday period. He doesn't expect how he'll feel about one of the performers or how hard that'll make his job.

eager for you (ao3) - philsbisexuallion (bisexual_lightning)

Summary: Phil's been waiting all night for Dan to push him up against a wall and fuck him senseless. He finally gets what he wants.

(a self-indulgent ftm t4t smut fic; warning for use of the word "slut" in a degrading way)

et in saecula saeculorum (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: Phil is the Duke of Lancaster, Dan is a knight, they have been performing intricate rituals, Dan said “as you wish,” the rest is history. Enjoy.

fall in love again and again (ao3) - manchesterau

Summary: Two days into their holiday while lounging by the villa pool that they rented out for the week to ensure maximum privacy, Dan has a thought:

I’m going to marry this boy.

here come the dreams of you and (ao3) - manchesterau

Summary: So he and Dan are a thing now. Phil doesn’t really know what thing they are but it’s something he knows he wants to hold onto and never let go.

"I'm a big fan of tops" (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Set immediately after filming the keep or yeet Phil's closet video.

Dan gets hot and bothered after watching Phil take his clothes off over and over again.

in this smoking chaos (ao3) - writingcollective

Summary: Dan bottoms for the first time, not being able to shut down his inner demons that whisper internalised homophobic thoughts into his ear. But Phil guides him through it, somehow.

james joint (ao3) - phook

Summary: dan and phil are gross and have been in love for 15 yrs and get high while visiting la for tit

Keep My Hand In Yours (ao3) - totalincandescense

Summary: It was kind of just an unspoken rule of their relationship. At least one part of Phil’s body had to be touching Dan at all times or it would throw the balance of the universe.

more than words (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Dan can't find words and Phil can't shut the fuck up, but there are other ways to communicate

phlondes do it better (ao3) - wearealldoomed

Summary: The day has come around quicker than Phil had anticipated.

The day where Phil dips his toes back into the waters of dyeing his hair after months of letting his natural hair colour grow back through.

The day where Phil goes platinum blonde without confronting Dan about it first.

Please Don't Say You Love Me (Cause I Might Not Say It Back) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Dan's not very good at hiding his emotions during hookups.

based on this tweet: "got so used to saying "I love you" when I was having sex with my ex that I'm out here fighting for my life to not say it on accident with a hookup"

Precious (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: dnp have intimate lazy sex or whatever the fuck made people so mad on twitter. ( I didn't write the post, I'm just using it as a prompt)

Their first night on holiday.

Precious baby angel (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: Dan and Phil buy matching precious baby angel shirts because they’re gay and in love. Dan shows Phil how much he likes the shirt on his angel 💖

Precious Baby Angel (ao3) - toadsappho

Summary: Phil shows Dan his new t-shirt, but that's not the only surprise he has for him.

Réponds à Ma Tendresse (ao3) - Blorbiron

Summary: Dan is visiting, and that’s Phil’s absolute favorite thing ever- which is kind of sad, maybe, for someone he’s known for like two months, but he can’t be bothered to care. Because Dan’s sitting right on his bed, close enough to touch, and cackling whenever Phil dies in Crash Bandicoot. Which is a lot.

sativa (i said im ready) (ao3) - catbearbunz (bunnieovadamoon)

Summary: it’s 2009, and phil really wishes dan would call. he does, but he comes greener than expected.

aka they get drunk and high and have esex.

Sheets and sharpies (ao3) - wwoodles

Summary: “Are you going to be good for me?”

He hovered above Dan’s face, awaiting his response. Dan was always taken aback that Phil had this power in him. The ability to completely disarm him.

“Yes, Father.”

Or, in the moments after the end of Dan’s birthday stream, Dan is not only incredibly grateful for Phil, but also incredibly horny.

so american (ao3) - ae121

Summary: Phil has been living in London for a year and thinks he's gotten pretty used to the city. He works part-time at a bookstore, using it at first to gain some friends, now it's just fun for him. His friends are constantly trying to find him someone to date, but all of his dates don't go well.

Well, that's until he met Dan.

Something Unholy (ao3) - hygge

Summary: Phil receives some very surprising and seductive texts in the middle of the night.

Stay With Me (ao3) - blehmobile

Summary: Dan and Phil are flatmates, and they occasionally flirt. They agree that it is very normal to bathe with friends. Totally no tension at all.

sunkissed (ao3) - ivylakes

Summary: Maybe Phil was made to pour warmth into this man and leave little marks all over his body the way the sun does when it covers his skin with freckles. Maybe everything they’ve ever done and every little way they’ve loved each other has culminated in this very moment, where they can hardly see each other in the low light but are still brighter than the yellow light that breaks through the sky and glitters on the ocean.

Or, Dan and Phil go on holiday, and every photo they take tells a story.

true rat and relaxation time (ao3) - trashcanfromgallifrey

Summary: Two gays on holiday, inspired by their recent video.

when the train came it was so big and powerful (ao3) - r1caner

Summary: It is 2009, and things are going to change. Dan thinks so, anyway.

a dnp fic for the 15th 19th of october.

You and Me (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Birthday sex after Dan's birthday livestream

you look so good it hurts (in my favorite t-shirt) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Phil is gifted with a "Mega Dilf" shirt. Guess who picked that shirt out?

[altschmerzes]

genuine question: how can you tell if you want your relationships to be platonic but you do want to do things generally associated WITH romance? like, I’m fucking my two best friends but our relationships are kind of “it’s complicated” right now because I think I might be aro and not really “experience” romance but like, The World associates things like cuddling and holding hands and kissing and sex with romance and I do want to do those things so I get confused by it? sorry if this question makes NO sense tho

no it makes total sense!! and honestly i think you’ve kind of explained the answer yourself there already - the world associates those things with romance but The World is not in your head or your heart or your body or your relationships! the only people who get to decide what your relationships and the things you do in them mean are you and the other person/people. plenty of things are associated with other things by default but don’t actually have anything intrinsic about them that makes them Automatically into something. this is especially true about relationships and intimacy and affection and other aspects of being with other people. different cultures have different standards for this stuff too! different people have different boundaries and different feelings about what actions mean to them and in what contexts they want them. the only person who can make those decisions for you is you!

for me, i’ve always wanted those things too. (well deciding i was open to sex specifically was a decision i came to about a year ago exactly, so not exactly Always but that’s immaterial.) physical affection and intimacy is something i’ve always craved and kind of figured i wouldn’t be able to have because of the way it got talked about and seen by so many other people. because when i thought about whether i wanted romance or wanted those things WITHOUT romance the answer was always, to me, very clear! something about the thought of romance and romantic attraction and romantic interaction always just felt viscerally wrong and bad to me. and not only did i want those things more without romance, i ONLY wanted them if i could have them without romance.

and it helped to look around and see other people doing the things i wanted to do in a nonromantic context too. hearing people tell stories about kissing their friends. seeing friends holding hands roller skating or just in general. i watch a lot of sports and people joke about intricate rituals but there’s a Lot of affection and cuddling involved in team sports. just paying attention to the world around me, and seeing that those lines that felt so rigid and enforced are always much more fragile and fabricated than they seemed.

talking to other aro people was crucial for this especially - hearing about not only what they wanted but the things they’d managed to find and cultivate in their lives and relationships. though plenty of non-aro people have very affectionate and intimate platonic relationships, too! a lot of people fuck their friends and contrary to what television and ao3 would have you believe it’s not inevitable that Someone will get their heart broken. a lot of people cuddle their friends, sleep in beds together, hold hands, kiss, cohabitate, vacation together, plan their lives together. im MARRIED to a platonic friend who i kiss and cuddle and have sex with and we’ve been extremely clear with each other about what it means to us and we are happy and secure in that.

it’s confusing. it’s so confusing. but if the thing that’s primary causing that confusion is external perception and the forcible association of every kind of intimacy, especially physical intimacy, with romance, and not what YOU feel and want, just try putting the rest of the world out of your head for a minute. in YOUR perfect world where the only rules and expectations and assumptions were the things you and your person/people agreed to and wanted, what would you want? what would it mean to you? that’s a good starting point, i think!

[umbracirrus]

Things that Balgruuf and Elyse do as a couple (part 1) - Cute things

The first part of my collection of posts on things which Elyse and Balgruuf do as a couple! I'll be creating a masterlist after the first two are posted, and they will all use the tag '#Balyse couple stuff'! This is all sorts of cute little things that they do.

I may add to this in the future!

They will have tea in bed in the morning at least once a week, sometimes more if there are special occasions, and their schedules will be adjusted accordingly.

And speaking of their time in bed, as Elyse is more sensitive to the cold than he is, she loves cuddling up to him at night.

Balgruuf is the early riser of the two, and he could easily just lie there for a while in the morning watching her, the whole time wondering just how lucky he is to have her in his life.

Balgruuf will always take the day off for Elyse's birthday. He learns before they get together that she isn't the biggest fan of celebrating it, so he will try to do something with her, of her choosing, to fill the time and to give her something more positive to associate the day with (and this works, but it takes a few years. She really appreciates the sentiment from the first time that he does it though, especially with it falling in the middle of Whiterun's recovery from the battle that occurs there between the Empire and the Stormcloaks.)

A meal which they enjoy and will often have on the rare evening off/date nights is a rich beef and vegetable stew with some freshly baked bread (sometimes slathered in garlic butter), accompanied with either some Honningbrew Reserve or Colovian brandy (the latter of which being a particular favourite of them both, though the former they have much easier access to), followed by a warm mixed berry crostata. They will do the whole feeding each other little forkfuls of their food thing, and it will be candlelit in the privacy of their quarters.

They love to hold hands. If they can't hold hands at particular times though, if they can get close enough to each other, a fleeting touch of their fingers brushing together is just as good for them.

Balgruuf's hair is full of braids. In the evening, Elyse will carefully help him undo them and comb through his hair. If she is awake early enough, she will help him do them up too. As Elyse gets older, she starts putting her hair into a braided, tucked updo, and Balgruuf will return the favour. (Their daughter together, Aina, also does similar with her hair, and so they also have to help her with the same until she learns how to do it herself!)

They also have an almost ritual-like routine on evenings where they manage to go to bed together, helping each other with getting undressed and ready for bed. More time is spent helping Balgruuf, as his outfit is most often more intricate than hers.

Elyse takes on some of Balgruuf's burdens when she is completely settled in in Dragonsreach after they are married and is more familiar with everything that he does. She typically helps more with issues relating to the guards and security as she is out and about in the hold more often than Balgruuf is, but also works closely with Farengar. This allows for them to spend more time together and be all cute and sappy as they can handle two things at once, as opposed to him handling things one at a time.

Balgruuf will always smile when he smells lavender, as it reminds him of her.

Likewise, Elyse associates oak smells with him.

Elyse likes to wear his tunics and shirts to sleep in. She does have her own nightwear, but finds his clothes cosier.

Balgruuf loves how passionate Elyse is about alchemy when she has the opportunity to practice her hobby. He allows her to set up plant pots across Dragonsreach, mostly on their balcony and on the porch, to grow flowers for both decoration and alchemy purposes. He'll even go with her on walks outside the city walls to gather ingredients (usually with at least Lydia tagging along at a distance).

Elyse likes to buy books for Balgruuf, especially ones covering historical topics. She isn't as interested in those sorts of things herself, but she knows that he is. Sometimes she can just sit there and listen to him read aloud.

Balgruuf calls Elyse 'dear' and 'my love' a lot. Elyse calls him the same, but she much prefers to save the pet names for more private or intimate moments.

Balgruuf likes to rest his chin atop her head (she's 5'2, he's at least 5'10)

Elyse likes resting her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. She also likes to wrap her arms around him.

Elyse and Balgruuf take time off to go for at least one pilgrimage to High Hrothgar, to let him meet Paarthurnax. The Greybeards aren't the most pleased to learn that after the fact, but both Balgruuf and Paarthy get along well (Odahviing's word helps a lot in this, as he has met and properly spoke to Balgruuf by this point) - it makes Elyse incredibly happy (almost overwhelmingly so). That, and it gives the idiots a few weeks (mostly) alone together.

Balgruuf proposes to Elyse exactly four years to the day of their first meeting.

Their wedding falls on the day of the first winter snowfall in Whiterun of late 4E 205.

They both like sneaking out to the Bannered Mare at night to get a break from Dragonsreach. Their housecarls do not approve of this, yet they persist. Who could dare stop the Jarl and the Dragonborn, after all? Ysolda loves the money that their presence brings in so she won't rat them out.

Elyse mentions Balgruuf a lot when she meets with her closest friends in the city (most often Carlotta, Olfina, and Lydia), to the point that she gets teased about it. A stark contrast to the denial of her pining before they do get together. Elyse teases Olfina back about Jon, at the very least.

They love to steal kisses from each other when the opportunity arises.

Balgruuf makes sure that Dragonsreach always has at least some honey in its pantries for Elyse, on account of her sweet tooth. She doesn't know that he does that.

Balgruuf won't admit it, but he loves how cute she looks when something frustrates her - he just finds the way that her nose scrunches up, the curl of her lip, and the squint in her eyes endearing.

Elyse loves Balgruuf's nose and crows feet.

[sanpape]

I'm convinced lee dong sik and inspector han are destined to enter a karmic cycle of arresting each other as an excuse to hold hands in public. Something something the intricate rituals men construct to touch the skin of other men ect ect

[ggomos-maribat]

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 6: fight and surrender | AO3

CW: the Order of Guardians appearing, mentions of death, wanting to kill, blood, violence, references to childhood abuse and trauma

Damian holds Marinette in his arms for the night as they lie in bed. He'll die first before he lets her go again. There's relief and comfort in burying his nose in her hair and running his thumb over her  shoulder. 

“The Order rebuilt themselves over the years with the handful left. They want the Guardian, so they're planning to hold Gotham hostage,” Marinette yawns. “Something like that.” 

His hold around her tightens. “Why not let us handle it?”

If they do, he'll skin every one of their enemies alive before they can even look at Marinette. 

She snorts. “They have a supply of miraculous-adjacents. Mostly brooch ones to help them make a sentimonster army. I don't think you bats and birds can handle that crisis very well.” 

“Will you be alright then?” He says softly. 

“Mhmm. We have a plan. Are you coming with us?” 

Damian thinks for a minute. He doesn't have combat experience with miraculous magic, and Marinette's team seems to have solid chemistry with each other based on what she has told him. If he gets involved, he might just end up interfering.

“I will return to Gotham as well, but I'm not sure how I can help.” 

She laughs. “It's not too different from slashing bad guys.” 

“I know but what if I disrupt your plan?”

“If I propose that you hold off the Justice League, can you do that?” 

“Of course.” 

He looks down at her, brushing stray hairs away from her face. Her eyes are closed but she's still tracing her fingers on top of his chest. He never expected to let someone in so easily but this is Marie. She's the one he went through hell with, the one who took blows for his mistakes, the one that has been haunting his dreams since she died. 

She has lived her own life in France, even became a hero, and yet she never forgot about him. He's happy she never forgot. 

Slowly, Damian moves his head to plant a small kiss on the crown of her head. 

---

Marinette stands at the top of Wayne Tower, tugging on her billowing ceremonial robes for the ritual. On the concrete, she traces over an intricate Guardian symbol with chalk, which is to be overlaid with the real material. A transformed Fei stands at her side, one hand over her earpiece. 

“Chat says it's a three-kilometer radius,” Fei relays. “Nothing too far out; they're moving as one like you predicted.” 

Marinette nods. She sent Adrien to scout around Gotham city and detect the activity of the brooch-adjacents using the Peacock miraculous. Her own power can sense them within a certain limit, but she isn't certain where the Order is scattered. “Let's begin,” she announces, pointing one hand straight upwards at the sky. 

Marinette calls upon shell-ter, which manifests a green barrier around a part of the city, capturing the distance of three kilometers. That way, combat is restricted in the city—the civilians (those without miraculous magic) can vacate outwards, but it is untouchable from the outside. Luka and Kagami will survey the barrier's outer perimeter while Adrien and Fei will stay inside and make sure Marinette's untouched during the ritual. 

The Cleansing Ritual is something she has picked up from the temple, though the exact method of performing it is something she owes to the previous Guardian's memories. It will break down the Order's defenses first; having the capability to remove miraculous magic from adjacents within its proximity. After eliminating their weapon, she’ll deal with the sentimonsters they have already created.

 Fei steps forward to hand her a thick book. “This is all we could find from the temple.” 

Marinette glances down. It is an incomplete copy of the Grimoire; nothing too special but it should be enough for the ritual. She was hoping for some spare adjacents but the temple has nothing of the sort anymore. “Thanks, Fei, this will do.”

She summons her cataclysm and crushes the book into heavy ashes, which she uses to trace over the symbol. It glows just faintly, signaling the effectivity, and she settles on the center. The most important thing is that the ritual is not disturbed, or else she’ll have to start all over again.

“I'll stick close by to fend them off,” Fei assures her softly.

“If it comes to worst, just come tell me.”

“But I thought—”

“It doesn't matter. You can interrupt me.” She doesn't know how they made their sentimonsters or if they will be harder to deal with than the creatures they fought before. She only knows that the adjacent-born monsters don’t operate by amok—once they are destroyed, that was that. But Marinette isn't willing to take any chances, especially if her team is in danger.

Marinette wipes her hand on her sleeve. Like Chat, she bears the power of destruction at the tip of her fingers. If she can, she would take the Order out with her own touch, but she obviously can't in that situation, where civilian lives are at stake.

After bidding her goodbyes, Fei leaps away to take her position. From her pocket, Marinette pulls out the thread that is tied to her senti-double's existence. Now, for the distraction. 

She crushes it in her palm with the power of destruction.

Damian returns to the cave, breathless. Only two bats seem to be holed up in there, but the youngest Wayne wastes no time starting to explain roughly about Marinette's background. 

Tim and Cass look at each other before the former speaks, “We know.” 

Damian stops. “You know?” 

“Hood and Oracle investigated on their own. They sent in a report to the JL hours ago,” Tim turns to the computer. “Speaking of the JL, they're a mess right now. Apparently, Marinette disappeared from her cell . . .” 

“She's here. In Gotham.” 

“She's what? ” 

“You will not tell Father,” Damian demands. “Send a message to Oracle not to alert the League if she catches her here. There are members of the Order of Guardians attacking tonight, and Marinette will be facing them herself.” 

“W—what?” Tim clicks on a screen to see a green barrier materializing over downtown Gotham. “Is this what it is? We should—” 

“Do nothing,” says Damian. “They have a plan.” 

“Dangerous,” Cass pipes up, frowning. 

“It will be more dangerous if we or the Justice League interfere.” Damian shakes his head. “We cannot let them compromise this. Both sides will be operating by magic as well; it's best not to get caught up in it.” 

Damian's fingertips are cold, hoping that nobody has alerted Bruce yet. He needs to make them understand that he was desperate—that he was asking not as Robin, but as their brother. 

The screen shifts, showing what looks like an army marching down the streets. The sentimonsters have taken every kind of form: human-like, giant crawling insects, mechanical figures, fanged creatures. A collective chill passes over the three as they think that this must be what Paris has endured over the years. 

“I sent a word to Babs but . . . are we really sitting here doing nothing?” Tim asks. 

Damian purses his lips, remembering Marinette's words to him. “We can help protect the barrier and evacuate civilians. But we must stay out of the fight.” 

Cass nods and disappears into the shadows to collect the other vigilantes. Meanwhile, Damian hovers near the screen, swallowing down his worry. They watch through the cameras as a white ring of light radiates from the top of Wayne Tower. 

---

Kagami knows a thing or two about being restrained. She has suffered under the tortuous rule of her own mother, forbidden to do this or that, and for years she hasn’t realized just how caged she was. She hasn’t seen a mirror of her own life until she met Adrien, who suffered under the same predicament. Although she is already somewhat free and exploring the world on her own, she knows she can’t forget the memory of her shackles. 

So when she first heard about Marinette’s past, she was livid—this is Marinette, the same person who once taught her about freedom and she hadn’t known how much the Guardian suffered in her youth. After Marinette told them, there were things about her that started to make sense: how she’s somehow a natural at fencing despite claiming that she has never touched a foil before, how she sometimes stares too long at her arms, how she knows an akuma is nearby before it becomes fully visible. 

That is why Kagami has vowed to become Marinette’s support, like Adrien, Fei and Luka are. 

“There are sentimonsters on my side, Ryuko.” Luka’s voice crackles from her earpiece. “Bats incoming too.” 

Kagami lowers her sword and scowls at the group of sentimonsters on the street below the ledge she’s perched on. They’re more grotesque than the ones they had in Paris. Marinette has warned them that not all the monsters will be captured inside the barrier, but Kagami didn’t expect that there will be this many of them. 

She stares off at the wispy light from inside the barrier. At least there are less of them that can attack Marinette during the ritual. 

“On my side as well,” she reports back. “There are many, but I can deal with them.” 

“Mmkay, be careful, my aria.” 

Kagami jumps down to intercept the bunch trying to claw their way into the barrier. She feels only a bit of resistance while slashing them with her weapon, but she figures that their strength is in numbers. Since they’re made only from brooch-adjacents, they should be weaker than normal sentimonsters. But she can tell they’re still dangerous for anyone who doesn’t wield a miraculous. 

She sidesteps and punctures another centipede-like sentimonster. They easily dissolve into nothing as long as her swing is lethal. She can’t quite pinpoint yet where they’re coming from but more hordes are appearing faster than she can eliminate them. 

She grits her teeth, debating if she should use the Dragon miraculous’ powers. Transforming into any of the elements can take out many sentimonsters, but using the power too much—though she doesn’t have a time limit anymore—can drain her own energy. If the sentimonsters can easily multiply, that effort is futile. 

“Hey kid, need some help?” A voice asks from above her. 

Kagami whips around. A vigilante is crouching behind a gargoyle on the building closest to her. His helmet, guns, and leather jacket tells her (if she remembers correctly) that this one is Red Hood.

She ignores him and continues attacking. Meddling bats. Apparently, Marinette has allowed the Robin boy to help them out, but she can’t see how they can be anything more than a liability in the miraculous-driven battle. It seems that Red Hood doesn’t understand this at all and comes down to fight with her. 

“Shouldn’t you be rescuing civilians?” Kagami dodges out of the way and decapitates a wolf-like sentimonster. 

“That’s all done.” Hood procures a knife from his belt and throws it at another sentimonster . . . 

Only for it to bounce and clatter onto the ground. 

The vigilante lets out a slew of colorful swears. “Normal weapons don’t work on them?!” 

“Obviously.” Kagami rolls her eyes. 

“Uhh, then how—” Red Hood stumbles back when one of the monsters pounce on top of him, but Kagami drives her sword into it before it can maul him. Her breaths quicken as she tries to keep up with the pace of their overwhelming strikes. 

While she’s jumping from place to place, she keeps an eye on Red Hood who’s now attempting to shoot at the monsters. She notes his agility and swiftness—he’s good enough jumping out of the way and keeping himself uninjured. The only problem is that his attacks aren’t working. 

Kagami lets out a deep sigh. 

“Here, use this.” She tosses her sword to the vigilante, who catches it with surprise. 

“I can use this?” he quizzes. “What about you?” 

“I can fight them without my sword.” The important thing is that you can make yourself useful now. “Do not worry about me.” 

To prove her point, she activates Water Dragon and transforms into a wave that drowns several sentimonsters at once. She changes from one element to the next, blowing a strong gust of wind and then finishing off another horde with a bout of lightning. Luckily, Red Hood seems to have experience with the sword as he’s able to take down the sentimonsters with the Dragon miraculous weapon. 

Kagami leaps up onto a window ledge to get a better look at the situation. The numbers are dwindling, but there are still a lot of them. She glances at the Wayne Tower again. The ritual must be nearly completed—then the miraculous-adjacents can’t be used anymore. 

“Hey!”

She turns to see that Red Hood has grappled up to the next ledge. 

“Oracle’s asking if she can connect your comms to ours.” Red Hood taps the side of his helmet. “We haven’t told the Bat or the JL either. We’re here to help.” 

Kagami wipes off the sweat from her forehead. “I will ask the others.” She turns on her earpiece. “Red Hood is with me. They’re asking—” 

“If they can connect to our line.” It’s Fei who answers her. “Yes, I heard. Luka got the same request from Red Robin. I don’t know if we can trust them right now. The ritual—” 

“Let them.” Another voice buzzes in. 

Kagami inhales sharply. Marinette. 

Adrien chimes in. “M’lady. But the ritual—” 

“Is finished,” Marinette says. “It’s okay, let them connect. They can help; if you can’t let them borrow your weapons, I give my permission to have them use the miraculi.” 

Fei audibly gasps. “What?!” 

Kagami surveys the street. They do need the manpower at this time. She knows the vigilantes can easily connect to their comms, since their line can link up normally to non-miraculous ones. The problem is having strangers wield miraculi for the first time. 

“It’s okay,” Marinette says gently. “Kagami, Luka, finish off the remaining ones outside the barrier first. Take the vigilantes with you and convene at one location. Fei, please portal to the outside and help them in. Give them any miraculous you see fit—Adrien please help in choosing. I think the Order is nearby—I’ll join you as soon as I can.” 

“. . . Yes, okay. Fine.” 

“Got that, M’lady. Cool, I get to hand out miraculi this time!” 

“Copy that.” 

“We can meet up at the park,” Kagami suggests. “We’ll finish up in ten.” 

She hears a second voice above them—a vigilante clad in blue and black who has begun bantering with Red Hood. “Make that five,” she corrects herself. 

---

Fei can tell that Adrien can sense her hesitance. She looks up at him after he takes her hand in his. “You've got the miraculi?” he asks. 

She nods, holding up a small satchel where the Miraculous Box is safely kept. 

“Are you sure we can trust them?” Her hand hovers the satchel. 

“If Marinette trusts them, then we can trust them,” he squeezes her hand. “Anyways, if they try to take the miraculi for themselves we can easily snatch them up again.” 

She cannot argue with that logic—they're handing out the miraculi just so that the vigilantes can fight the sentimonsters. They will have no problem using the weapons, but they are inexperienced at handling a miraculous in general. That gap alone will make it easy for them to take back the miraculi if the jewels are not handed back willingly. Not that she hopes it will ever come to that.

Fei carefully takes the glasses from the box and unifies the Prodigious and Horse miraculous to create a portal. She peeks at the swarms of sentimonsters still lingering around the streets below them. “What about . . .?” 

“Mari will take care of them,” Adrien— Chat— tells her softly and nudges her forward. 

They traverse through the portal, reaching the agreed meetup point outside the barrier. In that moment, a crackle rings from Fei's earpiece, followed by an unfamiliar voice. 

“Aha! I've got it,” the voice says. “This is Oracle. Can everyone hear me?” 

“I think you are connected to our line now,” Kagami's voice answers. 

The group is gathered as agreed. Fei tears her eyes away from them and looks expectantly at Chat Noir, waiting for his instructions about the miraculi. If it were up to her, the miraculi shouldn't be in her care in place of the Guardian; the Parisians know more about the jewels than she can ever read from the Grimoire. But she knows Adrien still has a heavy heart about taking that responsibility, so she trusts him to choose the miraculi to hand off at least. 

“Hmm,” Chat taps on his chin with a clawed finger. “Mouse, Bee, Horse, Peacock.”

She freezes. “I'm sorry, the Peacock? ” 

“What? We can fight fire with fire in this case, right?” 

Fei concedes; the sentimonsters from the real Peacock should be stronger than the adjacent-born ones rampaging in the city. But she's surprised Adrien doesn't seem to have any reservations using it again after it was taken from Hawkmoth. 

“Aegis, sorry, but can you switch back to the Snake? I need the Turtle.” Adrien requests Luka, who has donned the Turtle miraculous for the night since his original miraculous offered little in head-on solo combat. Luka complies wordlessly. 

Fei watches as Adrien tosses the miraculi one by one, telling the still-puzzled vigilantes that their kwamis will explain everything (and not to worry because he, too, barely received instructions when he first used his own miraculous). The Mouse pendant is handed off to Nightwing; the Horse to Red Hood; the Bee to Black Bat; the Peacock to Red Robin; and the Turtle to Robin. 

Fei notices that she, Ryuko, and Viperion share the same curious looks at Chat's choice. 

“You don't get it.” He shakes his head. “It's all about the vibes. That's how M'lady used to pick them.” 

“Wait, do we even have feathers for the Peacock?” Fei whispers to Chat. 

“Ah, right.” Chat smiles widely at Red Robin. “Sorry, you might have to catch pigeons or something.” 

Fei looks over the group. “Are you sure the JL won't be stepping in soon? Batman?” 

Robin crosses his arms. “Even if he tries, this isn't his Gotham for tonight.” 

---

After giving her commands, Marinette jumps down carefully from the tower and onto the surrounding buildings. She keeps her comms on to monitor her team and hears that their line has been connected to the Bats’. Though the ritual was a success, there is still much to clean up in the mess—their goal is to cause minimal damage and keep Gotham as it is, since the restoring power of the Ladybug doesn't apply to adjacent-born sentimonsters. 

Hands in her pockets, she drops down on a window ledge. Most of the civilians have been evacuated, and the sentimonsters are more focused on her anyways as if she were a beacon. With a swipe of her hand, she summons the Turtle's barrier and the Tiger's clout to herd the sentimonsters in one place before coming near them to use her Cataclysm. 

She clenches her jaw when she feels the presence of the Order coming closer. 

She has not regretted killing off the members of the Order when she was taken. The memories of the previous Guardian have become hers after all, so she has relived the futile struggle of the girl and the ‘experiments’ they've done to her in the guise of ‘rituals’. But she dislikes the lack of remorse she feels after killing—it seems hypocritical considering that she's the heroine of Paris. 

Marinette walks down the street, sensing the movements of the Order. She shouldn't be complacent about the situation; she doesn't know what the enemies have as an upper hand. On her way, she extends her hand to pulverize the sentimonsters coming at her with just one touch of Cataclysm. 

“Marinette, we're inside the barrier. The Bats have their miraculi. We'll start clearing off the sentimonsters,” Fei's voice reports loud and clear from her earpiece. 

“Good. Please steer clear of my location,” Marinette replies. 

“Okay—” 

“Please be careful,” Robin's voice cuts through. 

Chat snorts out a laugh. “What he said.” 

“I will. Thanks,” she takes a deep breath, ignoring the teasing jabs of the other voices. 

She sees the familiar burgundy robes up ahead, shielded by an unmoving line of sentimonsters all in the image of animals: tigers and panthers with glowing eyes; predatory birds hovering above; and oversized wolves. Marinette plants her feet firmly on the ground and holds her knives. These sentimonsters are not like the others; they are made with stronger, more potent adjacents. 

“The Guardian,” a raspy voice echoes from down the road. 

Marinette's grip tightens on the hilt of her weapon. Those grating voices have followed her in her nightmares for so long, even coming to life in one encounter with Sandboy. Though she has finished off their Tibetan base, there are still some who have escaped and some who have been hiding away in other parts of the world. 

The thought of them sickens her to no end. 

The sentimonsters lunge forward. 

And so does she. 

Marinette runs, infusing Destruction into her knives and throwing them at the creatures before they can touch her. Then, she calls on Fetch, from the power of Adoration, to pull back the knives into her hands. The hooded figures are closer now—she sidesteps one sentimonster and jumps over another. She's about to come face to face with the Order when she's suddenly knocked back by one of the wolves. 

She grunts while trapping one knife between the sentimonster's sharp jaws to keep it from biting down on her. Its claws have trapped one of her arms, scratching through her skin deeply. Marinette clicks her tongue in annoyance. These ones can fatally injure her, and she's already slowly losing energy. 

Finally, she gains the momentum to kick the sentimonster away and open up a portal behind her back to slip through it and escape its hold. She transforms into a large wave of water, followed by a bolt of lightning to kill off the whole pack. 

“What misuse of the Guardian's blood,” a voice snarls from behind her. 

Marinette catches her breath, turning around with fury in her eyes. Misuse? They talk about misuse when they were the ones who drew her blood for power. They preach so passionately about saving people with the Guardian's blood when they were the ones who handed off the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculi to Ra's al Ghul to abuse. 

“You have desecrated the blood of our Guardian!” Another monk cries. “Give back what you've stolen from us!” 

“Ungrateful vessel!” 

“They should have drained you dry when they had the chance!” 

“It was a mistake to bring you back!” 

“Murderer!” 

“Assassin's dog!” 

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second. She keeps a firm grip on her knife and asks coolly, “Why are you mocking me when I am your Guardian?” 

“You are an impostor! Give us our Guardian's blood back!” One growls. 

“For you to use in your crimes?” 

“They are not crimes. We are creating jewels for the protection of humanity.” 

Marinette's jaw twitches. The years Paris has suffered under Hawkmoth—they called that protection? 

“And yet you keep the jewels for yourself,” she mocks. 

“Because there are those more deserving of that power.” 

Bullshit. She isn't ignorant of their misdeeds. For so long, adjacents have been circulating around black markets and underground auctions. They were practically using the Guardian as a human factory. As for the real miraculi, they have been given to the most vile identities just like how the Butterfly and Peacock that were thought to be ‘missing’ was given to Gabriel Agreste. 

Marinette tries not to let her anger run rampant. There are already many voices coming from her earpiece, both from her team and Gotham’s vigilantes each cursing out the Order—

She gasps, tensing all over. 

She hasn't noticed. 

The prickly feeling she has felt many times back in Paris.

Marinette looks down on her knife to see that it has changed its appearance. The monks continue talking down at her, but seem to be waiting for something. 

“How dare you taint the blood—” 

Don't you want to kill them? 

“---a worthless—”

It only takes one touch. 

Her head is pounding as she tries to blink her vision back to focus. 

“The poor soul of our Guardian—” 

You've had blood in your hands before. What's a few more victims? 

“The poor soul of our Guardian wasted on a killer.” 

What will your Master say seeing you this cowardly?

Marinette draws out the knife and kicks it down to the ground, shattering it into pieces. A dark violet aura floats up from it—a remnant of the Butterfly's power. With a shuddering breath, she calms herself down. This is their plan. It's just an adjacent. It's not as powerful as the real thing. They must have had one stored too far from the range of the ritual. 

She turns to her enemies— 

I am not a killer. 

—And forces down her powers—

I am an assassin. 

She pounces forward with suppressed miraculous magic and launches attacks at them with her bare hands. Without their miraculi rip-offs to play with, they are mere powerless humans anyway. She kicks and punches, just enough to have them immobilized but never too strong to meet death. She remembers Adrien's words about his father: ‘ death is too merciful of a punishment’. 

It's the same for the Order. Death will be too forgiving. Even a slow death. She dodges a loose attempt of a hit and flips one over her back. 

The only thing that will destroy them is seeing her being the ‘blight’ to the line of Guardians.

---

Unbeknownst to the miraculous holders and vigilantes, there have been watchers witnessing the attack on Gotham and listening in to Marinette's conversation with the remnants of the Order. 

They’ve made a terrible mistake with imprisoning Marinette. 

And now they have no right to interfere.

The Justice League observes silently as Marinette brings the Order to its knees, without any trace of magic or weapons. Just her bloodied knuckles and pure strength. They recognize the anguish in her movements—careful and precise as someone born in the League but ferocious like someone delivering vengeance. 

Finally, she binds the enemies in ropes just as the last of the sentimonsters are finished off by the rest. 

The three founders are particularly tense. 

It must be them who will make sure that the Order will meet its justice.

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

[workingforitallthetime]

I too spent a fair amount of today thinking about the BC line after your response to the last anon...

i’m putting the next installment below the cut. entirely nsfw.

“Slut.” There’s a laugh in Ryan’s voice, and not even a mean one. He slouches lower on the damask sofa, slinging one arm along its back.

Will looks over his shoulder at Ryan. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he says, indifferently. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and gets to his feet without looking at Gabe.

“Why would I be jealous,” Ryan says, still amused, “when I’m going to fuck your face.” He doesn’t ask it like a question.

With Will’s back to him, Gabe can’t see his expression, can’t tell if he’s returning Ryan’s imperious gaze, can’t figure out what silent conversation they’re having. A log cracks in the fireplace, spattering embers into the ashes.

Gabe tucks himself back into his pants and zips up so slowly he can feel every tooth of the zipper catch. No sudden movements, nothing that would remind them he’s here, an unwitting participant in this fucked-up ritual. That’s what it has the feel of. Will and Ryan aren’t circling each out, testing. They know what to expect. Gabe’s the one who’s in the dark, his brain still fuzzy from coming in Will’s mouth.

“Come over here,” Ryan directs, and Will does, house slippers silently crossing the thick carpet. Gabe watches the firelight flicker across their profiles as Will stands over Ryan. The corner of Ryan’s lip curls in a faint and dangerous smirk. Will’s got a deadly look in his eye. He doesn’t look like someone who just sucked Gabe’s dick. He doesn’t look like someone who’s about to suck Ryan’s.

Will bends toward him, and Ryan stretches a lazy hand up and curls it around the back of Will’s skull. Abruptly, he pulls him down into a kiss.

It doesn’t look like a nice kiss, not like how Will kissed Gabe, with soft lips and scotch on his tongue. It looks bruising and mean, like he’s trying to drive the taste of Gabe out of Will’s mouth. Will braces his hands on Ryan’s thighs, holding his ground. Gabe watches the merciless crush of their mouths against each other. His shoulders tense when Ryan sinks his teeth into Will’s lower lip.

“Fucker.” Will’s voice is muffled against Ryan’s mouth. He digs his fingers into the pattern across the chest of Ryan’s sweater, twisting his nipple.

It happens so fast Gabe can’t understand how. All of a sudden Ryan’s on his feet, and he’s got Will doubled over with one arm pinned behind him. Nothing else moves in the cavernous room. The last of the liquor in the decanter on the table doesn’t even tremble. A shiver of hard snowflakes rattles against the tall windows, audible through the half-closed drapes.

Will’s breathing heavy, Gabe can see it in his shoulders. His hair falls forward, firelight gleaming in the gold strands.

Ryan holds him there, immobilized, for a long moment. Gabe’s body presses itself back against the sofa cushion, seeking an escape that doesn’t exist. He can’t talk. He can’t look away.

Ryan hitches Will’s arm higher and Will makes a noise through gritted teeth.

Ryan rolls his hips against Will, slow and pointedly. “You want it.” It’s not a taunt. It’s said with certainty. Ryan knows.

Gabe wonders if that’s something they do. Something they’re going to make him watch. His heartbeat feels loud enough to echo in the dark wood-paneled corners of this opulent room.

“Let me up and you’ll find out.” Bent over and pinned, Will still sounds just as dangerous as Ryan. Loosening his grip on Will is like unlatching a snake’s cage, waiting to see if it will strike.

Unbothered, Ryan drops Will’s arm. He undoes his belt. By the time Will straightens up and scrapes his hair out of his face, Ryan’s back on the sofa with his trousers shoved halfway down his thighs, big dick in his hand. He points to the space in front of him and Will kneels between his legs.

A flowering vine twines through the intricate pattern of the rug and disappears under the toe of Will’s slipper. Gabe’s eyes trace it across the space between them, following the vine through blues and greens until he can touch it with his own socked foot. When he looks up, he sees Will’s fingers digging into the top of Ryan’s thigh, hard enough to leave bruises.

Ryan’s looking at Gabe. “Don’t be so nice to him.” He cups the back of Will’s head, fingers weaving through his hair. His hips snap up from the sofa, shoving himself deeper into Will’s throat as he holds his head in place. Will’s choked moan around Ryan’s dick is small in the firelit room, swallowed up by the thick carpet and velvet drapes and antique paneling. Ryan thrusts into his mouth again, looking Gabe in the eye. “He likes it like this.”

[ramblingoak]

His Dark Song, Chapter 1: Let’s Get Started

~ A man covered in occult tattoos, a difficult ritual, sex magic...would you be able to survive months alone with Cardinal Copia? ~

Copia x f!reader

This was for week two of the challenge put on by @petrifyingpapas last year and the theme of the week was “Incantation”.  This story was inspired by the movie “A Dark Song”, but I’ll be giving it a Ghost twist.

Warnings: alternate universe, mentions of past child loss, violence, eventual smut, 18+ only mdni

His tattoos looked like they were glowing.

The swirling words and symbols that covered most of his skin had always caught your attention, but right now you couldn’t look away.  He had said tonight would be the night, that all the months of hard work you had both been putting into the ritual would finally pay off.  That the thing you had been attempting to summon was finally going to appear this very night and you’d finally get to ask your wish.

Copia continued to murmur under his breath in Latin, tracing intricate symbols into the air between you with his fingers.  He was mesmerizing, he had always been mesmerizing even when you had first met him in that diner.  Despite his attitude and his penchant for pissing you off you had quickly become entranced by him.  Copia had been your only companion for six months now and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from falling for him.

The sex magic had certainly helped.

“Are you ready, dolce?”  You met his eyes and nodded, taking a steadying breath before you held your right hand out towards him.  He brought it to his mouth, dropping a quick kiss on the back while winking at you.  Copia turned it so your palm was facing up and traced a symbol on your tingling skin with a finger before letting you go.

His mismatched eyes looked into yours then, holding your gaze steadily.  For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, but he gave a quick shake of his head before reaching down to the floor beside him.  The dagger’s blade flashed in the dancing light of the room and you held your breath when he raised it into the air above his head.  Neither of you glanced away from each other, Copia just raised an eyebrow and you slowly blew your breath out before you spoke.

“I’m ready.”

Copia winked once more before bringing the dagger down.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ six months earlier ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The house was old. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, all the houses this far in the country were. Most had been passed down between a few generations. Many were boarded up.  You had seen the insides of quite a few at this point but as soon as you had walked inside of this one you knew. 

This one would work. 

The realtor continued to drone on as he followed you around.  Mentioning things he thought you’d be interested in. How the furniture was included. The age of the paintings adorning the walls. He thought you would care and while you didn’t, not really, you let him say his piece. 

“It’s a one year contract unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry?”  You had made your way to the main room on the second floor, large windows took up most of the wall letting you watch the sun set behind the hills. 

“The lease, it’s for a year.”

A year. Would this take that long?  You had only been able to find a few accounts of the ritual being attempted.  But the information had been scarce and you weren’t sure if you trusted the sources. 

“Utilities are included though, which is rare around here. You’ve got privacy and plenty of land to roam around.”  The realtor had walked up to the windows to stand next to you.  “Do you have any kids?”

Your body froze like it always did at that question. People always asked it out of polite curiosity. No one would ever ask if they knew the truth.  

“I did.”  You let yourself have a moment to stare him down, to watch him deflate before you turned and walked back towards the hallway.  “I don’t anymore.”

Cardinal Copia wasn’t what you expected. 

To be honest you had been looking for a man in a cassock while you waited in the diner, like the Cardinal’s had worn in the church you had attended as a child.  The man that had sat down across from you in the diner was in worn jeans and a red sweater that had seen better days. Dark brown hair with streaks of gray at his temples. He was handsome and your brain chose that moment to remind you about the sex magic the ritual entailed, making you fight the blush that wanted to appear on your cheeks. 

“So, in the mood for a little magic, eh?”  You would’ve smiled back if his had seemed genuine, but to you it felt like an act. There was an odd twinkle in his even odder eye, the left being entirely white. He squinted when you didn’t respond, looking back down at his plate and poking around the eggs with his fork. 

“Was it from an accident?”  Copia froze and looked back up at you. The blush couldn’t be stopped now, but you were mostly mortified you had asked such a thing. Thankfully he seemed more bemused than annoyed and looked back down at his food. 

“Not unless you call my birth an accident.”  

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m just-I’m nervous.”  

Copia had shoved some eggs into his mouth but thankfully swallowed before responding. 

“Do I make you nervous, dolce?”  Your eyes narrowed at him but he just chuckled and crossed his arms. You let your gaze drift down to his hands, the backs of his fingers were covered in tattoos.  They looked like letters of some kind but you couldn’t tell from across the table.  From his fingers the letters turned into swirling patterns on the backs of his hands that continued onto his wrists and then disappeared under the sleeves of his sweater.  You shook your head and met his amused gaze.

“It’s a big undertaking, isn’t it?  The ritual.”  You reached out for your water glass but it was only to keep your hands occupied. “I think some nerves are to be expected.”

Copia hummed and reached a hand out, gently peeling one of yours away from the glass.  He held it up above the table, sliding his hand down to your wrist and holding his thumb against your pulse for a moment. He smirked and swept it back and forth across your skin a few times before letting go and then pulling his thumb into his mouth. He let it slide out with an obscene pop, smirking as he looked at your hand. 

It was shaking like a leaf. 

Irritated and a little embarrassed you yanked it back and crossed your arms over your chest.  Was he going to be like this the whole time?  You were ashamed to admit that you were glad he was…ok, glad that he was handsome. But you’d barely been in his presence for thirty minutes and he had you blushing like a teenager.  You needed to set some ground rules if he was going to act like this the whole time. 

“Cardinal Copia…”

“Just Copia is fine, dolce.”

“Fine, ok. Copia, we shou—“

“You need to be sure.”  You huffed and glared at him but he seemed unbothered.  “This ritual is delicate, so very delicate. Any nerves or wrong moves, this can ruin the whole thing.  Did you look into how long this could take?”

“I saw a few things that said weeks, bu—“

“Months, dolce.  This could take months.”  Months?  You’d be stuck in that house with him for months?  “Months of strenuous, precise recitations. Of cleansing your body, your soul.  Is this something you’re ready for?”

“Yes, Copia. Yes. I’ve been ready, I’ve done the research.”  You were starting to worry he wasn’t going to do this. There weren’t many others you could ask and none besides Copia that you had heard had actually been successful at it before. 

“What about the sex magic?”  The poor waitress was walking by at that moment and stumbled, Copia reached out to help catch her, gently grasping her elbow before she ended up on the floor. The poor thing was blushing even worse than you had been. He gave her a wink before directing his attention back to you. 

“I can do whatever magic is required as long as you can do the ritual.”  

Copia reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth, throwing it onto his plate before reaching down for his bag he’d brought in with him. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dolce.  I can do the ritual.”  It was your turn to receive a wink from him, but before your cheeks could redden he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go see this house.”  

He didn’t seem particularly impressed with the house, but he also hadn’t been very impressed with your car. 

“Dolce, how old is this thing?”

Or your music collection. 

“I didn’t know they still made CD’s. Do you have any ABBA?”

When you arrived at the house itself he had let out a string of Italian and none of it sounded complimentary.  You gave him room to wander, unpacking some of the supplies you had already gotten and shoving them away in the kitchen.  There was a large freezer in the basement so if this was happening you’d have to go back to town and stock up on food. You weren’t sure if you'd be able to leave once the ritual started. 

If it did start. 

After an hour or so you started wandering the house in search of him. You smelled a faint hint of cigarette smoke inside but there was no sign of the man himself. It wasn’t till you found your way back into the main room and its large windows that you spotted him. He was standing near the pond the estate had, watching the sunlight dance across the water. 

By the time you made it out there the sun was dropping rapidly into the horizon. You couldn’t smell any smoke on him so you held off admonishing him for it.  It would take forever to get the smell out of that old furniture if he spent the next few months smoking all day. 

“Do you remember my fee, dolce?”

“Yes.”

“How about everything the ritual entailed?”

“Yes, yes Copia we’ve been over this. I’m ready.”

“You say this, but I don’t think you understand what it means. So you must be sure, absolutely sure.”  

“Goddammit, yes!  I'm sure!”

“Then tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Wh-what?”

Copia sighed and turned away from the water to gaze at you. That white eye of his was so unnerving you kept wanting to look away. 

“I want to know why you’ve done all this, why you’ve hired me.”  He took a step towards you and you had to fight the instinct to take a step back. 

“For love.”

The look of disgust on his face was immediate and he stepped back away from you. 

“Love?!  Are you serious?”

“Yes!  Why does that—hey!”  Copia had turned and started stalking back towards the house, but you were hot on his heels.  “Hey!  What’s wrong?”

The only response you got was a scoff and some more Italian. When you tried to grab his arm he ripped it away and then yanked the back door to the house open.  Before he could get to the kitchen where he left his bag you shoved yourself in front of him and blocked the doorway. 

“Move.”

“No, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong is you’ve wasted my time!  I came all the way out here for some bullshit, spoiled little rich girl fantasy!”

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with love as a reason to do this!”

Copia groaned and shoved his hands into his hair, taking a few steps back from you at the same time. 

“This is a sacred thing. ‘Love’ isn’t enough.  It needs to be more than that.”

“More than love?”  You bit your lip and let your eyes wander around the room. Your own bag was sitting in a chair nearby. There weren’t a lot of things you had traveled with but there was something in there that was more dear to you than anything else you owned.  A token of someone that you longed to speak with again.

Copia was watching you expectantly. Waiting for you to convince him. 

“I love someone and they…they don’t love me anymore.”

“So?  You’re going to torture yourself for months on end, torture me for months on end?  And for what?  To get your boyfriend to love you back?”  

You closed your eyes and started shaking your head, but he used that moment to shove past you. It made you stumble and you had to grab onto the doorway to stay upright. 

“Copia!  Please, you don’t understand!”

“No, dolce, I don’t understand and you’re doing a shit job of fixing that.”  With his bag in hand he turned to glare at you, his icy white eye seemingly staring into your soul. “I’m supposed to summon your guardian angel for you. A being that will grant you anything your heart desires and you’re going to choose making an ex love you again?”

“You get a wish too, don’t forget that.”

“Trust me, dolce, I’m not forgetting that. That wish is the only reason I’m here. It’s the only reason I’ve done this before, that I’ve tried this before.”  He started moving towards the back door again and you flung yourself into the doorway once more. Copia growled and spun around to go through the other door and towards the front of the house. 

Fuck, fuck this couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t let him go, you couldn’t let this chance go. Copia was the only one that could make this happen. The only one that could give you what you wanted. 

“It’s for my child!”  You watched as he froze with a hand on the front door. He didn’t turn around yet, but his hand remained still so you continued, “I lost my child.”

“How?”

“He was taken from me.”  Copia turned then and regarded you, waiting for you to continue.  “My child was kidnapped.  He was murdered and I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“You want to speak to your dead child?”  

Later you’d sob in the room you’d chosen. In your hand you’d clutch the little action figure you always kept with you. The little plastic ghoul your son loved so much. Right now you looked into Copia’s eyes and nodded, silently begged him to change his mind, to help you. When he tossed his bag onto the floor by the door and spoke again you nearly sagged in relief. 

“Okie dokie, let’s get started.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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[fan-clan-fun]

This isn't fan clan related, but I'm curious. If you were to take the four clans (excluding SkyClan) and make them more unique, how would you do it? What I mean is what physique would you give ThunderClan? What distinctive skill would you give RiverClan? Will you give WindClan special customs? What about ShadowClan?

Gosh this is gonna be a long one. It's entirely possible I have answered something like this in the past, and if I have, and this answer is changed from that... well people grow and change too. So let's see what my thoughts are on the clan today. First off, I would focus on what miniscule stuff we get in the books and expand on it. Thunderclan - A very martial society, your rank is earned primarily based on your physical abilities, fighting, hunting, etc. I imagine their ceremonies and expectations revolve around that. They are loud, proud, obnoxious in some ways. They are... almost like Americans with how patriotic they are. Only partially kidding. They are the ones most likely to uphold the strictest niceties of the code, or pretend to anyway. Culturally, they are very into the mythos of heros, telling grand stories of cats who came before, and their exploits, and they value their lineage greatly. Oh, this hero was my sire's great great grandfather, and he did this. It also shows up in their naming conventions, as many kits are named after past heros, or cats the parents respected or want their kits to be like. Aside from attitude, they have skills primarily geared towards their forest environment. They should be able to climb trees, navigate through dense underbrush, and fight off the more abundant predators. As a result, bigger, tougher cats have thrived, whereas the smaller slimmer body types are not considered as attractive and are not as well represented. Scars are considered the height of beauty, as they show off the strength and prowess of a cat. It means they fought something and survived. Windclan - With the introduction of the tunnelers in the special edition, I feel like there's an interesting dichotomy to be found in Windclan. Ultimately, as much as I like it, and even would like to explore it, I feel like there was good reasoning for the tunnelers to be done away with. That said, those skills could be repurposed. To me, what marks Windclan is its ability to be adaptable.

With all its open spaces, I think Windclan would be well served as a semi-nomadic group, that has one or two different camps that it moves between based on the weather and prey density. For the winter, I imagine they shelter in a system of caves, which are maintained and cared for by a small group of tunnelers. In summer, they have an above ground camp, set at a somewhat high point in the territory, where they wouldnt get flooded out during a storm. As a result, cats are taught a wide set of skills. The clan works together at every step of the way, and a take down larger and faster pray like rabbits as a result. Windclan cats are used to traveling long distances, and being friendly with outsiders for a variety of reasons, information on movements of other cats or groups of them and food sources for example. I see Windclan as having the biggest territory, but also the sparsest when it comes to prey and population. Windclan is a very collaborative clan, they sing and tell stories to pass the time as they travel, building on one another for fantastical tales that bring hope and excitement during the bleaker times. They revere the stars, and the wind, and use the sky as their guide to travel. Their spirituality is focused on Starclan as a group, rather than individuals. There are many intricate stories and rituals that the clan performs under the stars, each season and each moon. Names hold great meaning, but are also often ethereal and based on feeling, rather than any particular meaning.

Because of the need to be agile, and survive long distances of travel, sleeker, smaller cats have thrived in the clan, as they require less food and are quick on their paws. Windclan cats rarely meet an enemy head on or one on one, using their agility to ambush and confuse any source of danger. Shadowclan - An ever practical clan, I see Shadowclan as having the smallest and least desirable territory, meaning this clan does what must be done. They are willing to bend the code if they need, in order to get what they want. At the same time, they are fiercely loyal to friends and family. Not necessarily the clan as an image, but the ones they care about. If you are looking for innovation, clever resolutions to problems, and independence of thought, Shadowclan is where you will find it. They'll propose puzzles to solve around the fresh kill pile to keep their minds sharp. There's little fear in this clan, nor much room for being picky. If something is edible, you take it, you bring it back.

Shadowclan often find themselves being called sneaky or duplicitous because they are willing to compromise the code, or use others to get what is needed for the clan to thrive, but really, its about survival. No hard feelings. They've learned to hide, to watch, to learn, that ambush and guerilla tactics are far more effective, and less likely to lose a clan member, than head on confrontation. As such, dark pelts are preferred, but otherwise, if it helps you survive? Thats all that matters.

To some of the other clans they appear irreverent, but to Shadowclan, its just common sense. Starclan isnt alive right now, they are gone. Sure they might be able to help, but might not. Cant rely on them and wait for them to help. Its better to do it yourself. The same can be said for names. Prefixes arent given much value, based only on material things, but your suffix? Thats what defines you, as it shows the skills and challenges you went through to get your name. There's often a fierce competition amongst apprentices to not end up with the same suffix, to be the best in the group at certain things. Riverclan - Riverclan are the epitome of work smarter, not harder. They have the most prosperous territory of the four, with a mostly guaranteed food source throughout the majority of the year, aside from the coldest winter months when things freeze over. The clan makes it its business to know everything there is to know about water, how it flows and pools, how to swim, how to manipulate its direction for the clan's benefit. All kits are taught how to swim from as young as possible. It's said that Riverclan apprenticeships are the hardest of the clans, as apprentices are expected to learn a lot, and take on a lot of responsibility. But once you become a warrior, you are much more prepared and settled, confident in your abilities. And by being aware of their skills and limitations, it allows warriors to know what they have to do, and how long it takes, and allows them the time to relax after. Many warriors seem lazy or childish, because they are reliving the childhood they never had, now that they are old enough to do so. But having the most prosperous food source, also makes Riverclan targets. They have developed a reputation of silver tongues, but also of being pushovers. At the same time, while other clan war far more frequently, Riverclan find themselves the peace makers and neutral arbiters. They are generous with their food and their resources in times of need, leaving other clans often in debt to them.

The physical traits that make a Riverclan cat effective, are thick fur to protect the body from cold water, and an ability to store fat easily. When Riverclan cats do end up in a fight, they don't back down or hide, they take others on directly, their fur and extra padding a layer of protection.

Their worship of starclan is rather traditional, but also not fanatic. They invoke Starclan for blessings regarding the weather, ask them to intercede about rain and storms. There is a belief that Starclan, like the stars reflecting on water, are reflecting in the living cats. Some Riverclan cats even whisper about reincarnations, that just like water comes from the sky, and returns to it, so do cats and their spirits. This means that like Thunderclan, many cats are named for cats from before, or names that have to do with water in its many forms. Well, I said it was gonna be a long one, and boy howdy it is. I havent written on canon clans for a hot minute, but I could probably expand and think on this more, I might never stop if I started though. Maybe this will give others some inspiration!

[cabezadeperro]

sometimes you just need to write 800w of intricate rituals and post them to tumblr.

established relationship, rebel era, jango lives!au, whump. just don't think about the details.

---

Obi-Wan pauses with his palm to the door and closes his eyes—the room’s empty. He shakes himself and forces open the lock, the mechanism sparking threateningly. He steps inside, Jango on his heels, and then closes and locks the door again.

“Sit down,” he tells Jango over his shoulder. He’s hovering in the middle of the room, hand held against his lower belly. The kute and his glove are already dark with blood, and he seems to hold himself steady and on his feet through sheer force of will.

There’s a single bed in the room, low and big enough for two people if they like each other enough. The blinds over the single window to the side are closed, and when Obi-Wan peeks into the small room to the left of the door he finds a fresher with a sonic and a vac-tube.

Back in the main room, Jango’s sat down on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. He’s trying and failing to take off his helmet, his blood-slick fingers slipping on the lip, and after a beat Obi-Wan makes his way to him, crouches in front of Jango’s bent legs.

“May I?”

Jango tilts his head back. Obi-Wan finds himself in the black visor—a tired, ageing man, with a messy beard and the galaxy’s worst sunburn.

Jango nods. His hand drops, and Obi-Wan doesn’t wait before reaching for him, his fingers clumsily gripping the lip of the helmet. Something clicks, and Obi-Wa hears the hiss of the seal giving in. Jango blinks half-blind in the room’s shade. He’s sweaty and pale under the blood that stains his chin and his mouth. Obi-Wan swallows down his panic and leaves the helmet on the floor at his side.

The rest of the armour follows. This, Obi-Wan knows how to do: he’s grown familiar with the way the beskar warms under his fingers. Minutes later Jango’s bare to the waist and Obi-Wan’s trying to convince him to move to the bed.

“No time,” Jango says through clenched teeth. “Just—fix what you can. We need to move.”

Obi-Wan presses his lips together and gives in. He reaches for his bag until he finds the small first aid kit he grew used to carrying with him back during the war. 

“I can’t do much,” he warns Jango. “I’m not a fucking medic.”

Jango huffs. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the bed, greying curls matted with sweat and blood and dust.

Obi-Wan chews on his lip while he works, his hands steady and his heart beating so hard inside his chest he feels about to pass out. The puncture wound isn’t too deep, but by the way Jango holds himself it hurts like hell. Obi-Wan packs the wound with bacta, injects Jango with the strongest antibiotic they have and with a local anaesthetic. 

Once he’s done he sits down next to Jango, shoulder to shoulder, and breathes for a few long minutes. They’ll need to leave soon, but—but he needs it.

“We are getting too old for this,” he tells the room. At his side, Jango snorts. His fingers wrap around Obi-Wan’s wrist and then stay, their grip loose: if Obi-Wan pulls away Jango won’t stop him.

Obi-Wan turns his head to look at him. Jango’s staring blindly at the room, a small furrow on his forehead. This close, this tired, Obi-Wan can feel the thrum of his thoughts: he’s tired and in pain and he’s already thinking, planning their next move. 

He feels no fear. He trusts himself and he trusts Obi-Wan, somehow. Obi-Wan looks away, trying and failing to push through the awful wave of fondness rising within his chest.

He clears his throat and sits up, tugging his hand away. Jango allows it, as always, like Obi-Wan knew he would. 

Obi-Wan helps him get dressed again, and then they’re leaving the room, once again empty if slightly dirtier, with blood and dust on the flagstones, on the bed. They make it out of the hotel and into the harsh white sunlight of noon. Obi-Wan pulls down his hood and starts making his way towards the spaceport, Jango shadowing his footsteps. He walks slower than he usually does, and once they have to stop for him to catch his breath, but they make it to Obi-Wan’s ship in one piece. Obi-Wan pays off the spaceport master and then they’re off, the old ship rattling its way through Tatooine’s clear skies and then through atmo. 

Obi-Wan leans back in his seat and turns to look at Jango. He’s leaning back in his chair, his helmet still on. Obi-Wan exhales, and this time it is his turn to reach out, to slip his fingers between glove and flightsuit and hold on.

[softpine]

Is the Griffin we saw in today's post different from the other au Griffin we saw who offered up the same services but said he was joking? I think he was the same Finn that later remembered Asa?

unless i'm misunderstanding, i think you might be mixing up 2 different ones! NYC griffin, the very first AU we saw, might have appeared to be a sex worker initially but he was actually just pick-pocketing someone, and he later showed asa his technique (something something intricate rituals lmao)

but the version of griffin who remembered asa (because asa gave him guidance when he was a kid) was 90s griffin and jules!!

sorry i know all these universes are confusing, but the easiest thing to keep in mind is that we've never seen a repeat of the same griffin, and we probably never will. each of them are little glimpses into who our finn could have become / bits and pieces of what actually happened to him (more importantly, they're all psychological warfare for asa and finn...). asa still holds each of them in his heart because they all feel real and they all feel like finn to him, so leaving them behind – especially leaving them in proven unsafe conditions, like all the versions of griffin who are still children – is incredibly painful for him. but it just shows how badly he wants to find his finn, that he would put himself through this rapid cycle of meeting and leaving all these versions of him :(