#still on my the shadows are just cats mindset
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harperbrynne · 3 months ago
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Do we think the shadows make biscuits?
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jetii · 4 days ago
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Light in the Dark
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Pairing: Hound x fem!Reader
Words: 13,250
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, hurt/comfort, coworkers/friends to lovers, black cat/golden retriever dynamic, reader is a medical examiner so there's some gore/corpse talk, anxious/insecure reader, we love men who respect boundaries, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), biting/marking
Summary: On a bustling planet like Coruscant, you enjoy the comfort and solitude of your profession, even though it can be lonely. The only one who can't seem to let you be alone is Hound.
A/N: First fic back after my little break from one-shots! I've been kind of trapped in a rut with life stuff and struggling to adopt the "write for yourself and not for others" mindset, and this is the first fic in a while I wrote truly just bc I wanted to and it felt good. Hope you enjoy!
Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist
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Coruscant has never been your favorite place. It's not the people, though they are numerous and can be rather rude, or the architecture, though it is both imposing and suffocating. No, you’ve decided, the reason that you hate Coruscant is the fact that it is so damn bright all the time.
A hundred sunrises are reflected by a hundred different buildings, a hundred sunsets by a hundred more, and even when the clouds are thick enough to obscure the sky, the city still glows with an unnatural, garish light that’s almost impossible to adjust to.
It's why you prefer to spend your time in the lower levels of the planet-wide metropolis, where the shadows are as thick and comforting as the air is stale and the smells are unpleasant. You don't care. The neon signs, the advertisements, and the glow of the holonet broadcasts keep the streets and walkways lit well enough for you to see what's in front of you. The dimness suits your mood better than the glaring brightness of the upper levels.
It's also why you found yourself in perhaps the most undesirable profession on the entire planet, despite the fact that your talents could have seen you gain a much better one. When the only place you're comfortable is in the quiet dark, why not work there, too?
Being a medical examiner might not seem like a glamorous job, but there are days when it's better than having to deal with living patients or, Force forbid, their family members. In the end, the dead don't judge. They also can't complain. It's a win-win situation.
It's nice. On a planet where you have no space, no quiet, no solitude, you're grateful for the morgue and its constant stream of silence and stillness. You don't need to be around others when they're alive, anyway. They just make things complicated.
Most of the time, you're left alone to your own devices. No one's eager to hang out with the corpse doctor in the basement of Coruscant Guard precinct. That's fine. You like your solitude, your peace and quiet, your personal space. 
And the only problem, the only disruption, is Hound, who also happens to enjoy your personal space.
The clone is... odd. He's tall and broad, his skin a rich, earthy brown and his hair a dark, curly mass that always looks unruly. It's hard to believe that he's a member of the Republic's military, what with his lopsided smile and easygoing manner, but you've seen him in action. He's fast and deadly, with a calm, steady gaze that is belied by the manic gleam in his eyes.
And he likes you.
You aren't sure why. It's not as if you're particularly friendly, or that you've gone out of your way to befriend him. In fact, you're pretty sure that your attitude toward him has been less than warm. You aren't sure how it happened, but you're fairly certain it started the first time he'd visited the morgue.
There's a door at the top of the stairs that leads directly into the lab, a metal slab that swings open with the slightest touch, and he'd stepped inside, glanced around, and flashed a crooked smile that made your stomach flip-flop. It had taken him less than a minute to locate you, and the next thing you knew, he was standing beside you, watching you work.
At the time, you'd barely spared him a glance. He was a new face, and not one you were interested in looking at. There were things that needed doing. Reports that needed writing. A body on the table that needed cutting open and dissecting. All of those were more important than a stranger, and so you'd ignored him until he spoke.
"What are you doing?"
You'd answered without looking at him, your hands deep in the cadaver's abdominal cavity, your fingers wrapped around a lung. "My job."
"You're the new M.E.?"
"No, I'm a serial killer who's pretending to be a medical examiner so that I can have access to the morgue."
He’d laughed. You didn't. It had been a long day, and you weren't in the mood to deal with some joker who didn't have the sense not to interrupt a forensic pathologist while she's in the middle of an autopsy. 
Your answer had apparently been the right one, though, because he'd nodded and said, "Good. The last one was an idiot."
You'd blinked at that, your head slowly turning to look at him. It wasn't a joke. He was serious. You'd had to swallow the smile that threatened to surface, and instead gave him a cool, polite nod. 
"That's good to know."
You'd returned to the autopsy then, but not before seeing the way his eyes had lit up. Not before seeing the spark of interest, the challenge. It wasn't the kind of attention you wanted, and it certainly wasn't the kind of attention you expected to keep. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, he kept coming back, and somehow, you'd found yourself looking forward to his visits.
That had been a year ago. A year, and every few days, he was back.
You're in the middle of the autopsy of a man who was found dead in an alley when you hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind you. You don't have to look up to know that it's Hound, because his gait is unique to him. He walks heavy and fast, not because he's in a hurry, but because he's too large and too solid to do anything else.
Biting back a sigh, you look up. 
"I thought I told you I'm busy today."
"Hello to you too," Hound laughs. He's still peeking around the doorway, watching you, his head tilted to the side. He looks like an excited puppy. Fitting for his namesake, and, unfortunately, quite endearing. "Can I come down?"
You set your scalpel down and give him an exasperated look. "Since when have you ever asked?"
"Since you told me to," he replies as he pulls off his helmet and fixes you with a grin so blinding, you nearly flinch. Against your will, a flutter of butterflies rises up in a wave in your stomach, and you look away from him to try and hide your blush.
"I did?" you ask. You think back to your conversations with him. Had you asked him not to barge into your workplace and distract you with his... Hound-ness? You honestly can't remember. "Huh."
"So can I come down or not?" 
He's still grinning, and he's still standing half-in, half-out of the doorway. His dark eyes are fixed on you, and there's no denying the excitement in them.
You pause, both to gather your thoughts and to make it seem like you're deliberating. You don't need another distraction right now. You really, really don't. But the longer you hold out, the more his eyes light up and the wider his smile gets, and, damn it, you can't help it.
"Where is she?" you ask instead, pulling off your gloves and crossing your arms in front of your chest.
Hound gives a dramatic sigh and steps aside, and Grizzer comes bounding down the stairs straight for you. Her nails scrape and clack against the floor as she skids to a stop at your feet, and before you can even kneel down, she's on her side with her legs kicking in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth full of dagger-sharp teeth. She's begging you for belly rubs, and how are you supposed to deny that?
"What am I, chopped liver?" Hound asks, sounding put out.
You look up at him, one hand scratching the spot under Grizzer's chin that makes her leg twitch, and raise a brow. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his helmet dangling from his fingertips, and his hair is wild and curling from being confined for so long.
"You aren't here for a belly rub," you reply, and a flush rises up on his cheeks. You bite back a smile. "Or are you?"
"No, but I wouldn't mind one."
His grin is back, and you roll your eyes.
"Get out of my lab," you order, pushing Grizzer's shoulder gently until she rolls over onto her feet and stands, panting happily. 
"But I brought you lunch!" Hound protests.
"You did?" 
Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you glance up at him, then at the paper bag in his hand. You hadn't expected that, and it throws you off a bit. You'd assumed he'd come down here because he was bored. And you weren't entirely sure how he'd managed to afford food for the two of you on the Guard's budget, either.
Your confusion must show on your face, because he laughs. 
"Grizzer and I saved a tooka from a high-rise balcony today," he explains. "The guy owned a restaurant and gave us lunch in thanks. I thought you'd be hungry, so..."
His sentence trails off, and he looks suddenly unsure of himself, as if he's made a mistake. Your heart flutters and then does a double-take, and the warmth in your cheeks spreads down your neck. He'd bought lunch for you? How is this the same man who had been so obnoxious and annoying the first time you'd met him? How is it possible that he's still here, still trying, when you're convinced you haven't given him an inch of encouragement?
You quickly stand and reach out to take the bag from him. You don't miss the way his eyes widen slightly at the gesture, and his fingers brush against yours as you take the food.
"Thanks, Hound," you mutter. You muster a small smile for him, and you're rewarded by the sight of a blush creeping down his neck and the tips of his ears. "That was really thoughtful of you."
He shrugs and looks away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah, well, it's not a big deal or anything."
It is a big deal, though, and the realization settles over the two of you like a blanket. It's not often that someone goes out of their way to do something nice for you. You can count on one hand the number of people who've done so since you moved to Coruscant, and Hound is at the top of that list.
"Anyway, we've got the afternoon off, so I thought I'd swing by and see what you're doing," he continues. He's clearly eager to change the subject, and you can't blame him. This whole situation has suddenly become awkward.
"Well, right now, I'm in the middle of an autopsy," you say, gesturing vaguely at the dead man lying on the table between you. Hound leans over and takes a long look at him, then wrinkles his nose.
"He smells bad."
You roll your eyes.
"Dead people tend to," you point out, and he laughs.
"I noticed." He gives the cadaver a long, hard stare, and after a moment, says, "Stabbed in the back."
"I haven't started yet," you protest, and he shakes his head.
"Didn't need to," he replies. He points at the body. "Knife went in here, hit the kidneys. It's messy, and whoever did it was either in a hurry or didn't know what they were doing. My guess is the latter."
"What makes you say that?"
"No defensive wounds." He's pointing at the hands now, the fingers still curled as if they were grasping for something. "He was caught by surprise."
"You're right," you say, impressed. "Maybe I should get you to do this instead."
He grins at you, all cocky confidence and charm.
"If you wanted to spend more time with me, you could have just asked."
"Don't flatter yourself," you retort. You're fighting back a smile, though, and it's a losing battle. "Go sit over there and leave me alone."
"Fine, fine."
He raises his hands in surrender and goes to sit at the table in the small kitchenette, Grizzer at his heels. While you clean your hands and put away the equipment you'd been using, he pulls off his gloves, sets his helmet on the table, and pulls the food out of the bag.
"There's a lot of food here," you remark, and Hound nods.
"Yeah, the owner insisted. I think he felt guilty that his tooka almost fell."
"How did that happen, anyway?" you ask. Hound looks down at Grizzer, then back up at you, and smiles sheepishly.
"Grizzer may have chased it up the side of the building," he admits. You snort. Of course she did.
"Well, it's good to know the Guard is keeping the people safe," you tease, and he grins.
"We do our best."
"Mm."
You settle across the table from him and begin to unpack the food. You pull out the cartons and containers and spread them out on the table between you, and you can feel Hound's eyes on you the entire time.
"So, how's it going?" he asks, and you give him a flat look.
"What do you mean, how's it going?" You pick up a dumpling and bite into it, pointing at the other boxes of food with the remains. "Eat."
He picks up the container of noodles and fishes around for a piece of meat with his chopsticks, then shrugs.
"I dunno, you've just seemed kinda down lately."
"Down?" you echo. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I'm a forensic pathologist, Hound. How exactly am I supposed to be 'up'?"
"You know what I mean."
He's giving you a look, and you sigh. Yes, you know what he means. You know that he knows when you're upset or anxious, and you know that he can see right through the mask of cool indifference you wear when you're trying to hide it.
"It's just a little crowded up here," you say. You're not going to talk about this, not with him, not now. Maybe not ever. But you can tell him a little, just enough to ease his worry.
He nods. "It's loud."
"Loud," you agree, and take a sip of your water. It's loud, yes, and there are far too many people. Sometimes, you want to scream. The sheer amount of life pressing down on you can be overwhelming, and the silence and stillness of the morgue is a balm on the ragged edges of your psyche. "And bright."
"Too much light," he agrees, and you give him a wan smile.
"Right."
He's quiet for a few minutes while you eat, and you're grateful. It's nice, sometimes, to have someone to share the silence with. Nice, too, to not have to fill it with unnecessary words. Sometimes, just the presence of another person is enough.
After a while, though, the quiet becomes too much for him, and he speaks.
"Are you not happy here?"
The question catches you off guard, and you nearly drop the dumpling you're holding. "Happy?"
"Yeah." His brow furrows, and his frown deepens. "Do you not want to be here?"
"Of course not," you say automatically, and he winces. The look on his face sends a jolt through you, and you realize your mistake. I mean, I do! But..." You pause, thinking. How can you explain this? How can you put it into words? "I don't fit here, Hound."
"You fit fine."
His response is quick, almost desperate. You can see the worry in his eyes, the uncertainty, the fear. Does he think you're leaving? Do you want to leave?
That's a question you've been asking yourself for months now. You'd left Eadu, and the only place you'd known as home, in order to start a new life. You'd chosen a career, a city, a place to live, and a path that would make your parents proud. And you're here, but you're not. You're just floating through life, going through the motions and keeping yourself busy, but it doesn't mean anything. Nothing has purpose, and nothing is permanent. You don't even have any friends.
Except...
You look across the table at Hound, who is still frowning. He's worried about you. The realization makes your stomach flip-flop again, and the dumpling you'd just eaten suddenly feels like a stone.
He's actually, genuinely, truly worried about you. He's the first person to actually care about your wellbeing in a long time, and it's not just him. He brought you food. He's always trying to make you laugh. He brings Grizzer down every chance he gets. He wants you to be happy.
"I don't know," you finally say, and your voice is soft and uncertain. "I just... feel like something's missing."
"Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asks, his voice soft.
You don't have an answer. You've been here for a year now, and yet, you feel as if it's only been a few weeks. As if it's still the beginning. Maybe you've gotten a little further, but not enough. 
You haven't settled in, but the thought of leaving Coruscant is a terrifying one. There's nothing left for you back home. Your family doesn't want you there. The planet is too cold, and it's too wet, and the skies are too dark. You prefer the artificial sunlight and the artificial warmth and the bright lights that never turn off. 
The only problem is the people. They're everywhere, all the time. In your apartment building. In the precinct. In the cantinas. On the speeders. And you hate the crowds. You hate the noise. You hate the way everyone is always talking, and the way they walk with no regard for anyone else, and the way they never seem to shut up, and...
Hound is still watching you, his expression worried. You shake your head and manage a smile.
"No," you say, taking another bite of the dumpling. "I think I'll stick around a little longer."
"Good."
His relief is palpable, and a wave of guilt washes over you. How did he manage to wriggle his way into your life? Why does he care about what happens to you? How does he even know what's wrong?
You don't have any answers, and the more you try to figure it out, the more confused you become. It's just Hound. He's just a clone. He's a good guy, a kind man, a decent human being, but why is he different from the others?
You've met other clones. You've met other guards. They're all polite and courteous, but none of them have gone out of their way to befriend you. None of them have spent the time and energy Hound has, and none of them have ever given you a reason to trust them. Not like Hound has. Not like he continues to.
He's always around, always ready to lend a hand. He's a constant presence in your life, a constant source of comfort and support. You didn't ask for him, and yet, there he is, a bright light in the darkness that surrounds you.
"I mean, I don't have a reason to go anywhere," you say. You're trying to sound casual, but you're failing. His eyes are focused on your face, and he's not blinking. You're not sure what's happening, or why, but it's making you uncomfortable. "But if I did, it'd be too much trouble to uproot everything and move, right?"
"Right."
"Besides, I have a job. And an apartment. And my boss isn't a complete dick, which is more than most people can say." You smile at him, but his expression doesn't change. He's still looking at you, his dark eyes intense, and the feeling of unease grows. "And I like my work. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes it's boring."
"I understand," he says, nodding. He doesn't smile. You swallow hard, then look down at your plate.
"And... I don't know, there are perks." You give a small shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, and hope that the sudden heat in your cheeks isn't noticeable.
"Perks?" he asks. His eyebrows rise, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Like what?"
"You know," you say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Things."
"What things?"
He's teasing you, now, and you're blushing.
"Just things." You shove the rest of the dumpling into your mouth and chew slowly, trying to buy yourself some time. "Grizzer. And, um..."
"And?" 
Hound is smiling at you now, and it's hard not to return it. It's just so damn contagious. It's like looking at the sun, or standing next to a star. It's hard to look away.
"Don't make me say it."
"I wanna hear you say it."
"Hound..."
"Please?"
"Ugh, fine," you sigh. You roll your eyes and set the empty dumpling container aside, then lean back in your chair. "You, okay? Happy now?"
His smile widens, lighting up his entire face. It's impossible not to smile back. You can feel it spreading across your face, and there's nothing you can do about it.
"Yeah, actually. I'm pretty happy," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks."
"Good. Now shut up and eat."
You look down at the remaining food, but suddenly, you're no longer hungry. Instead, you find yourself glancing at him from beneath your lashes. He's digging back into the noodles, and Grizzer is sprawled out at his feet, chewing on a bone.
Maybe it's not so bad.
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It becomes a routine after that.
Hound comes down almost every day after his shift to hang out and have lunch with you. Sometimes he brings Grizzer, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has food, sometimes he doesn't. It's not much, but it's something. It's a bit of comfort, a bit of normality, a bit of light in the otherwise dull, colorless life you're living.
And once, when you're knee-deep in a complicated case and you forget to eat, he brings food down for you anyway. He doesn't stay. He just leaves it on the table and goes back upstairs, but not before making sure you know it's there. It's a simple gesture, and it's sweet, and it makes your heart flutter.
You aren't used to that. You aren't used to people going out of their way to make sure that you're taken care of. It's not something you've ever really experienced. But now that you've seen it, felt it, you aren't sure if you'll be able to live without it.
The next time he comes down, you're not surprised. You're expecting him. Hound still waits for permission to enter your space, and you're secretly pleased by that. You're grateful that he respects the boundaries you've set, especially since most people don't. They think they can intrude, can walk right into the lab, because they have clearance. Hound, however, does not, and so he always knocks. Always waits. Always gives you a moment to prepare.
You've also gotten used to his presence, and it's easy enough to keep working while he chats away.
Today, though, the conversation has died, and you've gone back to your paperwork. He's quiet, and there's an odd tension in the air that you can't quite pinpoint. You can feel it, and you're fairly certain that he can, too. You want to ask, but you don't. You know him well enough by now to know that he'll tell you if something's bothering him.
"Hey," he finally says, and you look up from your work. He's sitting across the room, still eating his food, but he's not looking at you. His attention is fixed on the table, his jaw clenched.
"What's up?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Trying not to show your concern. He's fidgeting with the lid of the empty food container, his hands moving faster than usual.
"Are you busy later tonight?"
"Probably," you say. "Why?"
"Just curious," he says with a shrug, and he turns his attention back to his meal.
He's lying. He's a terrible liar, and the fact that he's refusing to make eye contact only proves that something's wrong. You put down the stylus you'd been using and turn your chair to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Why?"
He shrugs again and shoves a large bite of noodles into his mouth.
"Hound."
He chews and swallows, and the frown deepens. He doesn't answer.
"Hound," you repeat, a bit more forcefully. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're obviously upset about something," you point out. You lean forward in your chair and rest your elbows on your knees, watching him. "Did I do something? Did I piss off someone in the Guard again? I swear, they can't handle constructive criticism."
He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. "No. It's nothing like that."
"Then what is it?"
He opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head again. His dark curls bounce around his face, and you're distracted for a moment. Then, before you can ask again, he stands. He gathers the garbage from the table and puts it into the recycler, then heads for the stairs.
"Hound."
He freezes in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. He looks like he's debating whether or not to leave. Finally, he turns and gives you a sheepish smile, his face turning red. 
"There's an officer's gala tonight," he says, and your brow furrows. What's so bad about that?
"Okay," you say slowly.
Hound stares at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching, as if he's waiting for a response. You have no idea what he wants you to say, or how you're supposed to respond, and so you wait. You sit and stare, and his discomfort grows.
"I'm invited," he says. He's starting to fidget again, and his voice is quieter. "They're supposed to have good food and decent booze. It'll be a nice night out."
"Sounds like fun," you hum, nodding. Not for you, but that's not the point. He's a social person, and you're not. It makes sense. "I'm glad you're going."
"So, are you coming with me?"
Your jaw drops, and you nearly fall out of your chair. It takes a second for the question to sink in, and even longer for it to register. Is he serious? Does he really expect you to go with him? To an event where there will be dozens, if not hundreds, of people? You're not sure if he's joking or not. If this is a trick, it's a cruel one.
"Wait, what?"
Hound looks like he wants to disappear, and the flush on his cheeks has darkened.
"I mean, you don't have to," he says, shaking his head. "It's fine. I know it's not really your scene, but I thought maybe—"
"You're serious?" you ask. Your heart is pounding. You can feel it in your throat, and in your chest, and in your ears.
"Well, I figured, y'know, since I have to go, I might as well make the most of it. So I was wondering if you'd like to come with me," he says, his voice a low rumble. He's practically mumbling, and you have to strain your ears to hear him. "As, y'know, a date. Maybe."
"Me?" you ask, barely able to find your voice.
"Yes, you," he laughs. It's a bit forced, and the nervousness in his voice is obvious. "No one else is down here, so I'd have to be talking to them."
"Right, but..."
"Look, if you don't want to, it's fine," he says. "I know this isn't your thing. I just thought, y'know, we could spend some time together, outside of this place."
You stare at him, unsure of what to say or do. He wants to take you out on a date? He wants you to be his date to the gala? He wants to spend time with you outside of the morgue, when there are other things that could easily catch his attention? He actually wants to spend time with you, of all people?
"Hound, I... I don't think..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to find the words. How do you tell him that it's not a good idea without hurting his feelings?
"Oh." His face falls, and he looks so disappointed that you immediately feel guilty.
"No, I didn't mean—"
"Nah, I get it," he interrupts, waving his hand. He forces a smile. It's fake, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "You're right, it's a dumb idea."
"That's not what I meant," you insist.
"It's cool, don't worry about it."
"Hound, I'm sorry—"
"No, it's fine. It's my fault for bringing it up."
"I don't—"
"It was a stupid idea. Just forget about it. We can—"
"I want to!”
You blurt the words before you can stop yourself, and the moment they're out of your mouth, you wish you could take them back. Your face is hot, and your hands are trembling, and the butterflies are beating their wings against your stomach, but the damage is done. You've already said it, and the shock on Hound's face only confirms it.
"You want to?" he asks, his brows raised.
"Yeah." You duck your head, staring intently at the floor. It's easier than looking at him. "I want to. I'm just... Not good with social stuff."
"You're better than you think," Hound says, his tone soft and warm.
You give a small shrug, and a heavy silence falls over the room. After a few seconds, he speaks again.
"Look, the gala is gonna be boring as hell," he says, and you peek up at him through your lashes. He's grinning, and the warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. "Everyone there is just gonna be kissing each other's asses, and it'll be the same people as always. The same stupid conversations, the same stupid stories, the same stupid shit. And it's not gonna be fun."
"Wow, sounds like a great date," you say sarcastically.
"But if you're there, then it'll be bearable," he finishes. "You'll make it fun. You're always funny, and interesting, and... And..."
His voice trails off, and his face is beet-red. You bite back a smile. He's never this flustered. It's adorable, and it's also a boost to your ego.
"Are you sure?" you ask. "I mean, I don't exactly have a pretty dress, or anything like that. I'm not exactly high-society material."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Wear whatever's comfortable."
"You're sure I'm not gonna be in the way?"
"I'm positive."
"And if I get bored or overwhelmed?"
"Then we can leave and do something else."
"Really?"
"Really."
You pause, thinking, then nod. "Okay. Yeah, sure. I'll come."
"You will?" He looks excited, and his smile widens. "You really will?"
"Yeah," you say, laughing.
"Alright!"
Hound pumps his fist in the air and gives a whoop of victory, then bounds over and wraps his arms around you. Before you can protest, he picks you up and swings you around.
"Hound, put me down!"
After one more swing, he does, and you nearly collapse into his chest. You're dizzy, but his grin is infectious, and soon, you're smiling back. 
"Sorry," he laughs.
"You're ridiculous."
"You're amazing."
The compliment is given so easily, and it's so earnest, that your face heats up. You look away from him, not wanting him to see how much the words mean.
"Anyway," you mutter, pushing him away. "Go do something useful, and let me get back to work."
"Yes sir," he says.
He snaps a salute, his expression still bright, and then turns and runs up the stairs. Grizzer chuffs once, then follows him. He looks so excited that you can't help but smile, and the butterflies finally settle.
It's going to be fine.
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It's not fine.
As soon as your shift ends, you race back to your hole-in-the-wall apartment and tear through your closet, looking for something, anything, that doesn't scream 'I'm socially awkward and I have no idea what I'm doing.'
But the clothes that you brought from Eadu are simple and functional. You hadn't been planning on attending any galas or balls or fancy parties. There's nothing here that screams classy or elegant or sophisticated. It's all cheap, practical, and serviceable, and you're quickly losing hope.
You're about to call the whole thing off when you see a dress tucked into the corner, hidden beneath a stack of towels. You frown, unsure how it got there, then snatch it up and hold it up in front of you.
It's a nice dress, one that your mother had forced you into for a cousin's wedding several years ago. It's a dark, deep blue that fades to black, and the sleeves are long and sheer. The fabric is soft, and it's still in good shape, which means you probably shouldn't have left it buried in the closet for so long.
Sighing, you carry the dress to the bathroom and change. The dress is a little loose, but it's not too bad, and you're able to tighten it enough so it fits. It's not as bad as you remember, and the longer you look at it, the better you feel. This is fine. You can pull this off. It'll be a lot better than the shapeless smock you wear every day, and at least Hound will appreciate the effort.
Your hair is a different story.
It's a mess, and your fingers aren't much help. You're tempted to cut it all off, but you'd promised yourself that you'd never go that route again, no matter how frustrating it is. You need help, and you've got half a mind to comm the office and ask the receptionist for some advice, but she's not much better off than you are. You're just going to have to improvise.
An hour later, you're ready. Or as ready as you're going to be.
The dress fits nicely, and the makeup is the same dark shade as the dress, so at least it goes well together. Your hair is still a bit messy, but you've managed to get it into a bun and pin it down so that most of it is out of your face. You've even found a pair of heels in the back of the closet, and though they pinch a little, they're not unbearable.
When you step outside, the first thing you notice is that the sun is setting. That's not a good sign, because it means that you've already wasted an hour and a half doing nothing.
The second thing you notice is that Hound is leaning against the wall opposite your door, wearing his formal uniform.
He looks gorgeous.
You've never seen him dressed up like this, and it takes a few moments for you to register the sight. The uniform is crisp and clean, with gold buttons and a high collar. There's a single stripe across his chest, signifying his rank, and he's got a medal pinned to his lapel. His hair is slicked back and tidy, and he's even taken the time to polish the mud and dirt from his boots. He looks professional and commanding and sexy.
"Wow."
The word slips out before you can stop it, and Hound's head snaps up. He blinks at you in surprise, then slowly smiles, his eyes roaming over you with blatant appreciation.
"Wow," he echoes, his voice a low rumble.
A flush rises up your neck, and you swallow hard. "Is this okay?"
"Are you kidding?" Hound laughs and crosses the distance between you in a few long strides. He towers over you, but he doesn't feel threatening. In fact, the closer he gets, the safer and more secure you feel. "You look amazing."
"I look like a mess," you say, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
"You look great." He reaches out and tucks the hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin, and the blush spreads further. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and his fingertips are calloused and rough. "You always do."
"Thanks," you mutter.
He tilts his head to the side, and his smile widens. "You're beautiful."
"Stop,” you whine, ducking your head. You're used to Hound's teasing, but not this kind. Not the kind that makes your pulse quicken, or makes your heart stutter.
"No, really, you are."
"Hound..."
"So beautiful."
"I mean it. Stop."
"Gorgeous."
"Hound!"
He laughs and holds his hands up. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."
"Uh huh." You give him a dubious look, then roll your eyes. "Let's go."
"Yes, ma'am," he says. He offers his arm, and you hesitate for a moment before taking it.
It's an odd sensation, touching him. Not bad, necessarily, just odd. You're used to his casual manner, the way he always brushes his shoulder against yours, or the way he nudges you when he wants your attention. But this is different. It's intentional. Intimate.
You're not sure how to feel.
"Shall we?" he asks.
"Yeah," you reply, and your voice comes out soft and breathless.
He leads you out of the building and down the street towards the main avenue. He's tall and solid and sturdy, and his stride is long and confident. The two of you look like an odd pair, and you feel a bit self-conscious. He, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed. Hound keeps up a steady stream of conversation, and you're grateful. It distracts you from the fact that his arm is pressed firmly against yours, and it's difficult not to lean against him.
By the time the two of you reach the venue, the sun has set and the city is lit up with artificial light. You can see the gala from blocks away, and Hound is quick to point out the various dignitaries and important officials who are milling about. He's not particularly interested in politics, and you suspect that the only reason he knows so many names is because it's required of his job. He does, however, enjoy making fun of them behind their backs, and his comments have you in stitches by the time the two of you are in line to enter the hall.
"Ready?" he asks, glancing down at you.
"No," you admit, but there's no point in stalling. It's not like you can turn back now. You'd agreed to come, and the least you can do is stick to it.
"Good," Hound laughs. "I'm not, either."
"Somehow, that's not reassuring," you mutter.
"C'mon, let's go."
He pulls his arm away from yours, and your skin immediately grows cold. Before you can protest, he places a hand on the small of your back and leads you inside. The warmth and security are immediate, and you lean into his touch without thinking. He stiffens for a moment, but he doesn't complain. Instead, he leans closer, and his thumb brushes against the fabric of your dress, stroking in slow circles.
As soon as the two of you step inside, the noise levels increase tenfold. People are shouting, talking, laughing, and dancing, and the band is playing a loud, boisterous song. Everything is bright and loud and colorful, and the smells and sounds and sights are overwhelming. The panic returns, and you freeze. Hound must notice, because he squeezes your waist.
"Breathe," he whispers.
You do as he says, and the tension eases. The noise fades to background static, and the colors stop spinning. Hound doesn't remove his hand, and it's a welcome weight, keeping you anchored to reality.
"I don't know about this," you say, your voice so small and so quiet that it's a wonder he hears you at all. But he does, and he gives you a reassuring smile.
"We don't have to stay," he promises. "If you get uncomfortable, we'll leave. It's not a big deal. We can do whatever you want."
"Really?"
"I mean it." He gives a small shrug, and a slight flush colors his cheeks. "If you wanna ditch, we can ditch. It's no big deal."
You stare at him, dumbfounded, and wonder how you'd ever gotten lucky enough to meet someone like him. Someone who is patient and understanding, who never judges or pries. Someone who just wants you to be happy.
"Thanks," you say.
"Don't mention it," he replies, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Wanna grab a drink?"
"Sure."
He guides you over to the bar, and the two of you order your drinks. He chooses something strong, while you opt for a glass of wine. As soon as the bartender sets the glass in front of you, Hound snatches it up and takes a sip.
"Hound!" you yelp, smacking him lightly on the arm. "What the hell?"
"Sorry, force of habit," he laughs.
"Why the hell are you so used to stealing other people's drinks?"
"Because my brothers are assholes," he says. He puts the glass down and raises his hands in surrender. "I promise, I'll let you drink the rest."
"Damn right, you will," you grumble. You pick up the glass and take a sip, eyeing him over the rim. "I'm watching you."
"I'd expect nothing less," he says, grinning. He reaches over and grabs his own drink, and the two of you clink glasses. "To... I dunno. To whatever the fuck this is."
"To us," you reply, and he laughs.
"Yeah. To us."
He downs the entire glass, then turns and watches the crowd. Couples are pairing off, and the band has started a slow waltz. You spot Commander Thorn with the Senator of Atrisia in the middle of the dance floor, looking rather pleased with himself, and your stomach does a nervous flip. How the hell is she able to wear those heels without tripping and falling? It looks exhausting. And painful.
"Do you wanna dance?"
The question startles you, and you whip your head around. Hound is looking down at you, his brows furrowed, and he seems hesitant.
"I'm sorry?"
"Do you want to dance?"
"Dance?"
"Yeah." He nods towards the floor, and the couples swaying back and forth. You let out a breath, shaking your head, and you take a long sip of your drink.
“Not really, no," you admit.
You watch his shoulders slump, but the look on his face is more relief than disappointment.
"Okay, good," he says, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Oh, thank the Force," you mutter, and he grins.
"Didn't think you'd say yes, honestly."
"And what if I had?" you ask. You arch an eyebrow at him, and the grin widens.
"Then I'd have made an ass of myself trying to impress you," he says. His dark eyes shine with amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Not that I don't normally do that, anyway."
"Mm," you hum. "You do alright."
"Yeah?" he asks. He cocks his head, and the smile disappears. "Really?"
"I mean, yeah." You take a sip of your wine and try not to think about how warm and safe and secure he makes you feel. Or how handsome and charming he is. Or how much he actually cares. "You're not too bad."
"High praise," he laughs, his tone dry. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"I can't tell if you're serious or not," he says, giving you a wry smile.
"I'm very serious," you retort. You're smiling, though, and it's a struggle to keep a straight face. "Dead serious."
"You're awful," he snorts, shaking his head. "Absolutely awful."
"That's why you like me," you tease.
"Well, not the only reason," he murmurs. There's a faint blush on his cheeks, and the expression on his face is far too sweet for someone who is usually so gruff and unruly. "There's plenty of others."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says. He looks away, his eyes darting around the room, and a heavy silence settles over the two of you. He clears his throat, and his hand finds yours. "C'mon, let's go see what they've got for food."
"Sounds good," you reply. You let him lead the way, his fingers laced through yours, and his grip is strong and firm.
It's going to be a long night.
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You end up staying for a couple hours.
The food is excellent, and the booze is decent, and Hound keeps his promise. You stay glued to his side, letting him lead the way and navigate the crowd. He introduces you to some of his friends, and it's not as awful as you'd feared.
You make polite small talk, and laugh at their terrible jokes, and they seem impressed. Thorn even goes as far as to say that you're good for him, and when Hound shoots him a warning look, he only grins.
It's not as awkward as you'd feared, but it's not exactly relaxing. Thankfully, Hound is good at picking up on your cues. When the chatter starts to die down, he knows to make an excuse and move on. When the crowd gets too thick, he pulls you away. When your anxiety starts to mount, he finds a place where the two of you can be alone.
At some point, the two of you find a quiet spot in the corner. He leans against the wall, and you lean against him. The two of you watch the people milling around, and the band strikes up another lively tune. He's still got an arm wrapped around your waist, and his hand is resting on your hip, his fingers tracing slow circles on the fabric of your dress.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.
"I'm fine," you say, and this time, it's the truth. "Thank you for this. I know I'm being difficult, and I'm sorry."
"You're not being difficult." He's smiling, and his fingers move from your hip to the curve of your spine, sliding down your back in a soothing motion. "You're perfect."
You snort, and the butterflies are fluttering madly, beating their wings against your stomach, rising higher and higher. You ignore them and roll your eyes. "Whatever you say, Hound."
"I mean it." He turns his attention away from the crowd and looks down at you, and the intensity in his eyes takes you by surprise. "You're incredible."
"Oh, come on."
"Seriously, you are."
"Hound, I've been a nervous wreck all night. If that's incredible, I hate to hear what you think of the other people here."
"Other people don't matter,” he says. His tone is soft and warm, and the way he's looking at you makes your heart skip a beat.
"Of course they do."
"Why?"
"Because... Well, because..." Your words trail off, and you frown.
That's a good question.
Why does it matter?
Who cares if someone else has a nicer dress or better manners or more friends or a more prestigious title? Why is it important? What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things? You're not even sure anymore, and you find yourself searching for an answer. A good, solid, valid reason that will make sense, but there's nothing. Nothing that isn't completely superficial or trivial.
"They don't," he says. His eyes are fixed on your face, and the intensity of his gaze is unsettling. He's so serious, and his expression is so tender, and it's so unlike him. But before you can respond, he smiles and shrugs. "I'm just sayin'. No one else matters."
"Maybe," you murmur, and your head falls to his shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promises.
You know he's right. He's never lied to you before. He's never been dishonest, or cruel, or uncaring. He's always been considerate and thoughtful and kind, and he's the first person who's cared about you since you left home. He's always there, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, with a smile and a joke and a friendly hello.
He's always there, and that's a good thing.
You take a deep breath and turn your attention away from the crowd and back towards him. He's still watching you, and his expression is soft and open and vulnerable. He's not trying to hide anything, and it makes your heart flutter.
"Good," you whisper, and he smiles.
And then his hand is on your cheek, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his thumb stroking the soft skin just beneath your eye.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his voice rough. "You know that, right?"
You swallow hard and nod, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. Your noses bump together, your lips inches apart, and your breath catches.
"Thank you," you whisper.
He's still watching you, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much. There's a flush on his cheeks, his breath coming out in short, quick puffs. You can tell that he's hesitating. Waiting. Giving you time to react.
You can't speak. You can barely breathe. But your fingers curl around the lapel of his jacket, and you pull him closer. That's all the encouragement he needs, and his lips brush against yours in a featherlight kiss.
The kiss is slow, and soft, and sweet, and the butterflies explode in a whirlwind of emotion and sensation and excitement. Your skin is on fire, the heat spreading from your face down your neck and chest and lower, lower, lower. He's not pushing or demanding. He's gentle and patient and caring, and it's perfect.
When the kiss ends, Hound pulls back, but not far. He's still close enough to press his forehead against yours, and his hand is still on the nape of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair.
"Okay?" he whispers.
You nod, and his smile widens. He leans down and kisses you again, and this time, the butterflies aren't fluttering. They're flying.
It's perfect.
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The rest of the evening is a blur.
Hound is by your side the entire time, keeping you grounded and safe and secure. His hand is on the small of your back, his fingertips gently stroking the fabric of your dress. He keeps his pace slow, matching your steps, and his voice is a low, steady rumble in your ear, whispering little bits of information and gossip and stories. It's easy to tune out the other people, to ignore the music, to focus only on him.
By the time the two of you leave the gala, the moon is high and the streets are mostly empty. Hound walks you home, his hand never leaving your waist. You're both a bit tipsy, and the walk seems much shorter than usual. It's not long before the two of you are outside your door, and he's reluctant to let you go.
"Tonight was nice," you say. You're leaning against him, your face pressed into his chest. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed across your back. His hands are warm, and the heat from his touch is spreading across your skin, sending tingles down your spine.
"It was," he agrees, and his lips brush against the top of your head.
You sigh and relax further, resting your cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a comforting rhythm, and the scent of his cologne is a pleasant mixture of spice and leather. He smells amazing, and you can't resist pressing a quick kiss to the base of his neck. He shivers, his hands tightening on your waist.
"We should do this again," you murmur. "But maybe next time, without so many people."
"Yeah," he chuckles, the sound low and husky. His lips trail along the shell of your ear, and the butterflies are awake again, fluttering lazily. "I'd love to take you out again."
"I'd like that," you whisper.
You want to tell him that you had a great time, that he was a perfect date, that you don't want the night to end. You want to tell him that he's amazing and sweet and kind and generous. You want to tell him that he's the only person who's cared about you in a long time. You want to tell him how much it means to you, and that you'd be happy to do it again.
But the words are stuck in your throat, and the butterflies are blocking the way, so instead, you tilt your head back and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and hooded, and his face is flushed, but his smile is warm and soft. He's looking at you like you're the only person in the world, like he's happy just to be near you.
"Do you want to come inside?" you ask.
It's a risky move, and a bold one. You're not usually so forward, and the alcohol is giving you courage. But you can't deny the desire coursing through your veins, and the thought of him leaving makes you feel empty.
Hound blinks, his eyes shifting from your door and back, and he swallows hard.
"If you want me to," he says. His voice is soft, but there's an edge of desire to it, and it's a struggle to keep your hands from trembling.
"I do," you whisper.
He stares at you for a moment longer, then nods.
"Alright," he murmurs, his voice rough. He presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, and a flush rises up your neck and into your cheeks. "Then I'll come inside.”
His hands are still on your waist, and you reach up and grab his shirt, pulling him closer. His breath hitches as his body comes flush against yours, and his grip tightens. The kiss is more passionate this time, less hesitant and timid, and it sets your nerves alight. The butterflies are in full force now, and they're flying so fast and hard that you're sure they're going to escape.
The two of you stumble into the apartment, barely managing to shut the door behind you. Your hands are buried in his hair, and his are wandering up and down your sides, tracing the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts. You pull away for a moment, trying to catch your breath, and Hound immediately starts pressing a series of quick, sloppy kisses along the length of your jaw.
"I've wanted to do this for a while," he whispers, his voice hoarse.
"Me too," you admit, a bit breathless.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad."
He captures your lips in another kiss, and his tongue slips into your mouth. The kiss is rough and wet and hot, and you moan into his mouth, gripping his shirt tighter.
Your legs hit the edge of the couch, and you fall backwards onto the cushions, dragging him down with you. He lands on top of you, and the sudden weight causes you to yelp in surprise. He catches himself at the last second, bracing himself with his arms, and he breaks the kiss.
"You okay?" he pants, his voice hoarse.
"Yeah, sorry," you mutter.
He grins and ducks his head, resuming his trail of kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Your head falls back, and you moan, tugging at the hem of his shirt. His lips are searing, and the heat is spreading across your skin, setting every inch of you aflame.
He's intoxicating, and you want more.
You push him off, and the two of you scramble to your feet. He grabs the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head, tossing it to the side. You're not sure where it lands, and you don't care. Your attention is focused on him and him alone. You're staring, shamelessly drinking in the sight, and your mouth goes dry.
He's built like a mountain, broad and thick, and his skin is covered in a patchwork of scars and tattoos. You can't stop yourself from reaching out and running your hands along the smooth planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. The muscles flex under your fingertips, and his eyes drift shut.
He's practically vibrating with anticipation, and when your fingers hook into the waistband of his trousers, he grabs your waist and pulls you close. He doesn't have to say anything, because his eyes are screaming. They're full of want, desire, need. You can feel it in the air between the two of you, heavy with anticipation, with promise.
You reach up and cup his cheek, running your thumb along his lower lip. He parts his lips, and his tongue flicks out, teasing the pad of your thumb. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.
The two of you move together, and your lips crash against his in a bruising kiss. You're a tangle of limbs, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. His hands are wandering, sliding over the curve of your ass and up the length of your back. He grabs the zipper at the top of your dress and slowly pulls it down, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin.
The dress pools around your feet, and he lets out a low whistle.
"Goddamn," he breathes as his gaze roams over your body.
You bite your lip and look away, suddenly embarrassed. Your face is burning, and you wish the butterflies would go away. But they're relentless, and they're not going anywhere.
"Hey, look at me," he says, his voice low and soft.
He places a finger beneath your chin and gently tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression is tender, and the smile he gives you is full of affection. He leans down and presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hands sliding over your shoulders and down your arms.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs.
"You're not so bad yourself," you reply.
He chuckles and shakes his head. "You have no idea, do you?"
"What?"
"How gorgeous you are." He cups your cheek and traces the curve of your jaw, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "You're incredible."
"So are you."
"No, I'm not," he laughs, his hand sliding up your neck to tug gently at a loose strand of hair. "I'm just a guy who somehow managed to convince the most amazing woman in the galaxy to go on a date with him."
"Shut up," you scoff.
"It's true," he says, and there's a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "I'm lucky to have met you."
"Hound..."
"So, so lucky," he repeats. He leans down and brushes his lips against yours. It's a quick, fleeting kiss, but it's enough to make your heart stutter. "You're incredible."
"Hound, shut up," you groan.
He laughs, the sound rich and deep, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.
"Make me."
You reach up and grab the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair, and you press your mouth against his. The kiss is hungry, desperate, demanding, your lips parting, tongues clashing, teeth biting, noses bumping. He growls, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your body.
When the kiss ends, he's still holding you, and his forehead is pressed against yours.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his breath hot against your cheek.
"Yes," you breathe.
"I don't want to rush—"
"Hound, if you stop now, I'll kick your ass."
He laughs and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you easily. Your legs automatically wrap around his hips, and he carries you into the bedroom, his lips trailing along the column of your throat. The mattress hits the back of his legs, and he sits down, settling you in his lap. You straddle his thighs, your knees digging into the soft fabric of the bedspread, and you bury your hands in his hair.
He slides his palms over the curve of your ass, squeezing and massaging the supple flesh. His mouth finds yours, and his tongue slips past your lips, exploring and teasing. The taste of alcohol is still heavy on his breath, but beneath it is something else. Something stronger. Something darker.
You're vaguely aware of him reaching for the clasp of your bra, and it loosens, falling away. You break the kiss and pull back, and the expression on his face nearly undoes you. The raw, naked hunger in his eyes is enough to make the butterflies beat their wings wildly, and you can't help but grin.
"See something you like?" you tease, and he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"Fuck, yes," he growls.
He cups your breasts, his fingers teasing and pinching, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hips shift as his thumbs rub against your nipples, grinding down against him. The first brush of your clothed pussy against his erection is electric, and the noise he makes sends a fresh wave of heat washing over you.
He's hard and thick, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. You roll your hips again, and his hands tighten on your breasts, his nails digging into the sensitive skin. The pain is delicious, and you moan, rocking against him again. He groans, his hips jerking, and his lips find yours. The kiss is rough and demanding, and his tongue is practically fucking your mouth, licking and stroking in time with the movements of your hips.
He pulls away, his eyes wild, and his hands leave your breasts, sliding down your sides to settle on your waist. He holds you still as he thrusts up, grinding his cock against your pussy. You gasp and moan, your head falling back, and his mouth finds the exposed flesh of your throat. He latches onto the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, sucking and biting. He's leaving a mark, and the thought excites you more than you'd like to admit.
His hands move lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and he lifts you up, rolling the two of you over. He looms over you, his body a solid wall of muscle, and he kisses you, slow and deep. Hound shifts, and his knee spreads your legs wide, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. You whimper into his mouth, bucking your hips, trying to find some relief from the building pressure against the hard muscle of his thigh.
Hound pulls away, and you groan, reaching for him, trying to drag him back. He's too far away, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin.
"Last chance," he whispers. The husky tone of his voice, coupled with the sight of his eyes, dark and hungry, sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, straight to your core. "Are you sure?"
You nod, unable to find the words.
"Tell me," he says, and his thumb slides under the thin strap of your panties. He teases the edge of the fabric, tracing lazy circles over the curve of your hip. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," you breathe, the words coming out as a needy whine.
His eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face. It's not the playful, easy smile that you're used to seeing. It's wolfish and predatory, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
He hooks a finger into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, tossing the ruined fabric aside. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, both of you breathing hard, chests rising and falling in sync, before he descends with a low growl. He licks a slow, teasing line up the inside of your thigh, stopping just shy of your aching pussy. His lips ghost over your mound, the lightest of touches, before moving to the other thigh, repeating the torturous action.
The first swipe of his tongue against your clit makes you cry out, the sound echoing off the walls. He laps at the sensitive bud, swirling around it, then presses the flat of his tongue against the folds of your pussy, lapping at the wetness leaking from your core. You buck your hips, desperately grinding against his face, but he holds you still, keeping his movements steady.
"Fuck," you gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily.
His tongue plunges inside you, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you open. His eyes are closed, and his expression is one of pure bliss. He's moaning, his tongue darting in and out, tasting every inch of you. You bury a hand in his hair, tugging at the short strands, urging him on.
He's relentless, devouring you, his tongue thrusting in and out of your cunt. His thumb brushes against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, and you gasp, arching off the bed. You're close, the pressure building and building, and his tongue moves faster, curling and twisting inside you.
You're not going to last.
You're not sure if it's the alcohol, or his enthusiasm, or the sheer fact that it's Hound who's between your legs, but you're already close to the edge. The pleasure is overwhelming, flooding your body, washing over you like a wave.
"Please, Hound, I need to come," you plead. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop..."
His grip on your thighs tightens, his tongue thrusting faster, deeper, harder. He moans, the sound muffled by your cunt, his lips sucking at the sensitive bud of nerves. Your hips jerk, grinding against his face, the pressure building and building until it's almost too much. You can feel it, the orgasm just out of reach. It's just a matter of seconds. A matter of moments.
And then you're flying, your entire body trembling, shaking, pulsing. You're vaguely aware of the loud, ragged moan that escapes you, but you're too lost in the pleasure to care. The orgasm rips through you, crashing over you like a tidal wave, drowning out everything except the feeling of his tongue fucking your cunt.
You're panting, gasping, writhing on the sheets, every nerve ending on fire. Your body is shaking, your muscles twitching, and it takes several moments before the aftershocks finally subside. When the last one passes, you're left breathless and boneless, sprawled on the bed, struggling to catch your breath.
You feel a rush of cool air as Hound pulls away, the sound of his belt being unbuckled barely registering. Your head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering open. He's standing next to the bed, his pants hanging loose around his hips, his cock standing proud, flushed and achingly hard. He's looking down at you, his gaze hooded, his pupils blown wide.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" he murmurs. His voice is low, husky, full of desire.
"Probably as long as I've wanted it," you say. You reach up, fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him towards you. He hurriedly kicks off his pants, nearly tripping over the fabric in his haste, then settles over you, his hands planted on either side of your head.
"How's that possible?" he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Because we're idiots," you laugh. You reach up and grab his neck, tugging him down, and he dips his head, capturing your lips in a kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself.
"Maybe," he agrees, the word a soft sigh against your mouth. "But I don't care."
"Me neither," you whisper, a slight smile curling the corners of your lips.
You shift, spreading your legs, welcoming him into the cradle of your thighs. His cock brushes against your folds, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins, and the two of you groan. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his heart pounding against your chest, the scent of his cologne filling the air. He's everywhere, surrounding you, enveloping you, drowning you in his warmth.
Hound shifts, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Precum is leaking from the tip, and the head is flushed red, almost purple with need. He lines himself up, the head teasing your entrance, but he doesn't push inside. Instead, he slowly circles the swollen bundle of nerves, coating his cock with your slick as he leans forward and braces himself on his forearm. 
His mouth finds yours, kissing you deep, his tongue plunging into your mouth, mimicking the slow, lazy movements of his hips. The kiss is intense, possessive, claiming. He's branding you with his touch, his taste, his scent. He's marking you as his, and it's perfect.
The head of his cock slips inside you, and he moans, his body shuddering.
"Tell me what you want," he whispers, his voice rough.
"I want you," you whimper.
He thrusts, sinking in another inch, and you cry out. He's stretching you open, and the feeling is incredible. Your walls flutter, your hips bucking, but he's holding you in place, pinning you to the mattress.
"Say it again," he growls, his teeth grazing your earlobe.
"I want you," you moan, the words coming out in a breathy, needy rush.
He pulls back, the head of his cock just barely stretching your entrance. The sudden loss of his warmth makes you whimper, but before you can protest, he surges forward, filling you completely.
Every inch of you is burning, every nerve ending screaming. You're full, stretched to the limit, molded perfectly to the shape of his cock. His body is flush against yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hips rock, grinding his pelvis against your clit, setting off another round of sparks.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans. "So fucking good."
His words send a thrill through you, your cunt tightening around his cock. He curses, his hips jerking, and his hand finds your stomach, pressing down.
"Easy," he murmurs. "Don't want to hurt you."
"You're not," you gasp, and your walls ripple around him again. He moans, his head dropping to your shoulder.
"Fuck," he hisses. "Don't do that. Not yet."
You can't help but laugh, breathless and lightheaded. He's being so sweet and careful, and you can't resist the urge to push him a little further. You contract again, squeezing and releasing, feeling every inch of him buried deep inside you.
Hound's head snaps up, his eyes wild, his nostrils flaring. There's a moment where the two of you stare at each other, neither one of you moving. And then, in one smooth, powerful thrust, he drives his cock all the way inside you.
Your back arches, and his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, biting and sucking. His teeth graze the bruised flesh, and his hips snap, his cock slamming into you.
You cry out, nails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders. He sets a slow rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate. He's not holding back anymore, and neither are you. His hands are on your waist, and he's slamming his cock into you, each thrust punctuated by a sharp slap of skin on skin. You're moaning and gasping, and his name falls from your lips, over and over.
You can feel another orgasm building as he picks up the pace, and the heat is spreading, coiling and twisting. His cock is hitting all the right spots, and you're so close, the edge just out of reach.
He leans back, his hands moving to your thighs, spreading you open. The new angle is deeper, and his cock is rubbing against the spongy patch of nerves. He's breathing hard, his chest heaving, and his eyes are dark and hungry.
"Come for me," he rasps. "I want to see you come on my cock."
You cry out, and your fingers twist in the sheets, gripping the fabric tightly. He's pounding into you, his hips slamming against yours, his cock driving you higher and higher. The heat is spreading, and the colors are blurring, and the only thing you can focus on is him, and the feel of him, and the taste of him, and the smell of him.
He's everywhere, and it's too much.
The coil snaps, and the orgasm rips through you, tearing a scream from your lips. Your back arches, and your cunt convulses, tightening around his cock like a vise. His breath hitches, and his hands grip your thighs tightly.
"Fuck," he grunts, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing. "Where?"
It takes a moment for the question to register, but when it does, you manage to find your voice.
"Inside," you gasp. "Please, Hound—“
That's all the encouragement he needs. His cock pulses, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The heat spreads into your core, his cum filling you, and the aftershocks wash over you, the waves crashing and rolling, leaving you boneless and spent.
His arms wrap around you, and he rolls the two of you over. He's still buried deep inside you, and the feeling of his cock pulsing and twitching is almost enough to make you come again. You're both shaking, and he's muttering something, his words jumbled and unintelligible.
You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, his cock buried inside you, your bodies tangled together. But eventually, the pleasure subsides, and you can breathe again. You press a kiss to his collarbone, then his shoulder, and his grip tightens around you.
"I'm not sure if I'm dreaming," he says, and the admission is so earnest, so vulnerable, that it nearly breaks your heart. "You're real, right?"
"As real as it gets," you reply. You rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. "Promise."
He lets out a sigh, and his grip relaxes, his hands sliding over your sides, down your back, along the curve of your ass. You run a hand through his hair, smoothing the messy strands. He shifts to lean into your touch, and his softened cock slips free, leaving a trail of his seed across your thigh.
"You okay?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear.
"Mhm," you hum as you kiss his neck.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His tone is soft, and there's a note of concern in his voice.
"No," you whisper.
He lets out a sigh, and his lips press against your cheek, featherlight.
"Good," he murmurs.
The two of you lay there, your bodies entwined until eventually Hound moves, rolling you onto your side before sitting up and stretching. He runs a hand through his hair, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple. 
You watch, enjoying the view, but you can't help the way your heart sinks as he gets up. You know that he's going to leave, and the realization is a sharp stab of disappointment. You try not to let it show, and you do your best to keep your expression neutral.
But he must sense it, because he pauses and looks at you, his brow furrowed.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"I'm fine," you reply, not wanting to admit the truth. You don't want him to think that you're clingy or needy or dependent. That's not who you are. At least, it's not who you want to be.
"You sure?" He studies you, and the look in his eyes is thoughtful. "You seem a bit...tense."
"I'm fine," you say, giving him a smile. "Just tired."
He snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm sure."
He moves to the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth, and he sits down beside you, cleaning up the mess that he left. He's gentle, careful, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers tremble slightly as they move over your skin.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," he says, his tone apologetic. "I wasn't planning on taking things this far."
"I wasn't either," you admit.
"Well, shit." He tosses the cloth to the side, and the grin that spreads across his face is lopsided and endearing. "Now what?"
"We can pretend this didn't happen," you suggest, even though the idea leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Hound’s brow furrows, and his smile fades.
"Why would we do that?" he asks, his tone incredulous.
"Because..." Your words trail off, and your heart races.
Because you don't want him to think you're desperate. Because you don't want to scare him off. Because you don't want to ruin the friendship that the two of you have built. Because you don't want him to regret it.
He sighs and reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek, and the gesture is tender and gentle.
"Hey," he says, his voice low. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
"But—"
"Listen." He takes a deep breath, and his hand falls to the bed, his fingers tangling with yours. "I like you. I really, really like you. And if you want to pretend this didn't happen, we can. But if you want to see where things go, I'd like that, too."
"Really?" 
"Really," he says.
You swallow hard, trying to find the words. He's giving you an out, a way to save face, a chance to take a step back. But you don't want to do that. You don't want to lose him. You don't want to pretend that this didn't happen. You don't want to go back to the way things were.
You take a deep breath, and his fingers squeeze yours.
"Hound," you begin, then pause, collecting your thoughts.
"It's okay," he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "I get it."
"I like you," you finally manage, the words tumbling out in a rush. "And I'm sorry. I know I'm bad at this. But I like you. And I want to see where things go."
"Oh, thank fuck," he breathes, and the relief in his voice is palpable.
"What?"
"I was worried you were going to say you regretted it." He grins, and the tension drains from his shoulders. "I was worried you were going to tell me to leave."
"Never," you reply, your heart leaping. "I'll never regret this."
"Good."
He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It's different from the others. There's no urgency, no desperation. It's sweet, and tender, and full of promise.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers when the kiss ends. Then his mouth twists, and he looks away, his voice turning sheepish. “Well, I can leave if you want. If you need some time alone, or some space, or—"
"Stay," you interrupt.
His smile widens, and he squeezes your hand.
"Okay," he says.
He pulls the covers over the two of you and lies down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you close, and you nestle against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body.
"Thank you," you murmur, your voice thick with sleep.
"For what?"
"For tonight. For everything."
"Of course."
You're tired, and it's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. You can feel yourself starting to drift off, and the last thing you remember before sleep claims you is the feeling of his lips pressed against the top of your head, and the soft, steady rhythm of his heart.
You fall asleep with a smile on your face, the warmth of his body chasing away the last vestiges of loneliness.
And when you wake, he's still there, holding you tight.
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official-darkforest · 10 months ago
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i am SOOO unbelievably thrilled by your anthro au omg. do you have fashion ideas for the characters? like their favorite outfits, fabrics, etc? imo one of the best parts of anthro characters is deciding how they'd express themselves through their clothing :]
I HAVE A FEW ALREADY!!!! i dont have many specifics because theres so many characters ahd i havent drawn them all yet LOL but i'll share the ones i do have at least SOMETHING for
im also trying to keep these reasonable for the time period and location, as in my au the clan cats are mostly rural and in small towns set (mostly) before the 2000s so most may dress more modest and conservative (especially if theyre older and very religious)
squirrelflight - the best i can describe her sense of fashion is that it ranged from tomboy as a younger girl and is currently closer to a working class butch. im not sure if masc would be a more appropriate term since i dont hc her as a lesbian (shes bi) but she dresses "like a man" and owns a lot of jeans, slacks, and button-up shirts of all kinds of fabrics and patterns. she also enjoys bright colors as well, but as she got older her fashuon sense got a little more sensible and less "loud" like it was in the 60s and 70s. she also has glasses like her daddy once shes like 35 or so. she and firestar dressed very similarly, and a lot of her shirts and neckties are things she stole from his closet
feathertail - very feminine. hippie adjacent, lots of loose and flowing garments and jingly pieces. breatheable clothes and open toed shoes. her favorite swimsuit had some little frilly bits on it i think. often combines neutral earthy tones with blues and whites
crowfeather - lots of handmedowns from his father. clothes you can do farmwork in like jeans, overalls, hardy flannel/denim shirts and boots. never grew out of this and still dresses this way and he likes it
jayfeather - he looks like a modernized (as far as the 80s goes) version of his father - same hairstyle snd way of dress. he isnt too formal but does have some more preppiness to his clothing style (polo shirts and sweaters). he avoids full button downs since buttoning them himself jjust gets frustrating since he cant match them up every time. new wave band shirts. he also wears orange tinted glasses to protect his eyes (in this au i wrote that hes able to perceive shadows and light pretty okay, but not much else beyond that) And Kinda As A Fashion Statement cuz it goes well with his facial structure and hairstyle i think
lionblaze - hes like if the stereotypical jock and stereotypical 80s rock+metal enthusiast had a baby. muscle tees and bandanas, ripped jeans, those absurdly short shorts, crop tops, etc. he's a drummer i think if that matters LOL
ivypool - punk, also sorta like joan jett to an extent. very homemade, tho sometimes she gets lazy and doesnt really commit to the outfits all the way (but definitely has the mindset, dint get me wrong). one of those girls with a chest small enough to go braless 99% of the time; wears a lot of tank tops and sleeveless shirts LOL
bone/brick/scourge - just google "the outsiders movie" or "greaser" and you'll get the idea. tho i imagine these three in particular also have some kind of bare minimum formalwear scraped together from their escapades. theyre kinda like the jetts/sharks from west side story if that helps at all
daisy - she combines flowing, pretty dresses with a sunhat and work boots. she also teaches horseback riding and owns a few (its a business she runs w smokey and floss. i think its be funny if they were polyam ITS MY AU I CAN CHANGE WHAT I WANT) and she has horseback-appropriate clothing as well
poppyfrost - THEE preppy girl of the 80s. big hair, perm and all. dresses with pastel colors. her sisters cinderheart and honeyfern are pretty similar, tho i imagine honeyfern is a little more sporty and cinderheart takes inspiration from madonna once shes trying to court lionblaze
hazeltail - long haired country girl butch. enough said
spottedleaf snd cinderpelt are nuns lol
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neon-candies · 1 year ago
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Hi! so in a previous ask, you said that al didn't actually care for Annie at first but she eventually grew on him, I was wondering when that was? as in about how old she was? and if it was some specific event made him start to care?
Hmmm I'd say it was a gradual thing. Slow attachment for the first few months of Annie's life. His motivation was just to make Angel happy, so taking care of Annie was a given. But he generally saw her more of a "thing to make Angel happy" rather than his child.
Alastor assumed Annie was a spider doll through and through, with no trace of himself. An actual child (unless they are adopted or other circumstances) usually carries traits from both parents. Even if one pair of traits dominates the other, there's still SOME evidence of both parents. So at first Alastor didn't really register Annie as HIS child. Annie was Angel's child. He was just there to help and support Angel's wants and desires. But upon learning that when using her magic, she grew ears like his and could mess with shadows (to an extent), it was probably around then that Alastor's care for Annie started rising at an extremely fast rate. Because with that it hit him that yeah, she's his kid too. It's why Alastor is so delighted whenever he sees her ears and why he'll heckle her to get her to show them. And when she made herself little antlers he was over the moon and probably insufferable.
Tbh I think of Alastor as that one meme of "dad didn't want a cat. Dad and the cat now" and the cat is all cuddled up to the dad and the dad is cuddling the cat. That's my take on Alastor and his gradual affection growth for Annie. It wasn't till Annie was maybe almost a year old that Alastor could say he cared for her more than just surface level. But he was still shit at parenting her lmao. Full laissez faire mindset.
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justapigeonn · 1 year ago
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sorry sorry i'm on a full on dotc ramble rn cause i'm properly reading the arc for the first time but i wanna know why this value was later overturned. it'll probably 'explain' later on in the arc but tall shadow correctly points out that your loved ones are most important and should never be cast aside for 'the greater good of the group', yet the modern clans have such a toxic opposing mindset
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clear sky is very obviously painted in the wrong here so why is it his rhetoric that gets adopted and carried on through generations of cats?? “if you are not useful to the group, you are nothing to us”..... the rhetoric that tore so many cats apart and ruined lives. again the books will probably make up some lame excuse later on but i’m completely stumped here
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also ofc i’m aware that the cruel ableism influencing clear sky’s decision here has been MOSTLY phased out (briarlight, cinderpelt, longtail and brightheart for example are still loved and accepted within their clan, though the 4 of them still struggles with issues of self worth and for a period of time, only feeling as though they are valued if they’re ‘useful’ to the clan, which is incredibly sad and often influenced by their clanmates’ behaviour, even if it’s sometimes unintentional), but this also extends to cats who have been forced to choose between their clans of the cat(s) they love - always frowned upon and shunned if they choose the latter. it’s the same thing i discussed in an earlier post regarding bluestar; how she’s forced to give up and forget every cat she’s loved and lost ‘to save her clan’ because according to goosefeather “her loss is small compared to the fate of her clan”. how this value is framed as an obvious catch by mapleshade as she manipulates crookedstar as he’s forced to watch everyone he loved die around him as he wails to take back his promise.
there are so many mixed messages regarding this value cause despite the agony it caused it was carried on through the clans for decades and is only *just* partially starting to get phased out with the code changes in asc. still baffles me tho. sorry might have gone a bit off tangent there but i had to get my thoughts out lol
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coyotechicken · 4 months ago
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Animal that I've become...
I don't know if I fully understand what it means to be therian/otherkin/alterhuman/etc., but it's definitely something that's been a part of me my whole life.
I've been intrigued ever since I discovered otherkin cringe compilations on YouTube, and as much as half of me was, "heehee hoohoo cringey", I was also "this is so cool". I was 12 or 13 around the time I learned about it, and the friends I had liked to make fun, so I put myself in that box and made fun as well. I had 1 or 2 friends I could have probably talked to about it, but I was pretty locked in the mindset of judgement, so I didn't want to actually talk seriously about it with anyone.
Since then, it's always been in the back of my mind.
Growing up, the feeling of difference was apparent to me. I'd considered having adhd or autism. I haven't been tested and I don't think I ever will be; and I'm content with that.
I daydreamed a lot. A LOT. I dreamed about creatures, freedom from humanity, flight, anything that I couldn't have. So badly I wanted to just transform into an animal and run away into the woods. To grow a pair of feathered wings from my back and fly far above the clouds. I watched countless videos on YouTube about spells and tutorials on how to transform into a wolf/dog, how to shapeshift, and how to grow wings. Honestly, that was probably an earlier introduction to otherkin. I had to be like... 9? 10? Before that, I knew I wanted to be an animal. And that was certainly always.
I had my moments as a kid/teen, walking on fours, growling, listening in on noises and feeling my "ears" flicking and moving towards the sounds, a "tail" wagging behind me, laying with the dog like I was one, digging with my "paws" but being sad I didn't have the claws to really DIG. A multitude of things that I think of being normal kid things, but do all kids feel that way? Even so, do they still? I've pushed a lot of those thoughts and feelings aside, and I stopped acting like an animal when it would be obvious to people. I am very shy and embarrassed when it comes to this. I still have these feelings, but I'm just afraid to be open with them. The most I do is snarl when I'm touched sometimes. I also like to mimic the noises of creatures I come across; dogs, cats, birds, bugs, whatever, I like to respond and think they understand me in some weird way. I've also figured out hyena whoops, and am so happy inside when I do them. These things definitely get me thinking...
A couple years ago I started getting into psychedelics, and trying shrooms definitely opened a door for me. It was as if a barrier in my mind had fallen, and I could finally be myself: a creature. A creature that was so undoubtedly me, it was alive, rattling in my bones and biting at my flesh. A creature that slinks about in the shadows, piercing eyes glowing through the darkness. A creature that rolls around in the dirt and grass, covering itself in a layer of Earth. A creature that huffs, snarls, purrs, barks, caws, bleats, whoops, screeches, and howls. A creature that I am. I've only done them around someone else though, so in reality I'm only pawing at the floor and pouncing at one spot and making my noises. Not too out of the ordinary for a shroom trip I suppose. How silly.
I think I've yapped about this long enough. I made this account with the intention of freedom of expression, and this is included in that. I hope to explore this part of myself more and learn to be more open with it. Yippee
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justanotherpersonsuniverse · 10 months ago
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SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 70 PN BELOW Lets fucking go cap! ok it’s the weekend, I have my own writing block and I finally finished my fucking assignments and handed them in, I’m practically free forever!! (exams loom in the distance, i willfully ignore their shadow)
I’ve started by reading from chapter 67 just to bring myself back into the mindset (and because they are hype as all hell chapters), this is faster than starting my like 7th re-read.
I even made myself a cuppa to really settle in, the vibes are immaculate, I played Bizet Carmen while reading this time
The dichotomy of Juleka:
I don't want to hurt anyone!
Extreme violence is efficient. 
The fact that we didn’t get ladybug trying to kiss rena when she was shot by dark cupid is tragic
This time i listened to shoot to thrill by ACDC, and Burn it down by awolnation for the badass parts
Anyway finally onto Fei, that only took me two hours (i briefly wrote shit so yknow, a good time!)
Fei’s tragic backstory be upsetting frfr, Like damn brother you watched your dad die in front of you? Do you need a blanket and a hug?
The tone change from “My life ended when my dad died.” to “summer was awesome!!” made me snort horrible it’s not funny- but it kind of is-
Oh my god Juleka got a break for weeks AND WE DIDN’T GET TO SEE IT??? Tragedy. (i’m kidding, so happy that she got a break <33)
Rose thirsting over Panthera in a crop top is too funny- you just know if it was anyone else Juleka would be pouting like “damn what do they have that I don’t?” 
Oop her hands still kinda fucked, curiouser and curiouser. I wonder if she has tried to practice her secondary power. Which rq, it was SUCH bullshit that LB gets two and the cat miraculous gets one in canon, so happy you retconned it
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OH MY GOD OK CAP I AM SO HYPE HYPE SHE GOT A MODELING INTERNSHIP?????? Like sure cause nepotism but i’ve been wanting to see Juleka try out modeling in a real environment for ages cause like thats something she is interested in yknow and i just- 
Augh, hype as hell. And an excellent reason for her to be going to Shanghai, I applaud your problem solving to fit Juleka into the show's narrative! I applaud it always, but this one was more difficult than usual methinks
I have pizza now it is 8pm
Anyways; NOO GABEY BABY DON’T BE EVIL VIBES TO JULEKA SHE’S JUST A LITTLE THING
Oh my poor awkward Juleka… Gabriel wasn’t helping but this is so funny, dude you vowed to kill this girl like a month ago open your eyes
I NEED juleka’s modeling arc to be a thing. Idk how into detail you went but i’m hoping for some i’m rabid i’ve been waiting for this for like 3 years
Oh airports SUCK i feel her anxiety so much, poor thing… i forced my friend to share her location with me one time so we could stalk each other, we never turned it off its kinda funny
… why is Anarka banned from airports?? Being “a living weapon” is so vague.
Killing myself rose and juleka are so cute- and obsessed with each other- every hour is insane
I love Juleka instantly becoming a disaster on baby’s first flight
Juleka instantly being on high alert around gabriel is so real.
“Right,” Mr Agreste’s face didn’t twitch nor soften much in response, just nodded in understanding and turned back to stare forward. “The opening of this store is essential to the future of the Agreste Brand, you two. Opening it much sooner is very good news. There will be other fun times with your friends.”
Hardass, fuck off!!
Poker with literal chips made me laugh- adrien would be terrible at poker
Spiderman far from home? Nah, Panthera Noir far from home. 
“Oh that building looked fun to climb.” please Juleka unhinged parkour arc when?? Like people turn away from her and then look back and she’s up a tree. 
HELP “bye bye bag” is so real-
She’s so scary, but I wanna ask what her hair dye is. Do it. Please. I think you would factory reset Nathalie and she would answer on autopilot
Awkwardly playing chess is so real, also; yippee!! Adrien and Juleka bonding even more after the acting debacle!!
“Knights were cute. Little pony’s. Rose always wanted to move her knights cause they reminded her of unicorns.” please this is literally my strategy in chess, i just move them around and sometimes i win because i confuse people so badly
LB overthinking chess is hilarious. 
Adrien POV???
YOU CAN LEARN MANY THINGS FROM JULEKA SUCH; HOW TO BE A CAT. sorry i just had the mad idea that Adrien might find out this chapter… i would go insane if that turned out to be right
“Knowing info about me is pretty easy when your Wikipedia is super detailed” that’s fucking depressing. Adrien baby that’s a terrible way to get to know someone and not the same experience at all- 
Gaelic is a real language!! And a bitch to learn- I briefly tried with my dad and we both gave up, we’ll just stick with scots english
“Where do you disappear during akumas?” hard hitting question Adrien, ten points!
And is also making me high key suspicious about him finding out, the vibes are there
Nah, nah evil. Gabriel spend time with your son goddamnit 
GET HIS ASS JULEKA YES GIRL I LOVE YOU
The fact that she thinks she isn’t brave sometimes infuriates me, like babe i get your insecure but your brave as hell. 
QUEEN SHIT JUST WENT DOWN THERE
Juleka ripped him to shreds hell fucking yeah.
Wait. why did she give him the king? Hawkmoth called himself a king… cue the x-files music
Who the fuck is this asshole? Fei. Kick his ass, i command thee. 
Oh curious, she has burn scars from the fire, i like this detail. 
I feel like Fei and Juleka will get along, based on the ever present rage against one guy
She is being used augh
“Your father deserves to be avanged.”
“He does.” UMM GIRL YOUR DAD WOULD HATE THAT WEREN’T YOU THERE FOR THE FLASHBACK??
I want Cash to gtbnrvice this asshole is just using her desperation for information- 
I want Juleka to scare him into telling them, as Panthera, i think she would be quite good at that. 
Juleka is a feral beast who needs her outside time (i like how she wants to run on rooftops a lot its cute)
LORE LORE LORE LORE 
Excited. The prodigious?? Tell me more silly cheese guy
Ummm. i need the prodigious to show up, i can’t remember if thats what Fei has or if this is future future foreshadowing, this is exciting
New arc unlocked: freeing the Kwami from their jewelery or the curse. 
Also; yes sadistic plagg in the face of the guardians temple being destroyed, you go girl
Guardian temple? Swallowed whole? Sounds frightening. What a feast.  HA
Model Juleka yippee!
Help- adrien your advice is trash-
Ok existential conversation, yes girl let me spiral-
No sick girl Nathalie let adrien speak i want to know what he thinks of the best girlies-
Plagg wanting to take him under his wing- Juleka saying he wants to replace her with Adrien- ITS ALL COMING TOGETHER. 
Nah if you actually do have a reveal to Adrien i am going to go buckwild- cause either the vibes of the chapter got me but i think I guessed before any of the concrete foreshadowing
Ok sick girl nathalie actually has some sound advice and is being lovely to Juleka 
Yes Juleka use your strength
FEI STEALING CAMERAS??
Get her ass Juleka, or- politely bite her arm juleka?!?
Juleka is just brawling in an alleyway- like damn sister- watch out for bruises you might not be allowed to model-
Oh god what if she took plagg during some of their scrapping- actually, that would be fine. Juleka would just go insane and fight her
Juleka; desperately grasping for something familiar and bantering with Fei
Fei: what the fuck is wrong with her?
Nicest mugger I’ve ever met real and true
Wait
NOO JULEKA THEY WON’T LET YOU MODEL LIKE THIS
YEAH KICK. HER. ASS. 
Plagg stays with Juleka yippeee!!
Help their dynamic is so funny- exactly what i was wanting. 
Juleka would want to learn how to disappear even better than she already does wouldn’t she
Nah not Fei thinking “well that was fucking weird” while juleka is like “Oh that was cool” Juleka is so weirdgirl core i love her
Oh shit she stole marinettes stuff Tiki is there- 
Kick the asshole in the balls Fei, i command thee.
I am so happy Nathalie and Juleka have some sort of alliance, in my as to be written huge tragedy based on Nathalie Gabriel and Emily (which is extensively planned), I think Nathalie is more similar to Juleka as a teenager. 
Adrien and Nathalie interaction- “yes we- we did it” agyuhtvrinjfeok love her. 
Marinette blinked vacantly, standing in the back alley streets of Shanghai with a paling expression on her face and her entire inventory ghosted from her person.
WHERE THE HELL AM I!?
HELP SHE’S SO FUNNY- i love disaster marinette please-
and thats a wrap for Fei! i started this before five and it is now ten pm- i did other things though.
this was awesome cap, I look forward to the next chapters and I shall review them tomorrow!!!!!!
I hope you enjoyed <3
GLAD YOU ENJOYED!!!!!!
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cxdemistake · 1 year ago
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—Time slips away!
Burn out, don’t fade!
Dance on my grave!
I will never be them!—
Indie multimuse, multifandom blog.
Canon and OC muses present
Currently mobile-only
Semi-selective, semi-active
Open to asks and messages
More info (link to OCs, list of canon muses, writer info, and rules) under the cut.
OC Links
*Note: A few characters’ appearances/voices have changed, so make sure to check out the tags on the blog. OCs are tagged with “; (name)”— for example, my character Myarel is tagged with “; myarel” (no quotations).*
Canon Muses
*Note: Many of these muses aren’t listed on my muse page due to being unable to update said page from my phone. Muse tags vary. Some are tagged with fancy tags but I may switch between those and regular tags. They’re listed here in alphabetical order by fandom.*
**Edit: I’ve also marked which fandoms/muses are most active. Very active fandoms will be bolded, semi-active italic, and dormant/needing some time before interaction are regular text. I’ll also put an asterisk after new muses/muses I haven’t played yet. I beg that if a fandom isn’t bolded or italicized that you discuss it with me before sending something in or making a starter— I have a lot of muses and it takes time to get into the swing of new ones when I’m not in the right mindset!**
The Arcana: Asra Alnazar*, Julian Devorak, Portia Devorak*, Faust
American Gods: Mad Sweeney
Assassin’s Creed: Ezio Auditore da Firenze*, Aveline de Grandpré
Avatar: The Last Airbender: Zuko*
Back 4 Blood: Karlee*, Evangelo*
Baldur’s Gate 3: Astarion*
Boondock Saints: Murphy MacManus*
Call of Duty: Simon “Ghost” Riley*, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish*
Chappie: Chappie*
Columbo: Lt. Frank Columbo*
Dead Island/Riptide: Sam B, John Morgan*
Detroit: Become Human: Connor, Markus*
Dirty Bomb: Vassili*
Disturbed (band): The Guy*
Dream Daddy: Damien Bloodmarch*, Robert Small*
Dying Light: Kyle Crane*, Rahim*, Karim*
FNAF: Cupcake
Hazbin Hotel: Alastor, Angel Dust, Charlie, Husk, Lucifer
Homestuck: Gamzee, Calsprite
I, Frankenstein: Adam
Into the Badlands: Baron Quinn*
Jet Set Radio Future: Yoyo*
Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Jonathan Joestar*, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo*, Josuke Higashikata*, Giorno Giovanna*, Jolyne Cujoh*, Caesar Zeppeli
Kingdom Hearts: Axel
Left 4 Dead 2: Ellis, Nick
Marvel: Nightcrawler*, Moon Knight*, Eddie Brock/Venom*
Monster High: River Styxx*, Operetta*, Frankie Stein*
The Nightmare Before Christmas: Jack Skellington*
Obey Me!: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo
Onmyoji: Yasha*, Hiromasa*, Susabi*
Pirates of the Caribbean: Captain Jack Sparrow*
Portal: GLaDOS
Red Dead Redemption: John Marston*, Arthur Morgan*
Rise of the Guardians: Jack Frost*
Skullgirls: Valentine
Stardew Valley: Shane*
Steven Universe: Garnet*, Ruby*, Sapphire*, Sunstone*, Sardonyx*, Rainbow Quartz 2.0*
Spiritfarer: Gwen*
Suicide Squad: Diablo
Undertale/Deltarune: Papyrus, Sans, Susie*
Until Dawn: Chris*
The Village: Ivy Walker
Walking Dead/Fear: Negan Smith, Daryl Dixon, Morgan Jones, Shiva, Victor Strand*, Qaletaqa Walker*, Crazy Dog*
Warframe: Excalibur Umbra*
Warm Bodies: R, M
What We Do In The Shadows: Nandor the Relentless*, Viago*, Vladislav*
Info About The Writer
Hi! I’m Alistair— you can call me that, or you can use my username for pretty much everywhere else, TheetyPie/Theety. I don’t mind either way.
I’m a trans guy, I use he/they pronouns. I’m panromantic/asexual, and I’m 27 years old.
I have 3 cats, they’re my babies. I also (as you can tell from above) have a lot of OCs, and the number is still growing. I want to turn my ideas into a bigger creation someday, still not sure exactly where I want to go with it.
I do more than write. I do art, I like video games, music, and just collecting stuff. Current obsessions are Monster High, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, makeup, crystals, and jewelry.
Rules
The most important: I do not RP smut. In the past I’ve used the fade-to-black method, but I’m not entirely comfortable with that with most of my muses.
In the same vein, DO NOT FORCE SHIPS. I love ships as much as the next guy, but I would prefer to discuss it first, or for us to agree on it. It’s cool if your muse has a crush, totally fine— mine get crushes all the time! But make sure if you want to ship, we discuss it first.
In a similar vein to that one as well, no god-modding/powerplaying. If your character is strong, an immortal being, or whatever, cool! I have some of those too. But there should always be a limit. Don’t say your character is moving mine unless we’ve talked about that. Attempt to move them. Usually I follow along as long as boundaries aren’t pushed.
Don’t kill or seriously injure my muse without permission. Fights happen, of course, but again: discussion. I’m up for threads where my canon muses are injured or killed, but not where it happens to my OCs, unless we’re getting into a backstory and another OC that’s already deceased dies. Non-serious injuries are alright to come out of nowhere with, but if it’s a first meeting, I’d prefer to plot it out.
I’m semi-selective. I’m kind of particular about who I follow and who I thread with. I prefer us to be mutuals to thread, but you don’t have to be mutuals to send me things.
I’m very bad at keeping up with people. If you message me and I don’t respond, it’s usually bc I’m shy, I forgot, or I’m busy with work. It’s not you, I promise. Usually I don’t message first bc I’m nervous.
Back to shipping: I’m also multiship. Usually my ships are in different universes, unless discussed with all parties beforehand. The exception is a few of my OCs that are partnered together— ask about their availability. I love random ships, just talk to me about them!
I love duplicates of my muses. Whether it’s “x meets self” or I find someone I share a muse with, I love RPing with just about everyone. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if we have a muse in common!
One of my other most important statements, not really considered a rule, but it’s still important: if you want to know something about any muse, canon or OC, please tell me— ask or message me! I haven’t been able to write down a lot of info about any of them because I’m on mobile, but I will infodump for you if you need/want to know something. I love talking about my children, they’re precious to me.
If you send something in or make something for me when we haven’t even spoken, I might not feel comfortable responding. I’m very shy and nervous about not having any discussion beforehand. 😭
If there’s anything I left out or you need to know, just ask!
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ultrakatua · 9 months ago
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Act 2 trainwreck
Nearing the end and let's get real, nothing is fine.
It's been screw ups after screw ups, admitedly sometimes on purpose, but still.
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(They're unwell)
Starting off with the loss of Last Light Inn right off the bat!
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Dammon and Consellor Florrick are part of the people you have to kill. Bad news for Wyll I'm pretty sure. Karlach didn't make it past Act 1 so Dammon only hurts my soul.
You don't fight Alfira, Rolan or anyone that's typically inside. But they still die.
Rolan leaves a disk behind with a message for his siblings...
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"If you see this message it's because I died. Such is fate, life goes on."
(I'm mentally unwell)
Malus Thorm will make a comment about the Volo eye, which is super neat. I managed to kill the other two with only persuasion checks because Bard is hilarious.
Moving on to the Mausoleum, where the mistake starts with me entering Yurgir's room through the bottom (where the chest is), thus never talking with him.
But don't you worry, I still aggro'ed his kitty cat and, therefore, all his goddamn army. Except they were all on the top floor, and all my guys below them. Yes it was as awful as you can imagine.
Yurgir went to the House of Hope without sharing a word with us, but it's funny he still calls you "little rabbit" during the fight lol Is that a Devil thing??
One thing we did on purpose, was to kill Aylin because my friend wanted to see Dark Justiciar Shadowheart. To be honest I'm unsure we could have changed her mind anyway because we literally never used her and her approval was very low.
Turns out you can still lift the Shadow Curse without Light Last Inn, because you can just Speak with the dead with Art Cullagh, so that's at least one thing we could do right (and one thing I got out the Necromancy of Thay before I lost it forever lmao).
Probably because of the Isobel fiasco from earlier, everyone was hostile by default in Moonrise Towers. It was thus impossible to rescue Minthara (in jail, but hostile as well) though we did only knock her off...
We tried to infiltrate the Towers going through the exterior, but still aggroed Marcus and friends through the wall (??) and had to make a tactical retreat. At this point we said fuck it we ball and went through the main doors lol
We rescued Rolan's siblings and oh, isn't it cute how they have map conversation about him saving the day? :) :) (I had no dialog to tell them he's dead so we'll see their reaction in act 3 I guess)
I open a random door and surprise motherfucker, it's fucking KETHERIC THORM and all my guys are four turns behind me!
It went well
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Then everything went to utter shit
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No sign whatsoever of Isobel. Where the hell is she????
Gale is not suicidal anymore at the very least but I'm still afraid he'll try to take one for the team... Because his current mindset is pretty much "fuck Mystra and I don't want to die, but if she asked me to do this it's because there's literally no other way".
ngl I'm fine living with my mistakes but I will save scum if he kills himself. Mainly because I don't want a premature ending, but still. I feel wayyyy too bad for him. Also can we talk about how if you ask him to kiss you, he goes for the cheek??? Dork.
I'm still sure if we make it to act 3, Gale will obliterate me for the Raphael shenanigans I'm about to pull... But apparently it's possible to crownblock Raphael at the last minute? So I may try that.
Honestly I love Raphael but he's such an ass it's very difficult for me to commit to giving him the crown. He's got such a strong "I MUST humiliate this man" vibe to him that's hard to ignore. I just have this urge in me to go for the kneecaps (but I'm not killing him that's for sure).
Gameplay wise, I'm having a lot of fun. Bard's been scaling well on higher levels and I just learnt the beauty that is Banishing Smite. I'll probably do the last two levels as Fighter for the action surge and self heal.
People will have you believe Wizard is a nuke class, but it's mostly a jack-of-all-trades and I'm all here for that. I can imagine how good it is on higher difficulties for the versatility alone. But you kind of have to know what you'll fight beforehand to prepare. Gale can actually take some punishment with a good shield and the magical armor.
Bonus: my smitten Tav so at least one thing is good in this world (the convo destroyed me though)
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MFW "Practised tongue"
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youremyheaven · 9 months ago
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as a mercurial person, when I do have my bad moments, I can always rely on someone like my sister to call me tf out. she’s an Ashlesha girlie, and I think she’s amazing, despite her own flaws. we both believe being direct shows we care. calling out bullshit is our love language. we bicker a lot, which includes a lot of cussing. at first, it was hard accepting the truth because I get really defensive (that explains the stream of swear words lol). she gets more defensive, though—she reminds me of a cat hissing at others for intruding upon her space. I tease her about it cus I find it cute. despite our intense arguments, we still love each other immensely. we are each other’s biggest supporters! I am the oldest child, she’s the middle child. all her life, I’ve been very protective of her because she somehow is surrounded by negative energy. we grew up in a tense environment away from our community, so we also felt we didn’t fit in with our new surroundings growing up as we both experienced feelings of isolation. she has her Ashlesha placements in the 12th house, and I have my Jyeshta placements in the 12th house. I think our shared experience strengthened our bond as the years went on. she went through so much, same as I. when I read your post that mentioned Ashlesha Naks and their life struggles, it mirrored my sister’s origin and upbringing. I couldn’t fathom why the people she meets in every phase of her life would take advantage of her and/or project their misery onto her. that wasn’t until I learned about Ashlesha Naks, I fear. ig her relationship with our mom helps explain why, too… anyways, I may be protective of my sister but I also encourage her to go after her goals and fight for what she wants. and she knows this, too, and would encourage the same for me. she doesn’t hold back, and I don’t either. I know it’s good to have that kind of person in my life to rein me in AND to let loose with. however, I know I can’t rely only on her to save me from my flaws, of course. to my fellow mercury folks- let’s not deny that we are far from perfect. hell, I know I’m not perfect myself. I acknowledge that I have intense energy that’s similar to a repellent. life experience and being raised by a distrustful immigrant father assisted in helping me build this wall that surrounds my soul as a safety measure. I’ve been ostracized and bullied when I was a little girl. I was a sweet kid, but those experiences molded me into a person that feared the world, and as I grew up, I resented it for its restrictions. I was jealous of my peers and remained a recluse. it took me a long time to realize I was in control of the outcome of my own nature. I am in control of learning to outgrow my negative mindset and to be open to understanding. what started my growth was my spiritual inclinations that lead me to learning about astrology and such, and they unraveled the truth I’ve been blinded to for so long (besides my sister’s call-outs lmao). Vedic astrology helped me understand what it meant to be a Jyeshta Nak person. I’m not proud of my flaws, but they are there; I just have to learn how to remedy them and grow for the better. I will forever be on that journey. I just pray I don’t reverse the self evolution with self sabotage. I rather not be a wannabe Trump… no thank you 🙏 people are complex, so why paint ourselves as saints when we are not? what makes y’all think we’re the divine exception to the laws of nature? we are here to live this life and to learn from it. and if you make mistakes? own up to them. it’s easier said than done, but it’s much more rewarding to find ways to transform yourself into a more evolved human being. see your own shadow for what it is. you can’t suppress it because it will only shroud you with its darkness. once you start harming others, you are only digging a deeper hole for yourself. living in delusion and in denial is not healthy. and if you refuse to acknowledge that, then I wish you good luck in trying to crawl yourself out from your self made abyss of a grave 🫡
thanks for sharing your experiences 💛💛
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lauvra · 8 months ago
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Lost/Found notes pt. 3. 3/6/20 You only get to know people when they stop telling you who they are. 10/6/20 I'm going insane. All my toxic stuff, rearing it's head. When is my boyfriend coming home / is he my boyfriend / what happened the other night / don't ask questions you don't want answered / how come he was online three minutes ago, because it sure wasn't to respond / I guess it's over, my fault. My brain just hurts. I feel ugly and unwanted, lonely and sad and I don't have friends to drink with at bars and he'll stay out all the time until he disappears for good one day while I'm at the laundry washing his shit. I smelled his shirt when he came home and touched myself while he was in the bathroom, picturing him doing the same thing. 11/6/20 I don't want my most sincere prayer to be during crisis. I don't want all my longing for you to be during your absence. We were in the living room and you said seeing is believing, it's harder to have faith in something you can't envision. So I envision us. And I have faith. 9/6/20 The hard emotions hit much harder at 763, there was something about that house. It felt like a direct line to heartache. Like the shadows cast upon every wall had somehow sunken in. It was all too recent, I can't believe I lived there yet I still feel the weight of my body lugging up the stairs. You don't really look at me, don't kiss me and you're angry when I call. We are so unhappy and so unlike ourselves. We didn't do ourselves proud. 20/6/20 If you wont reveal every angle of a current manifestation of self - in understanding of its ephemeral nature, it strengthens in private, like a fungus in the fertile ground of that allocated dark corner of both souls. Have you ever considered ripping the tangle of roots straight outta your soul soil with one hand, salting the earth with the other before waving that festering weed of anxieties around mid-dinner at the next gathering so no one can turn away anymore? and so that which lives in the dark is collapsed in the light, all of us walk away a little more honest. I mean community. We don't heal alone. 4/6/20 I said I get turned on by ideas and that wasn't a good enough answer, but not only that, I never answer anything, ever? He can't get to know me because I am potentially purposely hiding my true responses? 18/8/20 He's been coming to bed before the sun comes up the last few nights, and reaching over to hold me. I couldn't enjoy his embrace this morning, becoming incensed with frustration over it all. He thinks I have little faith in him, but didn't tell me about bills and will not send them to me even though I've been asking for three days. He seemed to take it personally, "what, do you think I'm lying about the amount?" I woke up and anger flowed through my body because he still hadn't sent them, he'll sleep in 'til late and I wont have a chance to approach the issue before heading to work. 19/8/20 Always stuck in the mindset like 'I'll be happy if - or I'll be happy when - 11/9/20 Pro: taking baths without worrying someone may walk in and see my fleshy belly floating above the surface after eating too much Rice. The cat's undivided affection. 12/9/20 Feelings I'm sitting with and attempting not to engage too intimately: Unworthiness, failure, ugliness. Fear. Big fear. Big, Loud, Capital F. Fear. When I'm in a room by myself I feel like I don't exist. 13/9/20 "Go write about it." A message or a threat. Catharsis, communication or retribution. A means to an end, a route, an alternate place. The mother ink in my veins, the body sliced in two. Just an attempt to let the medium flow through. 24/9/20 My boss yelling in my face today over NOTHING didn't bother me at all, didn't even stress me out when I lost my fucking keys and had to literally destroy my locker to get in so I could text you, but knowing you wouldn't believe me then you Not Believing Me bothered me, but didn't surprise me.
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hartshorn-and-isinglass · 9 months ago
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Since it's Drac season I'll tell a very on-brand story from my college days.
For reasons I don't fully understand to this day, in my youth I was always the friend that my friends wanted to play matchmaker with. This held true through multiple friend groups over several years. I've never outright asked any of them why; I assume it's kind of like how your cat likes to bring you dead mice and birds because it never sees you hunt properly, or something. Anyway.
In college I joined a folk-fusion garage band (as you do) and my bandmates became my main social circle. One of the band leader's friends (we'll call him V.) came by to hang out and listen to us practice every now and then; I thought he was cute and he seemed nice but I was still deep in that mindset of Nobody Could Possibly Think I Was Worth Dating Ever and I had absolutely no plans to ask him out.
I don't know if V. said something to one of the band members about being interested in me, or what, but we both just so happened to be invited on a group outing to see the double-feature Friday night screening of Nosferatu and Shadow of the Vampire in the chemistry lecture hall and we both just so happened to be the only two people in the group who were single. My bandmates tried to play it cool like they weren't trying to set us up but they failed that stealth check pretty hard. You... you can't just seat me next to a guy I think is kinda cute and then subject me to three hours of vampire media and expect the evening to end completely platonically. Afterwards the rest of them made some lousy excuse for staying on campus because they definitely had A Thing to attend to and oh hey V. could you please walk Marve home? Under the stars on a lovely warm spring evening? After they've been stewing in their seat for three hours watching vampire movies?
And that is how I met my college boyfriend.
Because I played fiddle and we both liked vampires.
Like I said. Painfully on-brand.
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thankyoumskobayashi · 1 year ago
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i read awhile ago that ppl who laugh everyday live a lot longer than ppl who don't. although the correlation was a bit misleading, i can still draw the conclusion that orange cat owners are pretty much guaranteed a daily laugh. those of you who know a bit abt me will be like "op, what did your sibling's orange cat do this time?" i'll get right to that :)
so there is a woven wicker laundry basket with a woven wicker lid. orange boi loves to lounge on there and sometimes even just stand on it and although it protests a bit under his weight, it supports him.
so today, he naturally jumped up to stand on it again but failed to realize that the lid was up this time. Which means that burned into my brain is the image of a massive fluffy boy, legs splayed out to correct for his inaccurate landing, eyes big and round with the most indignant look of betrayal on his fave. he's a bit fat and very fluffy, especially his pants and tail. i still wish i had a camera because the look on his face after he jumped back out was priceless. no one who witnessed this blunder could stop from laughing, which he looked incredibly offended at. he was very embarrassed and tried to act cool but he didn't even get to lick his fur awkwardly because he was scooped up and shown to the "mirror cat" for extra judgement.
i don't know what his mindset was. did he think we replaced his familiar "lawnchair" with a bad "lawnchair" that has a broken seat? does he even know what a lid is and how it works????? i do not know. this is the question i'd spend my hypothetical one and only chance to read minds on.
then he started chasing shadows. he spent a good 15-20 minutes trying to catch the shadow of my bangs on the floor, and he only stopped when he was trying to eat torn-up pieces of carpet (he is not Allowed to do that as it is Not Food!!!) he started purring loudly out of frustration at not catching the elusive shadow. i have no idea what kind of funky dance i was doing taunting him with my hair's shadow during that time, but i know i'd do it again. orange boi's paws are slightly bigger than that of a normal cat (which i'd consider a domestic shorthair), but compared to the rest of his body they are tiny and polite. anyways he used his tiny paws to try and murder my shadow and even went "potato mode" where he crouches, resembling somewhat a potato (at least to me anyways).
so there you have it, the antics of orange boi and his obsession with being 1. on high places and B. chasing shadows. you just Know if he ever visited the cave of metaphor that he'd be trapped in there for all of eternity.
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writer59january13 · 2 years ago
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Struggle to write
Witnessed courtesy the following poetic sight especially when dark shadows foretell edge of night twilight zone expanding into outer limits of width and height obscuring webbed wide world subsequently where black tentacles alight. This poetic prologue feeble exercise to encapsulate commonplace frustration experienced by fledgling author evidenced by spurious poem dredged up below decks foregoing full sentences, which will resume reflections being hobbled to cobble words together, when yours truly tries his darndest to re-captcha fleeting idea or sentiment. Minimal productiveness as hands of time issue silent tick tock resultant rhyme without reason mere schlock conceding intelligence on par with rock consanguinity quite evident versus key difference when affliction named agraphia doth lock stock and barrel creative juices resounding, resonating, and resolving
into echo chamber with hollowness when upon noggin of scapegoat bully doth knock impossible mission to fend off badass jock whereby yours truly envisions fanciful day dream lazing a boat on the dock carefree mindset disallows watching clock repudiating, spurning, and thwarting thee dilemma of writer's block deliberating calling ghost writer ad hoc
One former bohemian rhapsodizes (and a young bare cub at Antioch to boot), now prosaically expounds courtesy lengthy epistemological expressing difficulty to craft complex literary edifice applying building blocks of English language in a fitting manner that does justice to said lingua franca giving liberty to leaping lizard thoughts that dart to and fro, hither and yon within the windmills of my mind.
Rather than censor or edit, I pour out at rapid fire rate, the notions (ala kingly brainstorm) that flit thru me  noggin when first staring at the black and white screen, sometimes eyes remain closed to help initiate the process to summon forth this, that, or another just barely perceptible concept; the task less difficult when the topic provided, which preconceived subject narrows focus into figurative box.
When provided specific issue to write about
the effort still arduous to gather plethora of disparate points aware near infinite number of directions discourse in question
could take this, that or another route, whereby any path could lead to a dead end
with impulse to yank inkwell and spill spout
all over manuscript,
a Rorschach work of art to tout.
Countless trials and errors entail exploration
to the near state of physical exhaustion where each logical conclusion finds pensive
fellow inextricably entangled within his own
thicket of unprintable verbiage.
Would you dear reader believe a/or accept
eureka moments arise stealthily as cats crept unexpectedly and inconveniently when I get situated on toilet and whole paragraphs
tumble into consciousness pell mell faster than bowels expelling bodily waste matter
from derrière except
Macbook Pro in other room kept safe and sound against accidents if mishap occurred resident Kuni Lemel
would be convulsing with grief as he wept.
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nyx-aira · 1 year ago
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I love how Jan's learning isn't linear. Yes he is getting better but there are still moments he falls back into his old patterns, his old mindset. After all 18 years and then his first marriage as well are a long time. And how Bojan is always patient, always reassuring and knows what Jan needs, that last line "if you need my permission, you have it."
You can also see how Bojan is adapting his life in favour of Jan. That first scene when it's so hot and Jan wants to go swimming, it's day, probably even midday if the heat he's complained about is anything to go by. And Bojan is up and awake. Sure he stays inside the castle and if he goes out stays in the shadows with lots of protection but he still goes out. For Jan.
I feel like sometime along the line something like this would happen:
Jan longingly look out of the window towards the forest where he knew was the town. It was a hot day in July, the temperatures steadily climbing ever since the sun made it over the horizon. There was a book fair in town today, one he had visited as a child before and even though his childhood was not something he liked to think back on, the book fair he remembered still fondly. With all the stalls selling books of all kinds, romance, mystery, fantasy, cooking books and everything the heart desired. And in between were food stalls with the most delicious food he could remember, pies of all sorts, pastries that were so sticky you had to lick the sugar off your finger after and stalls with fresh fruit. Jan sighed, knowing he likely wasn't going to go this year - or ever again. Because Bojan was kind, he was understanding and he already did so much for him. But he would never ever let him go in the burning midday sun where he couldn't follow Jan if he needed to be reigned in.
So deep in thought, curled up in a sunny patch in front of the open terrace doors, he didn't hear the footsteps that halted somewhere behind him.
"Is everything alright?" Bojan asked and Jan spun around, startled and afraid because he left the curtains open, it was the middle of the day, he...
He was halfway through closing the window and frantically pulling the curtains shut when he felt something weave through his legs. Igor.
"He doesn't seem to want you to fall into a panic and neither do I." Bojan said and Jan felt guilty again because Bojan was trying so hard to undo all the brainwashing and yet he still fell back on it sometimes.
"You can leave the window open Jan, I liked the breeze." He added when Jan still stood frozen in place in front of the half closed window.
Slowly, with an encouraging nod from Bojan, he pulled the curtains open again, letting in the sun and the breeze. He saw Bojan step out of the light but he stayed right at the edge, as close to Jan as he was able to.
"So what has been plaguing you?" He asked once Jan had settled down in his patch of sun again, Igor on his lap and breeze ruffling his hair. Bojan sat on the floor not far from him.
"The book fair." He mumbled, petting the little cats head and earning some soft purrs in gratitude. "It's been so long since I went..."
"Then why don't you go? It's a beautiful day."
It was a beautiful day but Jan knew he couldn't bear the stares today, the ones he always got when he was out alone, out in daylight. They never said anything directly to him but he could feel what they thought.
And Bojan, oh Bojan, seemed to catch is train of thought once again when he asked:
"Do you want...me to go with you?"
And Jan wanted to protest, to argue, to plead that he didn't go with him because then the people would talk even more. But truth was...yes, he wanted Bojan with him. Wanted him by his side and show him one of the only parts of his childhood that wasn't tainted with his destined fate, where he could be a simple child.
So he just nodded and flinched in surprise when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.
"I'm so proud of you, Jan." Bojan said and he eyed the hand that was covered by a thick sleeve patting his shoulder. He didn't deserve such kindness.
"Let's get changed, shall we?"
Jan waited nervously for Bojan to come downstairs, Igor winding through his feet again to calm him down. While he had simply opted to change into a different pair of shorts - yes shorts, the kind of pants Gasper never let him wear because he deemed them ugly- and a sleeveless shirt, he had no idea what Bojan would do.
His question was answered when he walked down the stairs and Jan thought he must have dreamed. Bojan was in a black dress shirt with a high collar, tucked into equally black pants with equally black socks and shoes. His hands were covered with lace gloves and he wore sunglasses that covered most of his face and a black umbrella was held in his hand.
Bojan never dressed especially vampire like but in this moment Jan had no doubt about what he was when he looked at him.
People stared when they entered the book fair. Bojan in his black regalia and Jan in a simple outfit, not dolled up or anything, simply dressed according to the weather. He could feel the judging stares and whispers but Bojans hand on his back guiding him through the masses was his anker.
The crowds parted for them and Jan would have been terrified if it hadn't been so funny as well. When a small giggle slipped past his lips he froze in fear but Bojans answering chuckle made him smile a tentative smile, tingling feeling in his chest when he saw his bright grin.
The day was spent browsing books and eating their ways through the stalls, Jan never as happy as he was now. And when Bojan vehemently tried to get the sugar off his gloves he allowed himself another smile. This was what marriage was supposed to feel like: happy.
They left after some time, stack of books in Bojan’s arms that he refused to let Jan carry and a small basket of fruit in Jan's hand, enjoying the sweet taste of strawberries and raspberries alike.
It wasn't all perfect and Jan had flinched more often than not when people came too close to him, threw dagger his way only to turn into the sweetest smiles once Bojan looked their way. But it was a start.
It was a start when a little girl tentatively waved at him and he gave a small wave back. It was a start.
Because maybe not everyone hated and hurt and destroyed.
I got stuck in the rain today, and consequently ended up with some vampire!Bojan scenes that are frankly too long and important to stick in a non-searchable chat so y'all are in luck today :) :)
(also psst I have no idea how tattoos actually work so I made up some utter nonsense please disregard my lack of medical knowledge, I'm sure @touchyourblood will correct me shortly tho)
This is all a while into their marriage, once Bojan has found out the extent of the abuse Jan has been through and Jan has started healing and figuring out that all the things he's been told and taught and internalized are....wrong.
It's a hot day and Jan stretches out and fans himself, complaining a little about the heat.
"You can go swimming," Bojan suggests. "I don't know if you know, but there's a lovely lake through the woods behind our castle."
"But....people will see my body," he protests.
"Do you not want them to see your body?" Bojan asks gently.
Jan needs a moment to think about that. Gaspar had always put him on display, in every way, and he hated being stared at. And he would be looked at, he'd be recognized as Bojan's husband. On the other hand, it's been years, and Bojan has never shown him off. Perhaps he'd be fine with it. But although he doesn't know the answer to that question, he does know that there's a more pressing issue.
"I don't know," he admits. "But what about - do you want them to see my body?" Isn't it Bojan's to show off? He can't imagine going by himself, stripping off his clothes, letting everyone look without Bojan beside him, an everpresent reminder of who Jan belongs to.
Bojan looks at him in that way he has, when Jan says something that reveals just how different his understanding of things is from Bojan's.
"Oh Jan," he says, in that gentle voice he always uses whenever that happens. He closes the distance between them, puts hands on his shoulders. They're at the point now where Jan feels comfortable with Bojan's touch, welcomes it, even. He knows Bojan won't hurt him or violate his boundaries. It took him a long, long time to believe that, but he does now, and it's exhilarating to be able to find comfort in touch. "You can show as much of your body as you'd like or as little. Go swimming if you want. It's your choice. It's not mine."
It's what Jan has been slowly learning for years now.
He does go swimming. He does get stared at - they know whose husband he is - especially when he takes off his shirt and bares his body. But no one says anything. If he's here, by himself, exposing him in this way, he must have permission. A hunter bride would never forsake their duty so much as to disobey in such a blatant and public way, would never shame themselves and their family.
But they do stare. At his body, pristine and perfect (Gaspar had been so careful to never leave a permanent mark, for all his violence). The fading bite on his neck. He tries to ignore their stares, and once he's in the water, he forgets all about them, reveling in the coollnes of it, diving down, splashing around. Feeling a little like a child again. and then, lying down in the sunshine to dry off with a book, listening to the peaceful calling of birds.
.....
Jan discovers Bojan has a tattoo. Perhaps sometime when they're lying together, talking, exchanging gentle touches, but there's nothing sexual there. Not yet. They haven't even seen each other naked yet, Bojan always feeding by carefully drawing aside Jan's collar. But it's hot, and he's wearing short-shorts, and his thigh is very, very visible.
"I've always wanted a tattoo," Jan admits.
Bojan doesn't ask why he didn't get one. They both know. His body wasn't his; it had been kept pristine for eighteen years in order to be given to someone else. A perfect blank slate.
"Do you still want one?" he asks.
"Yeah," he admits. "But I know I can't," he adds, so that Bojan doesn't think he doesn't know his place.
"Why not?" Bojan asks softly. Patiently.
"Because - " the words almost spill out so easily. Because his body belongs to Bojan. Because it's Bojan's choice. Because Bojan owns him. But as soon as he thinks it, he remembers what Bojan has been so patiently reiterating, and he's been so slowly learning.
"I don't own you," Bojan reiterates, once he's seen the comprehension in Jan's eyes. "Gaspar was wrong to believe otherwise, and wrong to make you believe it too."
"It wasn't just Gaspar," Jan says quietly. "My upbringing - we're trained, you know." He's never told Bojan much about that part. "Brought up to be the perfect bride. They teach us to obey, and to serve, and they instill in us that we all but belong to our husband."
"Well, they're all wrong," Bojan says. "A marriage is a contract, a vow, a promise. It's not ownership. If you want a tattoo, you should get a tattoo. And," he adds, "if you need my permission, you have it."
Jan loves him all the more for that last part. Because he's been slowly learning this lesson, that his body is his and Bojan doesn't own him, but it's a frightening, terrifying fact to stare at head-on sometimes, one that makes him feel helpless and unmoored. He feels paralyzed by it. But Bojan's permission - even if it's permission to do whatever he wants to do - is like a comforting touch in the darkness.
Bojan accompanies him to the tattoo parlor. Jan could have managed on his own, he suspects, but it's comforting to have Bojan there, not to mention it gets rid of a lot of difficulties and questions such as "did your husband give you permission?" that he'd inevitably be asked otherwise.
"My husband would like a tattoo," he informs them at the parlor, and they don't ask beyond that. They don't ask whether it's really Jan who wants the tattoo, and Bojan is indulging him, or if it's really Bojan's desire. They merely nod and say "of course, my lord. Right this way."
He takes off his shirt. He's aware of the gazes on him, and he thought he'd hate them more, but he doesn't. With Bojan's presence here, he feels calm.
"Tell them what you want," Bojan encourages. And though the artist is startled that Jan seems to be the one doing the deciding here, they don't dare say anything. Perhaps they think he's being an indulgent husband and Jan has pleased him enough to merit such indulgence?
He tries not to think about it and simply explains how he'd like a hummingbird, bright and colorful, over his ribs, on the left side, its needlelike beak pointing to his heart.
The artist busies himself making a sketch, while the man who seems like the owner turns to them with a serious expression.
"We can do what you desire, but you should know the task is...more complicated when the subject is a hunter."
"Complicated how?" Bojan asks.
"A tattoo is an injury to the body. Without the injury, the mark would not be permanent. And hunters are ...more durable. They heal faster, more easily," the man explains, facing Bojan more than Jan. "The process therefore requires magic, to slow the healing, to make the image permanent. It also increases the level of pain," he adds, seemingly an afterthought for Bojan to consider.
"I see," Bojan says. "And I assume you can work this magic?"
"Our artist can," the man assures him. "Should you desire it."
Bojan tactfully doesn't correct him as to whose desire is involved here. He merely looks at Jan questioningly.
Jan simply nods at him. Whatever pain they speak off, he has no doubt it will be negligible compared to what Gaspar put him through regularly.
And, when they take the needle to his skin, it really is....well, not negligible, but. It is far from the worst he'd endured.
Gaspar had always loved his cries, his screams, his pain, so he'd learned not to hold them back. To let them fall from his lips, though the irony was, the more Gaspar put him through, the more used he became to pain, the more it required to draw cries from him. And Gaspar could always tell if he was faking. So now, with the fine needle stabbing his skin, he winces slightly, but it's far from drawing any sort of cry from him. It's quite easy, in fact, to lie back and let his mind wander.
Bojan sits by him, playing with his hair and twining their fingers together. He finds he enjoys the comforting touch, and then Bojan distracts him, starts telling him the story behind his own tattoo, and before he knows it, it's over. They're finished, with instructions on how to care for it - again given to Bojan rather than Jan.
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OOOO OKOK SO can we get hcs of mac n wukong with a super cuddly and affectionate s/o? like straight up would hold onto their partner all day if they had the chance and is always verbally affectionate and saying sweet affirming things
NO BECAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY ME. MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS PHYSICAL TOUCH AND I'M VERY HIGHLY CUDDLELY AND I IMPLODE AND CRY WHENEVER I'M UNABLE TO EXPRESS IT TO SOMEONE GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Reader is Gender Neutral
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Six Eared Macaque
He's quite touch starved I'd say and desperate for some kind words, even if he won't admit it to you
He's a bit handsy with MK and the like so I mean I don't doubt it at least a bit
Though taking into account what he'd been through, he still flinches at someone raising a hand to him or at least looks at them with distain or skepticism when you start saying kind words to him more often than not
PTSD will kick in sometimes so don't feel bad if he avoids your advances at first
He's not used to such affections neither is he used to trusting again after
Ahem
Anyways
Macaque will be standoffish when you try to offer being affectionate and cuddly and maybe scoff now and again and your words
Fight or flight will kick in when you do get to hugging him though
He'll tend to shadow away, stiffen up or squirm whenever you do it unwarrented
It's a hard habit to kill but he has a mindset that makes him feel as if he's trapped, similar to a cat when you pick it up and hold it unwarrented
So you try to ease him into it (more so from his advice/input) starting with headpats or small touches of the hand here or there and small compliments when the moment presents itself
When he gets comfortable enough with it, he'll return the favor with things like brushing your arm, hands or legs with his tail, maybe even resting it in your lap for starters when it comes with physical affection
Next level would let you hold his hand instead of brief moments of reprieve, letting you hug him for longer and he'll in turn return the gestures, given at this point he's more comfortable
It's slow burn sure, but the pay out is so much worth it
He won't say it at first once he's fully transitioned into comfortability with your love language but he looks forward to your hugs and words of affirmation
It inflates his ego, solidifies how he feels about you and he feels so safe
He'll still be some form of on edge considering
Ahem
So he'll tend to have intrusive thoughts about it now and again even when you try your hardest
REAL difficult undoing almost an eon of trauma
But that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate it all the same regardless
Macaque cherishes you still, and he loves the love you give him after even when going through a rough patch
So he'll hold you close for as long as he can, just as you do the same for him
canyoutellimbias
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Sun Wukong (Monkey King)
Ok so for starters
I'm sure it'll be an easier road than it was with Macaque despite the same, if not even more baggage to get through
But in comparison, I'd say your affection and words of affirmation HELP Sun Wukong faster and easier than with Macaque
It may inflate his ego when you're throwing words of affirmation time and time again
He is the self proclaimed Great Sage, Equal to Heaven and all
But eventually (sooner than you'd think too) he'll be less boastful and more flustured, given his insecurities, and your affectionate and loving touches only add fuel to the fire
I'm sure for those who watched Monkey King Reborn know he got easily flustured and almost dropped his staff once he was complimented because he's not used to such sincerities, the gif is going around as well with the scene I'm talking about
So I'm certain it carries for LMK Sun Wukong no matter how boastful and arrogant he may come across
If anything, it's only to accomodate for the lack there of
So you'll find yourself with a very flustured and sometimes stammering King before you whenever you keep complimenting him and showing him such unabided affection
But don't get too comfortable because this won't last for too long
He'll eventually go back to the boastful King again only this time with less gauze and more confidence with you backing him
Less of "Yeah, only expected from the great sage himself" to more "I am pretty great, aren't I?"
You give him a sense of REAL confidence compared to the facade he sometimes puts up
Just like how it drops and tones down when he's left remotely powerless during s3, it's the same with you where you kinda help him reflect more
You and MK are his cheerleaders, so he feels more of a need to live up to your exceptations compared to everyone else
Learns to value more of the opinions of his close circle than the image everyone excepts of THE Great Monkey King
Whoops going a bit off track here
Anyways though, he'll return the favor tenfold once he's in that more tamed mindset
His hugs are warm and addictive, making you cling onto him all the more often
Couldn't get you off of him one day
"Lucky he has nothing to do today" he said
Besides, he likes the warm feeling of his S/O beside him
It gives him a special comfort he hasn't felt in...
How long has it been?
Doesn't matter
Not like he'd trade this for anything else anyways
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