#talking with Great And Mighty Sleepy

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Hi Clarity

Describe (a wip of your choice) as an adventure through the woods. Give me everything and nothing. Be creative. Bullet points are legal.

Hi Sleepy!

Abracadabra starts out with a simple enough path. Open. Easy. A few fences to climb over, but nothing unfamiliar to the average explorer. Directly after the open path, fences, and warning signs, however, it gets tricky as three paths open up to you that all look the exact same starting out, and your overly-theatrical guide is intentionally unhelpful because he wants to see if you can figure things out yourself. "One way has thieves," he says, "one way has ghosts, and one way..." he trails off. "Well I don't really know what lies down that way, but you're more than free to find out."

Easily the more adventurous road leads to pirates and brigands, and that's the first one you choose, but what he doesn't tell you is thus:

1.) The thieves are your friends so long as you have an interesting story to tell 2.) That way lies bounty hunters 3.) The thieves have lightening cannons

However, soon enough the woods darken and turn into something slightly more foul. Slight more foggy. Slight more...haunted. Somehow the path with the thieves has intersected with the path that had ghosts, and as you look you can't see where one path ended and the next one picked up.

What he doesn't tell you about this path is:

1.) Everything is watching you, so beware what you say around what 2.) One of the ghosts thinks it's funny to take her head off and spin around in circles. She's a little bit broken and the other ghosts don't like her much. 3.) Painful memories for someone else lie on this path, but you have to live through them in order to get off the path

The one that's a mystery remains such, and soon enough you get the idea.

The three paths are exactly the same, except when they aren't. They overlay each other, and while at first you can make out where the switch was if you look, the further you go the less you understand when the switch was or how you got there. Eventually one of the paths comes to a complete dead-end, marked with a sign and a bridge that goes to a path you think you recognize.

"Ah, this must be the right path to get out of here," your guide says with a grin. Yet this too, while at first seems to lead to the right way winds up with a sharp drop-off that you cannot see to the bottom of. Ah, but to the side there is a small footpath that eventually leads you to the final path. "Oh, this has got to be it," your guide says, grabbing your arm and tugging you along.

But you don't know if you can trust him now, and you're right to doubt your guide.

For what he isn't telling you is what lies at the end of the paths. The center of the woods. The single gravestone marker there, that tells you everything you need to know about the woods and your guide all in one.

But he won't tell you what lies at the center of the woods.

And you know what?

Come closer.

...

Neither will I.

[mustangbby]

-> sleepy cuddles

synopsis -> wriothesley comes home tired and upset from a bad day at the fortress. so, you just have to indulge in a cuddle session.

warnings -> angsty, sad wrio nooo.. mentions of fighting, baby sigewinne got hurt oh no, more angsty than i thought whoops

w/c -> 659

you were awakened to heavy footsteps entering your home at around 11:00 pm.

usually they’re a lot softer, much less aggressive, thats for sure. you recognized them though- they were your husband, wriothesleys. he seemed pretty upset.

you pick your head up from the pillow, groaning as you slowly got out of bed to see what he was doing. to no surprise, he was in the kitchen, brewing tea. he had his head in his hands, oblivious to your approaching form.

“wrio… whats wrong?” you said in a raspy, groggy tone, and accidentally startled the man, for you were able to catch him jump the slightest bit before bringing one of his hands into yours. “talk to me.”

he just groaned, pulling you flush against his chest, before nearly breaking down into tears. when you felt the first drop of wetness on your bare shoulder, you pulled out of the hug, grabbing his face in gentle hands.

“okay, something is seriously wrong. how bad was today?” you look at him in pity. one thing you’ve learned from being married to this man for two and a half years is that when the great, mighty duke of meropide cries, it’s almost as important as if the city flooded over with primordial seawater. but only that important to you.

he took a shaky breath in, and then looked down. “pretty bad. two inmates decided to pick on sigewinne. her injuries were enough to send her up here for more professional medical treatment. even for me, it was scary, seeing how she felt helpless and couldn’t patch herself up like she normally does.” he exhaled. “they took her vision and taunted me with it. obviously i got it back, but not without a fight.”

you nod, standing next to him as he pours his tea in a mug. he took a sip before offering you some, in which you politely declined.

“how long is sigewinnes absence going to last? if anything, i have some medical experience behind my back. i can stich up a wound at most. if you want my help in the infirmary, then i’d be happy to offer.”

he scratched his temple, seeming to debate on whether or not that would be a good idea.

“we’ll see, i have yet to get detailed information on her stay. once i get more, i’ll let you know if thats needed or not.”

you nod, before taking his hand in yours, leading him into bed. he changed his clothes before joining you.

once you two made it into bed, he snuggled up against you as you rubbed his back to try and ease some of his pains. you could tell the incident involving sigewinne was weighing like a fifty pound weight on his mind, and you wanted to silently remind him that you were always there for him.

this is where you felt the tears spill out, with light gasps to follow. he was never an obnoxious cryer. you just held him tighter, allowing him to cry it out and allow his mind to process things.

you continued to rub his back and shoulders, calming him down. he hugged you even tighter, shoving his face in your chest before finding it okay to shut his eyes. your hands made their way from his back, to his shoulders, to the back of his head, fluffing his soft hair. it smelled very nicely of tea leaves and a sweet and smokey scent. something you could compare to vanilla, but with a, once again, smokier touch to it. he loved when you put your head on top of his, occasionally leaning in to kiss it.

within a matter of ten minutes, he had drifted off. you kept him close, making sure a nightmare doesn’t rouse him from his sleep. the last thing you both wanted was him to be tired in the morning, and adding that to additional stress? oh, the duke certainly was not a morning person.

[ele-sme]

Can you write something in Spider pov towards Jake? since today is his birthday? thanks.

ok

Tw: Spider is 7, not a real warning but you guys could get confused, also Neytiri is nice to him.

this is late sorry.

it was a cloudy morning,

Spider stirs in his cozy bed, the diffused light casting a soft glow. Torn between dreams and the day ahead, he rubs his sleepy eyes. With a determined sigh, he threw off the covers, his tiny feet meeting the cool floor of his room.

He wanted to stay in bed some other hours, the day was perfect for staying in bed some other hours, but his duty tugged him upright into the embrace of the cloudy day.

well, to be honest, it wasn't exactly a duty, but he promised his friends he would have been there.

Today was their father birthday, Jake sully birthday, the olo'eyktan of the omatikaya clan and most importantly Toruk Matao.

Spider arrived to his bathroom and clumsily removed his pajama, to then enter in the shower.

he was still a little sleepy, so when the cold water hit him he let out a little yalp of surprise.

after getting used to the water, he started soaping his body, other kids his age couldn't clean themself without the help of their parents, so Spider felt proud of himself everytime he showered.

as his hairs got on his face, he wondered if he had time to at least braid them.

'would take me all day, so no...maybe just one?'

he had to take out his locks the day before so he could wash his hair, he planned to re doing them the day after with Kiri helping him.

' i wonder if Mr sully will like having me there or not '

he almost fell on his butt when he got out of the shower, with a towel he carefully dried himself, and he put one of his loincloths on.

the most pretty of them all, it was a gift from his friends for his seven birthday.

the green color made him almost invisible in the forest, and the soft cloth made him comfortable to run in the forest for as many hours as he wanted without getting any rash or worse.

Finally, he was ready to go out, he only needed his oxygen mask, which was on the counter of the kitchen.

grabbed it, put it on, made it work, and boom he was ready.

he opened the door to go out and...

his eyes, widened like saucers, gleamed with a mix of wonder and determination.

Bounding through the forest, Spider's agile movements mirror the creatures that share the same forest he does. his feet are barely making any sound, this was something Lo'ak taught him, but Neteyam perfected it on him.

during his path, he found an orchid, and c'mon how could he not play a little with it?

as he kneeled down to touch the plant, its tentacles touched his fingers, making him giggle before standing up again.

his laughter rang through the trees of the mighty forest, a joyful sound that seemed to draw energy from the very heart of it.

In the end that always a child laugh, and the great mother at hearing it could only rejoice.

after another five or ten minutes? - he didn't know the path was always so fun that the time seemed lost everytime he took the way- he was now inside the clan.

all around him, mans, womans and children doing things.

starting from cooking going then into playing.

as he now walked towards the olo'eyktan and family pod, some teens stopped to ruffle his hair, or to give him some fruits which he had to refuse.

finally, he could enter the pod of the family, and immediately Lo'ak was on top of him, hugging Spider like he hadn't seen the kid the day before.

his older siblings came along, hugging Spider so hard he finded hard to even breath.

but that was okay for him, for him those were his siblings, so they could give him as many scratches and bruises as they wanted.

as the hug finished, Spider noticed that Neytiri, his friend's mom, was cooking something.

she was always nice to him, unlike his foster mother.

she and him hadn't even spoken that week, and it was already Friday, probably his fault she was an adult she was probably too busy to talk to him.

"Sa'nu, sa'nu! Spider arrived!" Lo'ak yelled running towards his mother, who catched him immediately, laughing with him as she tickled her son a little.

"sempu, we invited Spider for your birthday!" Kiri said giggling, taking Spider's arm and practically dragging him towards her father.

Jake, who was putting the toys of his children away turned his head to face the kids before him.

"Good morning, Spider, how ar-" Jake stopped mid-sentence as he watched the boy with worried eyes.

"What sempul?" Neteyam who was next to Kiri asked, and Spider could feel Neytiri and Lo'ak's eyes on him.

he also felt a gasp coming from behind, it sounded to adult to be Lo'ak.

" ’evi, why is your hair wet?" Jake asked concerned.

oh right, Spider hair were wet, he still couldn't dry them alone, and no one called him over to dry them when he put the mask on or before he headed out.

' They are busy people probably they haven't noticed '

Kiri and Neteyam's hands were now on his head as to really confirm his hair were wet, then they both nodded to themselves as to confirm it between eachother.

"Come here, i dry them for you," Jake said, and Spider slowly walked over him, Jake made him sit down on his lap and with a towel started ruffling his hair.

Kiri and Neteyam in the meanwhile pick their toys back and started dancing around with them, as their ikan toys would really fly.

"Spider, yawntutsyìp, you shouldn't go around with wet hair, you might get a fever," Jake said, his words were soft, they made Spider's fear of him drift away.

he wasn't like his foster father, he was nice, even carrying, it was quite nice to spend time with him.

' I'm sure Mr Sully would never yell and Neteyam or Lo'ak for not washing the dishes, Nash is really mean then! '

"Here we go, all dry" Jake said putting the towel away, and now ruffling Spider hair with his own hands, which were way bigger the the boy head.

Spider turns his head to face Jake eyes, and the older man smile at him warmly...in the same way he smiles at Neteyam?

Jake's gaze is warm and steady. With this gentle smile, he leans down. his lips touch Spider's forehead, a tender exchange of emotions takes place in Spider's tiny brain

he feels trusted, and protected, Does his friends feel like this too when Jake kisses their heads?

Until now, only his friends had bestowed gentle pecks on his head, cheeks, and hands, little gestures of their close bond.

But never before had anyone else kissed him, and he felt a mix of curiosity and surprise. This was something new, something he hadn't experienced.

The touch of a fatherly kiss held a different kind of warmth from the ones of his friends, a sense of protection and care that felt unfamiliar yet comforting. It wasn't romantic or strange, just a simple gesture that made him feel accepted and loved.

Jake then looked at the kid again, the smile still on his face, but now he was holding Spider more tightly, making Spider be beside Jake's chest, he could even hear the man's heartbeat!

it was funny to listen at, tum tum tum tum, Spider never listened to a heartbeat.

he didn't know that above his head, there was a conversation between Jake and Neytiri, only that was with their eyes, him pleading, she thinking and in the end nodding.

and a fond smile appeared on both parents faces.

Spider's stomach rumbled.

" 'evi, what did you eat for having hunger this early in the day" Neytiri asked him.

and Spider shook his head "i didn't eat today" he said leaving Neytiri with half mouth open.

"Then you want some episoth seed?" Jake asked and Spider nodded vigorously.

the other three children lamented wanting some too, but their mother quickly shushed them up, saying if they ate more their bellies would explode.

this made Spider laugh, so much that he almost fell off Jake's lap, luckily his tight grab on him prevented that.

the rest of the day was spent with stories, and laugher and sweets!

a lot of sweets since it was a birtday.

Spider never felt more..loved in his entire life.

Jake and Neytiri even offered him to stay for the night!

and the night after too,

and then too

until Spider was basically living there.

for his eighth birthday Neytiri and Jake made him the most wholesome thing ever, going to live with them forever!

there is nothing that could be possibly made him go away from his family.

gosh i haven't wrote something in like an eternity, is nice.

i hope you liked anon.

[blimbosworlddd]

Nirvana: A Rock Lee Tale (Chapter 5)

Summary: Your dating life is terrible. Your friends’ marriage is fantastic. Your career as a medic is doing great, though. But you aren’t happy. However, after one quick trip to the Mighty Rock Dojo, you stumble upon the most magnificent man you’ve ever met- the taijutsu master- Rock Lee.

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black reader.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, (light) descriptions of blood and violence, usage of the N word, mentions of drug use. The reader and Lee are in their 20s but virtually any age group that is 18 and up can enjoy this story. Again 18+, minors do not interact… pls.

Word count: 7.5k

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

9 YEARS AGO

Even though you completed assignments in the study hall since you hated doing it at home, school always found a way to leak itself into your private life- especially during your senior year of high school. At least your boyfriend, Shikamaru, sat beside you in the library, a toothpick dangling from his mouth as he tilted back in his seat. You never understood why he was so content with just sitting there silently while you studied.

“Cause it’s funny seeing you tryna use your pea brain.”

He stared straight ahead when he said it, but after he side-eyed your bottom lip curling into a little pout, that shit-eating grin of his appeared.

“Shut up, pineapple!” You whisper-shouted. “Not everyone can get perfect grades without putting in the work like you.”

Shikamaru scoffed at your complaint, even though complaining is one of his favorite things to do. But he’s only teasing: you’re the smartest person he’s ever met, besides his late father of course. 

He remembered the times when you’d read anatomy books for hours, just to get to his place and talk his ear off about all the new body parts you learned and what you’d do if they were hypothetically harmed in any way. If he had cut or bruised himself around you, you would sit him down, explain to him what area he injured (even if he already knew), and how you’re gonna treat it while tending to the wound. For any injury that was beyond your capabilities, you'd research them in depth and explain her findings to him later. You just loved taking care of him, and sometimes he genuinely believed that he was your first patient.

He remembered you holding his hand at the funeral at the end of middle school, while both of you stared down at his father’s open casket. You imagined Shikamaru in that casket and never really left his side after that, though not to suggest you ever had before. And it didn’t take long for Shika to notice your strengthened devotion, the stars in your eyes whenever you looked at him, the hitch of your breath when you’d tell him a truth about yourself that you didn’t like. He appreciated the sentiment at least… It’s just that death peeled off a new layer of meaning for your relationship. A layer so deep that you never stopped to wonder how many layers your companion had already uncovered about himself.

“It’s ok if you need help, y/n. That’s what boyfriends are for.” Shika slipped his hands from his pockets and slowly leaned towards you until his face was inches away from yours. He was so close, you could feel his breath hit your mouth. “But don’t act like you prefer me being somewhere else right now.”

And it’s even harder to wonder about such layers when his sharp, sleepy eyes bored into yours. That lazy smile hinted at mischief and passion. The nonchalant cadence of his voice that made all of your problems seem easily solvable, and your worries erasable. He knew just how to crumble whatever sorry remains of a front you had put up. 

“Fine…” you murmured, unable to look away. “Th-there’s this one problem I’m stuck on.”

You flipped a couple of pages in your textbook, ignoring the way Shika scooted his chair closer to yours until you could smell his expensive cologne..

How am I supposed to focus like this??? You thought.

“This one?” Your partner mumbled, pointing at the problem you drew a question mark beside. You nodded meekly, watching him slide the book closer in his direction. 

In less than thirty seconds, Shika read the question and asked you what you’re confused with. Right after you confessed, he made sure you understood your erroneous thought process towards said question and reframed it in a way where you comprehended why the new answer is correct, and why your previous one was not. He did this with pretty much everything he approached. Most of the time it was helpful, other times it was… telling.

He tested you on the next question, to which you answered correctly after being given some time to brainstorm. The young man rewarded your round cheek with a wet kiss, warning you not to wipe it off even though he knew you wouldn't dare. 

“Now, ace this next problem so we can get some grub. School lunch always sucks.”

You considered his offer as if you never blindly agreed to do this many times before.

“Okay!” you chirped.

He helped put your books away and carried some of your bags to ease the asphyxiating weight of school. You both walked through the campus doors on the way to your favorite cafe.

FIRST YEAR OF COLLEGE

Your legs entangled with Shika’s in his sheet-clad queen-sized mattress. You used his shoulder to cushion the side of your head with a draped arm over his bare chest. You buried your face in his neck to avoid the sun rays that painted the russet canvas of your skin. Shika’s got an arm hooked on your waist, while his other hand absentmindedly caressed you anywhere he could. A joint was planted between his dried lips, while gently exhaling a cloud of cannabis through his nose. You never minded the smell when he smoked, you both would often share his weed that he never failed to remind you was his if you ever gave him attitude.

Shika wordlessly passed you the weed when he was halfway done, signaling that you could finish the rest of it. He remembered cackling at you during summer camp a few years back because you choked and hacked after smoking your first blunt. He loved how imperfect you were, loved your tendency to let your innocent curiosity lead the way while adorably trying to be everything society expected of you. He loved how you looked to him to taste the raw experiences of life, while never realizing that you were life itself. He lived vicariously and shamelessly through the endless aspects of your wonder; you couldn’t bore him if you did absolutely nothing.

So you accepted his joint with a meek ‘thank you’ and took a deep drag. Shika’s eyes were already red, but you always found that hot. He fucked differently when he got high too; he’d lazily guide your hips as you bounced on his cock till you both came, rather than coax your body into submission with orgasm after orgasm beneath him like he usually did. It was a Saturday morning, and you had barely passed your current quarter of classes with a renewed yet ceaselessly rigorous schedule as a nurse’s assistant. Shikamaru had just finished an unholy 60-Hour Broker Licensing course. So it’s an understatement to say y’all hadn’t hung out much in the past few weeks.

“You need a new bed,” you sigh, snuggling closer to your boyfriend so you could hook a leg over his pelvis.

“I need my own house,” he slurred sleepily, idly patting your thigh that sat on his lower stomach. “This whole fuckin dorm’s a drag.”

He was right: not only was the bed too small, the wall paint peeled everywhere and there was’s no heating system. On top of that he had to pay to stay in the residency. He’d go to your place more often if you weren’t living with your parents at the time, but he had to make due with what he signed up for and what he didn’t. That’s another thing you loved about Shika. No matter how much he moaned and groaned, he always got the job done.

You playfully tapped on your man’s hard belly, dragging your fingertips along his abs until they stopped at his pecs. You poked and prodded at the smooth skin. Shika slipped the bud from your lips and tossed it on the ashtray beside him.

“I could lay here with you like this forever,” you mumbled enchantedly. “I’ll love you forever.”

You raised your chin to check your boyfriend’s reaction. He was already staring down at you and recognized the glaring glow behind your irises. One thing he knew for sure about you, was that when you’re fascinated by something beyond reasoning, you have this look on your face:; plump lips slightly parted with a mindless grin, raised brows, shallow breathing and motionless eyes that wait for the object of its irrepressible fixation to fill the void behind them. It’s comparable to a thousand-yard stare, and it’s the same look you gave to Shika.

He smirked hopelessly. “Even on a shitty bed?”

A chortle escaped you, and his chest rumbled with gentle laughter beneath the palm of your hand.

“Baby, I’d lay with you on the cold pavement if I had to.”

“Bullshit,” he spat playfully.

You laughed at his remark but it wasn’t a joke. Although you never admitted that to him.

SECOND YEAR OF COLLEGE

Everything was fine. Your career was fine. Your grades met the requirements to keep you on the right track for receiving your bachelors in science in a couple years. Your love life with Shika was fantastic. Even though you lived with your parents they never checked on you or asked how you're doing. They only spoke with you out of necessity and were either working a shit ton or just didn’t bother being home. Your love life with Shika was amazing though, and that’s what mattered. You never felt chosen by your parents but that’s fine. Shika chose you and that’s what mattered.

Everything was fine. 

THIRD YEAR OF COLLEGE

Shikamaru and Temari met at a lecture. It was her first semester at his school, and she just wanted to make the best of her time there so that ends would meet. The first thing Shika noticed about her was her four spiky ponytails and that resting scowl on her face. She looked like she couldn’t stand a single thing in her vicinity, and he liked that more than he wanted to admit.

She sat beside him since there weren’t many other seats available. Shika side eyed her curiously at the way she unzipped her bag to pull out her academic supplies. She did everything with effortless grace; her handwriting captivated him, the questions she’d ask the professor made him think of sincere answers to them, her voice was smooth yet heavy with determination. Not once did she ever acknowledge Shika and fuck- she smelled good.

Class was about to end in 10 minutes, the least he could do was try and get a conversation in.

“I like your hair.”

Temari paused but refused to look at him, and continued to write. “Thanks.” 

Her tone was curt and damn near emotionless, it reminded him of how he would sound while on social auto-pilot.

“Are you really interested in anything they’re saying?”

Temari glanced at the professor before focusing back on her notes.

“Yep.”

Is she really interested in anything I’m saying? He thought.

“I’m Shikamaru, what’s your name?”

“Temari.”

“I’m from Minnesota, where are you from?”

“…Michigan.”

Shika reeled back and paused. His ego’s telling him to not even bother and continue listening to the lecture, but his mind’s telling him to ask more questions. His ego was telling him that worrying about what to say to someone he had just met was irrational, and yet his mind was flashing images of you. What could he do? What should he do?

“…Hmph, I bet you’re a stoner.”

Termari’s eyes widened at his sheer audacity, and finally turned her head to face him.

“What?”

“Yup. You might be an edible girl, don’t seem like the type who’d wanna fuck her lungs.”

The spiky haired girl laughed incredulously at his vulgarity. “And what are you, a crackhead?”

“If I were a crackhead- who actually has money if you’re wondering- then do you really think I’d spend my time talking to you?”

Temari raises a brow. “Then why are you?”

Shika chuckles, “Because I like you, and I want us to be friends.”

She couldn’t quite seem to put a finger on why, but Shika was a douchebag that actually managed to catch her interest. She hates douchebags because they usually lack the nuance to do so, but he’s not even trying that hard. He  didn’t care for what came out of his mouth, since he believed in every single word. Not only that but he was fine. Real handsome; his dark jagged hair, those piercing eyes, his studded ears, and that lip ring, his effortless attitude, and the exquisite hoarseness of his timbre kept pulling her mind into the grasp of his own.

Temari’s face felt strangely hot, and a huge part of her felt truly foolish for entertaining this man. But a bigger part of her felt even more foolish for almost allowing fear to spoil potential fun. So, she took a deep inhale and relaxed her grip on her pencil.

“I smoke sometimes, edibles are too strong. …And I take shrooms.”

A proud grin illuminated Shika’s face. No, he wasn’t completely accurate, but it was’s a start. She was comfortable enough to share a little about herself and that’s all he needed.

-

Their first hangout was at a record store after realizing they both shared a love for music. They showed each other their favorite artists, songs, and albums. The two tried so hard not to run their own pockets for the latest releases.

“I don’t have a record player by the way.” Temari minded while carefully shuffling through the colorful vinyls.

“No need,” Shika waved off. “Got one at my place.”

Temari ceased browsing the music, and slowly raised her head to the dark haired man.

“Are you inviting me to your man-cave, Shikamaru?” She sneered.

Shika chucked his fists into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling as if his cheeks weren’t rosy with bravery. “…Only if you’re up for it.”

He peeked a look at her form- her arms folded in an attempt to limit how big her smirk should be. However, her amusement radiated like heat. She couldn’t seem to believe that she was genuinely interested in getting to know this poser. But why did she need a reason to hang out with whoever she wanted? He had put in the effort, so why couldn’t she make the most of it if she pleased?

“I guess I am.” Temari concluded, more to herself in bewilderment.

Shika huffed a scoff of relief, and smiled to himself for making her comfortable enough to want to go home with him. There was so much more he wanted to share with her. Most of all he wanted to see how she’d respond to each experience he was willing to share and how many experiences she would allow. 

“Also, I have something for you back at mines.”

The spiky haired woman’s interest had already peaked, but her expectations were still low. “So we’re not buying anything from here?”

Shika scratches the back of his head. “I’m not at least. But why spend your money here when you have a free gift waiting for you?”

Temari raised a brow. “You’re not gonna drug me up and kidnap me are you?”

Shika chortled more bitterly this time, but he still knew her suspicious teasing was understandable.

“No, Temari.” he sighed with a roll of his eyes.  “And if it eases your mind, I have a surprise for you. That’s why I’m not being specific about it.”

Temari was not a fan of surprises, but he seemed thoughtful enough to give her a present so she might as well grant him a chance, no? Shika watched her shrug her shoulders and raise her hands in defeat. “Lead the way, buddy.”

-

Shika opened the front door for Temari and she nodded her head to him in gratitude. His humble abode was definitely humbling to say the least. But at least he made his bed before starting the day. His side of the dorm was also as clean and presentable as possible. She refused to blame him for the sorry state of the building and respected his ability to make the most of it.

She watched Shika hunch down to sit on his haunches and search through the contents in his wooden shelf..

“You can uhh…have a seat wherever you like.” He grunted softly.

Temari decided to sit on the foot of his bed, and side-eyed the way Shika’s shirt slightly rode up his toned back as he dug deeper through his shit.

“Alright,” he exhaled eagerly before standing on his feet. “Close your eyes f’me.”

Temari's eyes twitched hesitantly before closing them shut. She heard the quiet shuffling of footsteps, which caused a wave of anticipation to wash over the pores of her skin.

“Now open ‘em.”

Before her was a vinyl, but not any ole regular shmegular one. It was her top favorite album from her top favorite band: For The World to See by Death.

Death is not the most well known band by a long shot, but that doesn’t take away their permanent influence on the punk rock scene. And it especially doesn’t take away their permanent influence on Temari’s life as a young adult. Yeah, of course she talked nonstop with Shika about Death and why they deserve more recognition as musicians when they hung out in that record store. But she would’ve never preceded this convenience.

“Wh…where did you..? How-“

“A friend of mine went to their concert and had his vinyl signed by the lead singer. He decided to give it to me for my birthday when he found out I had a record player at home.”

Shika smiled fondly at the awe in Temari’s eyes, and marveled at the way she raised her hands to hold the album only to hesitate when she’s inches away from its grasp.

“But I don’t have a record player.”

“I can always get you one, princess.”

Temari felt a heat pool in her cheeks and ears, as well as other places in her body she wasn’t yet consciously ready to acknowledge. She carefully wrapped her fingers around the smooth and crisp surface of the record, scanning the beautiful artwork and a ragged signature written by Bobby Hackney himself.

Shika never called you princess before.

4TH YEAR OF COLLEGE

It was a new year. You had 16 more classes to take for the next 12 months, a prerequisite for your bachelors in science. And even though the nurse’s state board takes place after your graduation, time has a tricky way of passing you by with the blink of an eye. So you studied and studied. Every day. You took care of patients. Every. Day. It wasn’t particularly healthy, but the hyperactivity distracted you. It distracted you from how unhappy you were: with your parents, with the way you saw yourself, with your career- even if you did everything necessary to become the best nurse that you knew you could be. Plus, if you were improving your skill set, who cares if you hadn’t properly slept in weeks? As long as you’d gotten smarter, as long as you helped save lives, you could neglect your own. 

On top of that you hadn’t hung out with your boyfriend in person for months, which was becoming a norm in your relationship. You always made sure to let him know when you were free, yet he always made sure to let you know he was too busy. You don’t talk on a weekly basis anymore, since Shikamaru continually missed your calls. He does text you to make up for it though. But it was fine. As soon as you graduated, you both could finally be together again and make up for lost time. You were sure that he was waiting too. You were sure he still missed you. He had to. You were positive because you felt the same way and because, well, you were dating each other.

It’s 9:30 pm and your last patient of the night, Marty, had finally managed to sleep after enduring a 3 hour absence seizure. You sat at the foot of the bed, eyes were reddened with dryness, back heavy and strained. But you refused to rest;: you needed to check for any recurring symptoms if he gets triggered in his sleep again.

“…ome on… y/n?”

You snap your head to the voice behind you, and it’s the head nurse you’re working under, Ms. Adams. You were so tired you didn’t even hear her walking in.

Ms. Adams frowned at your hunched state. “It’s okay y/n, we have computers monitoring him. You won’t be of any help if you're half-conscious anyway.”

You gulped dryly at her insistence and turned back to give Marty one last look, before nodding in defeat. You slowly pushed yourself from the bed and bid your mentor a good night. Before you could head out, she rested a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Good work today, y/n.” She casted a somber smile your way. “Good work as always, really. You’ll be a great nurse one day. I hope you know that.”

You looked down at your beaten up shoes.

“Thanks nurse Adams. G’night.”

-

You were in the locker room shrugging off your nurse uniform when you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Your face beamed brighter than your screen when you saw your boyfriend’s name. Even though you weren’t done getting dressed, you refused to fumble the opportunity of hearing your lover’s voice after such a stressful day.

“Baby? Is that you?”

“Heyy… You busy right now?”

“No-no! Never too busy for you! I actually miss you... So much.”

Shikamaru side eyed his phone before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“…Me too. And uhh…I know we haven’t been talking much for a long while and I’ve been thinking.”

You’ve been thinking too! You thought about all the dates you’re both gonna go on, all the sex you’re gonna have. You thought about all the weed you’re gonna smoke with him and all the stories you’ll tell him about your time spent as a nurse’s assistant. You thought about helping him move out of that shitty dormitory so that y’all can rent an apartment together. You thought about settling down together after you pass your state board with flying colors and Shika passing his exam so that he can finally be a real estate agent. You thought about him buying you both a permanent house after you get married and adopting two cats with a dog and spider. You’ve been thinking of so much too.

“I-I’ve been talking to someone else for the past few or so months. And I’m in love with her… And so I think we should… break up.”

…Huh?

…break up?

You wordlessly looked up at the ceiling, watching the painted patterns mold and blur together as you felt your eyes gloss over. You gulped once, twice, one more time for safe measure.

It had been two minutes since he divulged his confession, and you hadn’t said a wordnything. Shika’s knee was jutting up and down and up and down and up and down. Clenching his fist, he took a deep breath.

“Sorry that this was so sud-“

“Where are you.”

“…at home? Why?”

“I’m coming over.”

Shika’s eyes widened in horror at the ominous conviction in your tone. When you talk like that, your mind can't be changed.

“Wait, hold on-“

BEEP

-

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Your fist repeatedly hit Shika’s door, and it didn’t stop even after your shoulder started to feel sore.

“I’m coming, I'm coming!” Shika’s voice is muffled and drowned out by the cacophony you created.

As soon as he opened the door you barged through like a shadow someone would mistake for a demon in their closet. You yanked him by the collar and he winced at your unexpected strength.

“I gave you six years of my life- SIX YEARS!” Your screaming rang through the thin walls of the dormitory like a curse during the witch’s hour. You pushed him back, and kept pushing him until his legs hit the foot of the bed. Shika yelped when he stumbled on his back, and you took that chance to straddle his hips and look him dead in the eyes so you could confirm for yourself if this was what he actually wanted.

But Shika got a good look at you too, and he grimaced softly at the sight: your tear-stained face, the borderline mania in your blood-shot eyes, your knitted brows, your gritted teeth, your heaving breath that gently hit his mouth. You looked like whatever hope you clinged onto had disappeared. And that’s because he snatched it away. And now you were flailing helplessly on the jagged floor of your mind, like a baby who’s candy had been stolen. Like a bug who ended up stuck on its back. Like the tightrope you’d been tirelessly treading on your whole life had snapped again, while Shika watched you fall on the other side even though he promised he’d catch you. The other side that was never even in your grasp.

“Been dating behind my back, huh?” Your voice was shaky with adrenaline and vitriol. “For how long?”

“W-We haven’t dated yet, we're just friends… Y/n can we plea-“

“You fuckin’ her?”

The man beneath you scoffed petulantly at the fact that you’d even ask that. But that fuck ass nonchalance of his was not getting past you this time.

“ANSWER ME!” you roared as you violently shook his body to get it through his head, spit flew from your mouth and hit his face.

You were unrecognizable at this point. Shika needed to meet you halfway, he needed to calm you down somehow. He grunted frustratedly and grabbed your wrists to loosen your iron grip on him, but you wouldn’t budge. He used his other hand to hold the back of your head. Your breath hitched at the way he began to steadily stroke your hair.

“No, pea brain.” He mumbled sincerely. “Of course not.” Your eyes drooped at the pet name he gave you. He hasn’t called you that in ages. “That’s why I contacted you first, before anything escalated.”

Things have already escalated though, and now all he could do was tell you the truth. More tears fell from your eyes when you saw the tenderness in his gaze. No, you thought. It will not end like this.

“Let me fix this Shika,” your voice warbled with a devastating crack. “We can fix this.”

Man am I a shitty person, he thought. And an even shittier boyfriend.

“No, we can’t,” he sighed at how your bottom lip quivered desperately. “I just happened to realize it before you did.”

You loathed the way he was looking at you, the way he was handling you. Not because it was a ploy to get back in your good graces, but because you could tell he was being honest. And that made you resent him even more. But all you could do was melt in his embrace when he wrapped his arms around your torso, hugging you tightly as your body wracked with sobs.

“I may not love you like that anymore, but you’ve worked so hard for the both of us. And I’m sorry I made you find out this way.” He whispered gently against your ear, and felt your heartbeat pound against his chest as you wept endlessly.

“You’ll always be my greatest friend. I’m really sorry, y/n.”

You had never cried so hard the way you did that night. The one person who was your other half. The one person who’d known you the best and the longest, belonged to someone else now. And you were too high off the nostalgia of the sweet moments you both shared, because that’s what got you going. It’s what motivated you to work when all you wanted to do was sleep. It drove you to a certain madness that only bloomed from the scarcity of emotional safety. It was all you knew.

And you were fine with knowing only that. As long as he’d stay…

-

After that night, you took a week off from working at the hospital and decided to do your school work virtually for a while. You stayed cooped up in your house for so long that even your parents, of all people, noticed. You didn’t know how you were going to recover from this.

“Just hop on the next dick,” your other close friend, Bria, suggested while lighting up a blunt.

She decided to visit you after you called her bawling your eyes out while watching your favorite josei anime, Nana for the tenth time. An intervention was wayyy overdue. She cuddled beside you with your favorite snacks splayed on the bed. You almost choked on your coffee at her casual vulgarity, but you understood where she was coming from.

“…it’s not that simple,” you mumbled pitifully.

“Hell no it ain’t, but it’s a start. And fuck that nigga- if he can move on that quickly then so can you.”

A reluctant smile started to creep up your lips. Maybe she was right. There were plenty of people out there who’d treat you so much better than Shika did. You just needed to give yourself a try. Nonetheless, you groaned exasperatedly at the sheer energy that would take and placed your mug on your night stand.

“He’s my first love, tho-“

“And I’ll be good-goddamned if he’s your last... Look at me.”

You continued to look down at your fiddling fingers until you felt a soft hand tilt your chin sideways to face her.

“It’s not fair y/n,” you saw the passionate anger swimming behind Bria’s eyes. “You have no idea how much I hate seeing my best friend like this. You’re too kind, smart and beautiful to wallow in this pain.”

Before you knew it, you felt her thumbs wipe away stray tears from your cheeks. She stuffed the blunt in between your lips and crawled off of your bed. You watched her turn on your favorite music playlist and open your closet door right after. You inhaled a nice, deep drag of weed while curiously trying to make sense of your friend shuffling through your clothes.

“What are you doing?” You inquired while blowing smoke through your nose.

“Making sure you dress like a slut. We’re going out.”

POST-GRADUATION 

You had just become a nurse: after graduating with a bachelor's degree in science and microbiology, you passed the state board and received your certification. The one thing you slaved away for your entire academic life had finally been bestowed upon you, and the fact that your journey had only just begun never failed to boggle your mind.

Luckily you were mentored by a fine professional, so the trials and obstacles that came with your job weren't as surprising as you anticipated. You were prepared, and that’s one of the things you loved most about your journey. You had finally moved out of your parents’ house and rented an apartment of your own. The unlimited privacy was such a breath of fresh air, albeit lonesome. You felt ashamed for not enjoying the solitude, but a big part of you found it necessary for your growth.

You picked up and dropped many hobbies along the way, downloaded a handful of dating apps rancid with men feening for attention and the next heart to abuse. With the rare chances that you were free on your schedule, you dated here and there. Initially there was a thrill that came with it, meeting unique personalities, discovering what worked and what didn’t. The sex was… sex. Only 1 out of the 8-10 people you dated made you orgasm with penetration only and he was the worst fuck nigga you’d ever come across. It didn’t come close to the heartbreak that drove you to put yourself out there in the first place, but he was the catalyst to starting your inevitable celibacy.

So you deleted the dating apps and focused on you, and swore to yourself that when you do date it would be someone who would earn your trust. You even hung out with Ayesha more often and supported her businesses to help get your mind off of the three basic things you worried about on a daily basis.

You hadn’t talked to Shikamaru in 2 years, which was gruesome but needed. Throughout that time you always wondered if he truly missed you. Flashbacks of him would appear the most during dates and there was nothing more annoying than that to endure. At least you started taking therapy. Luckily, you were blessed with a great professional so you decided to make that a norm in your life ever since. The main thing that was so hard to accept about healing was that it got worse first. In every aspect.

-

One day, you were lounging on your couch while mindlessly scrolling through your social media feed. You were so bored and tired, temporary dopamine hits were the only way you had energy to spend your time. That was until a notification popped up on your screen: the notification being Shikamaru’s name.

First things first, why you never blocked him or deleted his contact was beyond you, rationally speaking. Subconsciously, you just couldn’t let go all the way.

You tossed your phone on the table beside you and sat up, staring into nothingness while attempting to process what you’d just witnessed. Your eye twitched when you heard another faint vibration come from your phone.

Is this man seriously texting me right now?

You closed your eyes and took a minute to prepare yourself for any and all impending doom looming from whatever information he’s relaying to you through those messages. You decided to think no further and snatched your device with a worried grunt, and opened the notifications.

It was an invitation.

An invitation to his engagement party…

Followed up with a text that said: It’d be great if you stopped by so we can catch up.

Your hand squeezed your phone tighter and tighter with every word that you read. Your first impulse was to tell him to fuck all the way off and that you hope his party gets ruined. Your next impulse was to ignore it forever and finally block him. The impulse after that was to play it cool and respectfully decline. And the impulse after that was to… scream in your pillow.

You called Bria instead. And after a 2 hour long conversation basically bashing your ex while fighting your crippling anxiety, none of that took away the fact that you missed him. You’ve always missed your friendship with him. It was arguably more fruitful than the romantic affairs you both shared because the feelings were consistently mutual. You didn’t have a sliver of doubt in your mind about it since he never gave you a reason to. He said so himself.

Bria did not approve of your decision to attend the party, she believed it’d just be setting you back years of growth. But you believed in yourself for once. You believed you could handle seeing him again.

-

You could not handle seeing him again. It was the evening of the engagement party, and you were still at home glaring yourself down in the mirror. Your hair was in natural twists at the time, a dainty orchid placed on the side of your head. You wore a silky white slip dress, the shiny satin draping over your curves and dark skin magnificently. You stepped in your matching white mid heels and snatched your purse before you changed your mind about this entire situation.

You reread Bria’s words of encouragement that she texted to you earlier that day, it was the only thing (besides already paying for your Uber) that kept you from turning right back around and throwing your ass in the bed.

When you made it to the destination, you looked up at the top floor to find that the party took place on a terrace. Once you were granted access, you took the elevator. Every minute that passed for the elevator to rise to the top floor churned your stomach to no avail. Goosebumps ravaged your skin with discomfort.

Why am I doing this to myself? You wondered solemnly. He’s getting married for fuck’s sake.

The sound of sleek metal doors opening snapped you out of your self-pitying trance. You stepped out of the elevator and the scenery was simply marvelous: the decorating lanterns, larger-than-life bouquets, and uniquely shaped furniture gave a fairytale-like feel to the event with its illuminating contrast to the night sky. Everyone followed the dress code, the tableware was exquisitely neat, free-form jazz players performed live on an intimate stage, servers carried fancy food with impeccable care. Pretty fitting for the budget of a successful real-estate agent.

You strolled tentatively into the crowd, for you didn’t really know anybody there besides one person. And there that one person was: socializing with his friends while his pretty bride-to-be latched onto his elbow. They were laughing together. They were happy.

“Fuck this shit,” you mumbled and turned your heel to head to the exit.

As you walked, you mentally beat yourself up, shamed yourself for feeding your ego and falling for nostalgia once again instead of taking Ayesha’s advice. You felt the presence of enthusiastic strangers pass you by, the smell of food wafting through your nose, the suave music thrumming in your ears. You’d enjoy it all if you could.

You raised your finger to press the elevator button, but jolted at the feeling of a warm and heavy hand grasping your shoulder. You swiftly turned your body, jaw slightly dropped at Shikamaru standing right in front of you.

He looked down at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes, a relieved smirk adorned his features. He had a new glow to him: his shoulders were relaxed with great posture, his hair grew longer. He was a bit bulkier and got rid of his lip ring. He looked healthy, rounder with contentment.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” His voice got deeper and raspier too.

A shaky sigh escaped you. “Me neither.”

Shika chuckled tentatively, he should’ve expected that.

“You look nice. Appreciate you for following the dress code.”

You nodded your head wordlessly, and looked down at your painted toes. “Yup.”

Your ex scratched the nape of his neck before sinking his hands into his pockets.

“How’ve you been, y/n?”

You blinked a couple times at his tone. It sounded somber and sincere, which is kind of unusual since he’s used to covering up how he really feels about certain things. At least he bothered to ask.

“As well as I can be… I’m a nurse now.”

“Heh, not surprising. I always knew you’d succeed.”

“I guess I can say the same for you. Is selling houses really as fun as it sounds?”

He grimaced teasingly. “Have you even met me?”

You giggled helplessly at his honesty. Shika’s gaze softened at the sound of your laugh, the curve of your smile. You may not have known it, but you were glowing too. In your own y/n way.

“There’s some people I want you to meet. Are you open to it?”

You tapped your chin in faux thought, and revelled in the uneasiness that laced his stare.

“Sure, why not?” You chirped.

An exhale of relief settled the tension in his chest, and he led you to his associates. You met his fellow real estate agents, stock brokers and business owners. They were all nice, but a little handsy- you were not used to multiple men flirting with you at once. A waitress served you a glass of champagne, you politely thanked her and let the chilled alcohol stream down your throat.

You were getting a bit overstimulated from interacting with so many people, you appreciated Shika for being by your side but you honestly needed some quiet. 

“Hey Shika,” you mumbled.

He leaned closer to block out the extra noise. “Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go chill by the balcony.”

He gave you a look of understanding and nodded conclusively. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Will do.”

The breeze was warm yet crisp, you appreciated the way it blew through your hair and skin. After sitting the glass of champagne on a small table beside you, you folded your arms and sat on a plush chair. You looked up at the black canvas of the sky, involuntarily searching for stars as you managed to drown out the background chatter and unwanted sound. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe you could handle this, and maybe you are happy for Shika. Maybe it won’t hurt as much anymore.

-

Temari saw you chatting with her husband-to-be. You were beautiful. Stunning, even, and she disliked how the spit in her mouth was starting to taste like bile. She decided to fraternize with her own friends for a bit, but the way you both got along so seamlessly, even after a shitty breakup was more telling of your bond than she’d ever be comfortable with admitting. Eventually, she caught you heading towards the edge of the terrace where you sat to indulge in whatever world your mind created. Without thinking, she excused herself from her peers, straightened her back and walked towards you in confident strides.

You perked up at the sound of a chair in front of you sliding against the wooden floor, until your mouth sagged into a subtle frown at the sight of Shikamaru’s fiancée. She took her seat with a curt sigh and folded her hands on her lap. Your eyes had met for the first time that night. Her gaze sharpened with blazing intent, though it wasn’t malicious. Not in the slightest. You looked at her with a sense of peaceful mellowness, almost awestruck. Why you gave her that look, she didn’t know, but it made her feel like she could soften her guard. Just a bit.

“We haven’t properly met. I’m Temari, Shikamaru’s future wife.”

You took a sip of your drink. You wanted to snap back with a witty remark, but you knew that would serve you absolutely nothing. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

She was impressed with the way you maintained eye contact with her, and decided to proceed with this interaction. 

“Do you know why I allowed my fiancée to invite you to our party?”

You set your glass down with a burp and slouched against the cushion of your chair. You were gonna need another drink. “Enlighten me.”

Temari unfolded her hands and fiddled with her engagement ring. “A few months ago, I caught him staring at a picture of you and him back in middle school. He’d tell me stories of the childhood memories you both shared with a certain fondness. Would you be happy if I said I was quite envious?”

“Not at all,” you waved off with a hand. “And if I’m being honest, you shouldn’t be.”

The woman before you leaned forward to get a closer look at you. “Enlighten me.”

“Because he was an insufferable child,” you deadpanned.

“Really?”

“Nah, he was chill.”

Temari lifted a brow at your humor and snorted. You lolled your head to the side and rested your chin on an open palm. 

“Either way, he loved you enough to choose you as his wife. That’s all that matters now.”

Temari slowly but surely started to understand why Shika befriended you. Even more so why he still wanted you in his life. She mirrored your lax posture and sank into her seat. She wanted to ask questions about your break up but that was none of her concern and she didn’t want to trigger a painful memory.

“You matter too, y’know?”

“Which is exactly why I pondered on why I even came here.”

“Because you’re a supportive friend.”

“Hmph…” you idly held your torso while cradling your empty glass. Temari noticed the somber weight your eyes held and decided to call for a waiter.

Once they came, she ordered 1 glass of wine for herself and one refill for you. 

“Would you like anything to eat, y/n?” That was the first time she addressed you by your name.

You gulped and requested your food choice, deciding to make yourself more comfortable. While you both waited for service, you began asking each other questions about yourselves rather than continue talking about your respective histories with the same man. You surprisingly had a lot in common and to Temari’s delight, you were the first person to make her guffaw obnoxiously with teary eyes from your jokes alone. Y’all even exchanged numbers at some point.

Your rowdy conversations were quite the head-turners and felt yourselves getting quite tipsy with liquor. But the genuine enjoyment of each other’s company was much stronger. You didn't notice Shika staring at you both with golf balls for eyes. The two most important women in his life were getting along so well all of a sudden, which was not a predicament he’d ever considered witnessing.

The party began to wrap up, and Shika and Temari offered to give you a ride home since the air was starting to get chilly. You meekly obliged, feeling a bit foreign in the personal space of their car.

You were gonna give Bria an earful when you got home.

This work belongs solely to ©️ blimbosworlddd. Do not plagiarize, steal, copy or repost. I worked very hard on this; reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.

[archaictold]

𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 & 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥. 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 wisdom 𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺. 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 lessons 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘵. 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝐙𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍. — a genshin impact original character. a study on 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦. envisioned by diz.

app. stats.

the liyue qixing's historiographer and former pupil of sumeru akademiya. his mission is to chronicle liyue as it moves into a new era of mankind, doing so in a way few before him have. nary a soul could match zhilan’s enthusiasm for the old world of teyvat, nor could they rival his bright-eyed curiosity as to what makes us truly human.

do you enjoy history? sociology? perhaps positing the essence of the human experience or anything of that nature? good! because he LOVES to talk about this! sometimes he talks about this in Great Length, even! it’s earned him the nickname ‘motormouth’, because once he gets going you miiiight be in for a crash course in history, totally free of charge!  ( he won’t quiz you, don’t worry. but he hopes you’re listening! )

“i can’t get spirited away from my home world, my manuscript is due!!”

grew up in the sleepy village of qingce, and sometimes finds city life a little overwhelming. after nearly two years in spirale, that's yet to change but he's getting better at it!

unusually optimistic despite his past hardships and exceedingly gullible. might blind you with his rays of positivity.

also remarkably good natured and kind. most would be hard-pressed to not notice his noble heart and his dedication to do what’s right.

believes that mankind is inherently good at its core with the capacity for evil, thereby making it limitless in possibility. this particular aspect of humanity is what intrigues him most.

has a complicated standing with the akademiya but has ultimately found relative success in liyue harbor. regardless of what others may think of his motivations, zhilan believes in them wholeheartedly. though he still considers himself a mere ripple in the waters of the academic community, even the smallest have the potential to produce the most mighty of waves.

[netmomplus]

Touhou Ship Week 2023 (Day 1: Confession)

The end of a work shift for a wolf tengu was never a flashy affair. Couldn’t afford to be, make a scene about how much you hated your job and you would be called out for defying the status quo. It was just a matter of heading back to your home and allowing whoever was on night duty to take your place. The monotony of a wolf tengu’s life was something that they would always hold onto and remember.

So when Momiji made it home after a lengthy day of work, an extra long shift for extra pay, she wasn’t expecting anything special. Certainly not a crow tengu standing in her doorway, and especially not Hatate.

“H-Hatate? You’re not usually here this late at night.”

“Well guess who has a question that needs answered?”

Momiji blinked as she watched Hatate walk over to the kotatsu in the living room, completely unprompted, and sit down. Damn her smug nature, Momiji thought to herself as she kicked off her geta and moved to sit across from her. What could she be asking at this hour?

“Ask away, I guess.”

“Right. So I was talking to Aya – never hurts to learn more about your rivals, right – and she starts telling me about an encounter the two of you had recently. Said you were glaring at her the whole time. And can you believe what she tells me?”

“Nothing good, I take it.”

“She starts telling me ‘I think Momiji might have a thing against crow tengu.’”

Momiji sighed and nearly shifted to lying on her back when she heard that. Of course Aya would try to spread some malicious rumor about her, it was such an Aya thing to do that to someone she didn’t like. All she could hope was that the crow wasn’t spreading it to everyone she knew.

“What makes her say that?”

“Oh, she said ‘oh, Momiji thinks we’re so high-and-mighty, that we’re all a bunch of rude, nosey types who rub our higher social standing in their faces’. Yeah, she did not have very kind things to say about you Momiji.”

Yeah, figures that was what it would be about. Something about social status; Momiji always took Aya as being someone who hated tengu’s strict caste-based social structure, so she figured she’d be a bit more sympathetic to her feelings on the whole thing, but no, spread lies about her as being some kind of crow hating jerk, that made sense.

“Say it ain’t so, Momiji. I know you’re not some bigot, but why do you two hate each other so much? Doesn’t make any sense to me, I didn’t think my personality was that much different from hers and you’re willingly dating me.”

Oh. Oh no. That’s the one question that Momiji didn’t want to have to answer. Anything but digging into the whats and hows of why her and Aya’s relationship is so sour. That was going to take more than a little effort to find the right phrasing for, but if Hatate was asking, then the wolf tengu needed to suck up her pride and figure it out, and fast.

“...can you give me a minute?”

“Not too long please, I’m starting to get sleepy.”

Great, a time limit. Now Momiji really needed to figure this out. She crossed her arms and got to thinking, her tail smacking against the soft floor behind her. Just how exactly was she going to explain this? Would she sugarcoat the whole ordeal? Nah, that’d be blatantly dishonest, Hatate could see right through her. Same with her trying to make Aya look bad. No, as much as it hurt, she had to be thoroughly honest with her.

“...Hatate? I think I need to confess something.”

“Oho, a confession. Lay it on me, fuzzball.”

“...oh no, this is really embarrassing. Hatate, I…”

Momiji took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Just spit it out, just spit it out…

“Aya and I used to date… many, many years ago.”

Hatate held a hand to her face, though Momiji couldn’t tell whether it was in shock or to hide a smirk. She could at least tell that the crow was surprised by her answer, and maybe even a little amused.

“Hah, you and Aya dated? Maybe you just have a thing for birds. What happened with that?”

“Nothing special. It was just a particularly nasty break up… honestly, it was so long ago I don’t remember exactly what caused it. And by long I mean centuries, it’s been ages since I’ve even considered her an ex instead of an annoying pest.”

There was a look on Hatate’s face. It was… remarkably smug, more than usual in fact. Like she’d just gotten the scoop of the century and knew that she had the power and knowledge to do whatever she wanted with it.

“Well, I’m sorry about the breakup,” she very suddenly said in a sincere tone. Where did that arrogance go? “Truthfully, I don’t like her much either, but what can you do? I’ll see about finding ways to get her to leave you alone. Maybe I’ll get Megumu on her case.”

“Megumu?” It took a while for Momiji to remember who Megumu was – she was the crows’ boss, not her own – but once she did, she couldn’t help but smirk along. “Oh, that’s diabolical. That’s one more reason to add to the list of things I love you for.”

“Haha, that’s what I love to hear. Now since it’s getting late, how about we go do that other thing you like me for while we lie down? Y’know, the brushing?”

“...you know what? Sure, after today I think I’ll take it.”

And so Momiji stood up and strolled off to her bedroom, Hatate in tow. Honestly, talking about her past with Hatate turn out to not be such a bad idea after all; perhaps this was what it meant to have a healthy relationship. Just talking about your issues rather than bottling them up. Hatate sure seemed to have that figured out already. It got Momiji thinking, though.

Just what were all those other couples across Gensokyo doing this summer?

[poppyseedoncaffeine]

CH. 4

A/N: I thought long and hard about this, but I wanted some good sibling interactions, well, as well as you can get with two respectable blood hobos, a small child, and a trashcan man to maim. You're welcome. Also cuz I think its funny, trash guys name keeps changing.

2 1/2

        Magic had many uses, ones so great that the author of this story can't even tell you all of them, apparently making some one changes ages and sizes was one of them. To be completely honest, it wasn't Eclipse who noticed it, it Was Harvest. Harvest was the more vigilant of the twins, there were times where the sleepier twin knew when they had taken it to far and did his best to atone for both of them. A shred of humanity residing deep within the bot. Nights where Eclipse lay in pain tucked against the bot, a broken melody playing from the larger of the two. Harvest was the closest thing the child had for comfort.

        Eclipse tugged at the gown, it no longer reached his knees, the exposed skin made him feel uncomfortable, a second gown had been cut and wrapped around his waist in a sad attempt to mimic a diaper. Toilets weren't a thing when all that inhabited a base were robots. Well minus two, but that would change soon... hopefully. Harvest sat behind his twin, watching over the two, nothing too damaging could happen to Eclipse, Harvest was going to make sure of that, if he stayed awake long enough. Eclipse glanced at Blood, what he was doing to that trashcan? man? was none of his concern, though the jumbled up nonsense and breaking of bones certainly didn't help the child calm down.

        "Sibling must you hurt the trash headed man now?" BM paused, a long intestine dangling from their mouth, then resumed, not bothering to answer. Eclipse gagged, berrying his head between his legs, new bowl of food left untouched. Unsurprisingly when one watches someone get ripped apart in so many different ways they tend to loose their appetite. "Penelope! Why?" the odd squelching sound of blood and guts being magically drawn back in was nauseating, "was the beheaded rat not enough for you my love?"

        Eclipse wrinkled his nose, gross, rats were yucky. "BROTHER WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?!"  BM whined pausing to look at their twin, "Penelope, I can give you ALL the rats you want!" Eclipse giggled, BM wouldn't want rats! Waste basket  was silly! Eclipse lifted his head to look at BM's face, a look of disgust coating the nano machines face. 

        There was a pregnant pause, the odd sounding relationship between The tin head man and Penelope, furthering the overall discomfort in the room. The man resumed screaming and Eclipse buried his head between his legs once more.

       3.

 Eclipse was sleepy, that's all he ever felt. Several bowls lay empty at his feet, those bowls were meant to last the week while KC and the twins were gone. He hadn't meant to eat all of them! He was just hungry! He felt around for a bowl, it was too dark to see, he didn't like the dark. His hand brushed one and he immediately got to work on scraping the sides clean, it tasted funny, not as good as it had a few days ago, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

        His whole body went ridged as the door opened, KC? No to short for KC or the twins, his eyes hurt as they adjusted to the light assaulting his eyes. "Penelope?" the man staggered into the room, the bowl slipped from the child's hands, landing with a clatter. The ashcan turned towards the noise "PENELOPE!" he lunged at Eclipse, picking him up with an iron grip, "why, you are much smaller than the last time i saw you!"

        "NO! NO! NO! NO!" Eclipse screamed, kicking the trashcan with a mighty clang of bare feet meeting metal. The tin-headed man let go, he stumbled for a moment. Eclipse scrambled off the floor, his foot hurt. The door! he could get to the door and get out! the idea left him giddy as he lunged out of the crazy mans reach. He scrambled past the door and was startled by a loud blaring sound, he didn't like that it was too loud, he couldn't hear Trashcan head, and his eyes still hurt. 

        Get out. Get out. He had to get out! Eclipse ran down the hall as fast as his little legs would take him. The blaring only got louder the further he got from the room. His foot caught on an upturned plate of metal and he came crashing to the ground, his body trembled, he hadn't moved for the last few days, only to eat the scraps left behind in the bowls. 

        The floor beneath him trembled as if something heavy was landing on it, Dumpster man? Eclipse whimpered at the thought of the creepy man standing over him. The alarm was almost overbearing. He moved, just to cover his ears, he wasn't able to do much more than that. A loud screech pierced over the alarm, "NO! NO! NOOO-" 

        Eclipse curled into a ball as if that would protect him from whatever was killing Bin man. Seconds, what felt like hours, passed by as he listened to the screams fade under the alarm. Eclipse yelped as he was lifted of the ground, No! he didn't want to be with pail man! Eclipse weakly clawed at the metal chest... wait, Eclipse opened his eye, Meeting a thoroughly soaked Harvest moon, in what looks to be blood. Harvest said nothing, or maybe he did, who knows Eclipse couldn't hear anything over the alarm anymore.

        A firm, sticky hand covered Eclipse's ear, muffling the sound. The child shuddered in relief, nuzzling into the bots chest Eclipse sighed. This was nice. All too soon Eclipse was set onto the cold floor of the lab, the alarm had stopped, when had it stopped. Harvest walked to one of the cabinets scrounging around for something. Eclipse waddled to the bowls, looking at them now he wished he hadn't eaten them, the little remaining food was fuzzy and smelled bad, or maybe that was the blood, who's to say.

        Harvest appeared next to the child, "you know, you grow faster than any child I have seen" Harvest turned Eclipse around and began unbuttoning the back of the flimsy gown, "much too tall than you were a week ago" the cold air hit Eclipse's skin and he shuddered. Harvest laughed at himself, "I have killed most children I have seen, so maybe not the best example" Harvest carefully put the too big gown on Eclipse, the neck bit fell over his shoulder. 

"BIG!" Eclipse swished the garment, it almost reached his ankles!

        Harvest nodded, "has to be, yo-" *Yawn* "you want it to last more than a week" Harvest stood up, bunching the old garment in his hands. Eclipse sat down, exhausted, he grabbed a nearby bowl and looked at the rotted contents. It might not hurt? Before he could even make a decision, the bowl was snatched from his hands,

        "Ah~ Ah~ Ah~" Eclipse stiffened, eye looking up at KC, when had he come in? KC crouched down to his charges height, "that's... icky, you don't want to get sick do you?" Eclipse shook his head. KC smiled and patted Eclipse, "good boy" he turned to Harvest, "go join your Sibling downstairs, clean up that mess you left outside of the room" Harvest nodded and left with little complaint. KC grabbed Eclipses face, tilting it side to side, his hand rested on Eclipses forehead, his smile fell.

        "Stupid child" he lifted Eclipse off the ground, this time under the armpits, and set him against his chest. Eclipse's eyes drooped as Kill code walked out of the room and over to the teleportation pad.

[xasha777]

In the wake of the Great Eclipse, the timelines fractured, and the fabric between epochs thinned. It was during this tumultuous period that a peculiar figure wandered into the sleepy town of Nova Tenochtitlán—a town where the New World and the Old merged into a rich tapestry of past and future.

This figure was known simply as The Chrono-Jester. Dressed in an anachronistic blend of neo-Mesoamerican fashion and circus garb, his vibrant suit patched with colors that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the ages. A red hat, a symbol of the Red Earth from which the First Men emerged, perched atop his head, its hue a match for the Red Sun, the harbinger of the Fifth World.

The Chrono-Jester's presence caused a stir amongst the townsfolk, who were adorned in smart fabrics and adorned with digital obsidian pendants, a blend of ancestral reverence and future foresight. Yet, the Jester spoke not a word. Instead, he carried with him an ancient Olmec time artifact, capable of displaying scenes from the past.

Each evening, beneath the holographic heavens, the Chrono-Jester would activate the artifact. The townspeople would gather, and the air would shimmer with the visions of epochs long past—jaguars prowling under the dense canopy of a rainforest, mighty pyramids towering over a landscape where people revered the Feathered Serpent, and kings of lost civilizations whose names had been reclaimed by the earth.

But the Chrono-Jester's purpose was more than mere entertainment. Each display carried within it a hidden message, a riddle written in the glyphs of old, warning of a cataclysm that would come not from the stars, but from the very timelines that the town straddled. The people of Nova Tenochtitlán were the guardians of a chronological nexus, a place where time streams intersected and could either flow harmoniously or clash and unravel the tapestry of existence.

Amidst the digital zócalo, where virtual and reality coalesced, the Chrono-Jester unveiled his final vision. A fearsome deity from the Mesoamerican pantheon, one thought to be a mere myth, was set to return. This deity had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, and now, empowered by the fractured timelines, it sought to reshape the Fifth World in its image.

It was up to the Chrono-Jester, a time-bender who had once ruled as a king in a bygone era, and the people of Nova Tenochtitlán, descendants of ancient Mesoamericans and pioneers of the digital future, to restore balance. Together, they must delve into the depths of their history and harness the power of their technological prowess to seal the ruptures in time.

As the Great Eclipse drew near once more, casting its shadow across the land, the Chrono-Jester stood at the nexus point. He began an ancient ritual, encoded in the very suit he wore, each stripe and color a symbol of the eras that had to align. The townsfolk activated their obsidian pendants, creating a network of light, energy, and collective will.

With a burst of light that rivaled the sun, the timelines aligned. The deity, ancient and awe-inspiring, was not banished but joined in the effort, recognizing the unity of purpose between the Chrono-Jester and the people.

The Great Eclipse passed, leaving behind a world where time flowed uninterrupted, where the echoes of the Mesoamerican past lived harmoniously with the whispers of the future. The Chrono-Jester, his role fulfilled, faded away, leaving behind only his hat, a relic now of a timeline preserved. The people of Nova Tenochtitlán continued their watch, guardians of the chronology, a testament to the cycle of Five Suns, and the dawn of an era where history and destiny walked hand in hand.

[ruby-fury-secret]

the fourth part, ft. heartbreak all around

They never actually talked about it. But the great thing was that, as far as Raph and Mikey were concerned, action spoke louder than words.

 And boy, were they good at action.

 Three weeks had passed since their first kiss. Two weeks in which they’d gone from kissing, to tentative touches beneath blankets, to bolder and bolder displays that left Raph panting, shaking, and unable to feel his legs. Yeah, turned out Mikey was really good with action.

 Most of the time, they fooled around under the cover of night. The great thing about Donnie being so consumed with whatever project he had going on—he paid very little attention to what the rest of the family was doing. Master Splinter turned in early. No one noticed, or cared, that Mikey and Raph would retreat to Mikey’s room almost every evening and remain there for hours.

 Still, they’d taken the precaution of wedging a pillow between the headboard and the wall, just in case.

 Most nights, after their fun, Raph snuck out of their shared bed, slipped into the Nightwatcher suit, and busted a few heads. Mikey let him go, every time, without so much as an argument. Sure, in his trusting heart, he still believed Raph needed the time alone topside to catch up on solo training. But he still refrained from protesting, knowing deep down that whatever sent Raph to the surface was not something worth arguing about.

 And that was why, on some nights, Raph decided he’d earned a break from crimefighting, and spent the night curled up next to Mikey.

 On these nights, the words you’re going soft came to mind. You don’t deserve softness.

 The whole situation felt soft, the sort of thing Raph assumed was forbidden to him. It was easy, and safe, and fun, in the little sanctuary of Mikey’s room under the orange glow of the fairy lights draped across the ceiling. In here, no one could threaten them.

 And when a night spent curled up to Mikey meant he could wake up to a friendly face, Raph could allow himself a little softness.

 Scratch that. That wasn’t a friendly face looking down at him now. That was a lustful face. Mikey lay on his side, head propped in hand, a gleam in his eye that made Raph snap from sleepy to fully awake in an instant.

 Raph rubbed the sleep from his eyes, smirking back. Playing it cool, as though he wasn’t already turned on beyond belief.

 “You watchin’ me sleep? Pervert.”

 Mikey’s hand was on him, rubbing his arm, stroking his plastron. He always had a mighty need for touch that Raph was rapidly getting used to. “Technically I was watching you wake up. It’s romantic, dude.”

 “Romantic? If I ever get that sappy, kill me and bury the body.”

 “Are you saying romance is dead?” Mikey purred. Beneath the blankets, his hand wandered to the bottom of Raph’s plastron, nudging its way between closed thighs.

 Raph delicately avoided mentioning that treating yourself to a handful of crotch first thing in the morning wasn’t exactly romantic. It was fine, because he wasn’t exactly romantic either. The slick glide of Mikey’s fingers against his slit was proof enough that romance was the furthest thing from his mind right now.  

 And to think…

 Raph had been apprehensive, the very first time their kissing had escalated to below-the-belt touching. While Mikey knew, intellectually, what Raph was packing down there, Raph’s anxious mind conjured up a dozen possible reactions from Mikey, none of them pleasant, ranging from disgust to outright laughter.

 But like so many things with Mikey, he had nothing to worry about. That first time, Mikey had touched him, hummed in appreciation, kissed him harder, and the rest was a blur. Apparently working out with nunchaku left one really good with wrist action.

 Not fair. It’d taken Raph enough time to figure his own body out, in his early teens, getting it to do what he wanted to do. And Mikey had figured him out, with fingers and tongue and cock, within minutes of their first encounter.

 It wasn’t romantic, but it had to be something.

 Back in the present, Raph pretended to glare and resist as Mikey tried to wedge his thighs apart, and finally let his legs fall open, giving Mikey all the access he needed.

 They weren’t going to do anything that could be considered fucking, they never did when they fooled around in the morning. Too risky, too difficult to be quiet or subtle if Donnie walked by and happened to hear moaning and thumps and the suspiciously regular creaking of Mikey’s bedframe. Even then, he’d probably assume Mikey was jumping on the bed or playing a really vigorous video game.

 “You know, we should go out somewhere, sometime,” Mikey said, so casually, as though his finger wasn’t wiggling its way into Raph’s slit. “Someplace where we can be loud.”

 Raph rolled to his carapace, spreading his legs wider beneath the blanket. Mikey’s fingers, expertly curled against and inside him, followed him the whole way. The idea of being real loud was sexy.

 “Where’re we going to go? A fancy hotel?” Raph tried to keep the hitch out of his voice. He tucked his hands beneath his head, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt while Mikey’s fingers worked absolute magic between his legs.

 It was a good thing they only had three fingers: Mikey with five fingers would be absolutely devastating.

 “Shell yeah, imagine the jacuzzi!” Mikey’s look of genuine wonder at the thought of a fancy bath was a weird counterpoint to their early-morning sex. But then Mikey got that sexy, sly look back on his face, shifting a little closer and pulling his finger free, carefully peeling soft and damp folds apart until he found the little nub nestled within. He gave it a slow rub and Raph twitched. “But better yet, imagine what we could do if we didn’t have to sneak around. I bet you can get real loud.”

 Raph huffed, canting his hips up to encourage Mikey to rub a little harder. “Y-yeah right. You’d be the screamer.”

 “Nah,” Mikey purred. “I can picture it now. I’d stick you in the jacuzzi and then go under the water and go nuts.” Mikey wiggled his tongue, just in case it wasn’t clear what he meant to do under the hypothetical water of this hypothetical jacuzzi. “And you’d be all, ‘Oh Mikey! You’re so handsome and talented! Oh Mikey! More!’”

 “Oh my God, shut up.” He was tempted to shove Mikey’s head under the blankets and between his thighs, if only to occupy his mouth, but even though Mikey could be a little shit even in the bedroom, he was working his fingers exactly as hard and quickly as Raph needed and he wasn’t going to stop any of it.

 Not even when Mikey leaned in closer, angling his body so his hard cock poked the muscle of Raph’s thigh. “Make me.”

 Great idea. Raph dragged his hands out from under his head and grabbed Mikey’s neck, kissing him deep and a bit sloppy while Mikey worked his wrist quickly and wound him up more and more.

 Raph didn’t have to make a sound. His breathing quickened, his thighs clenched, and Mikey knew the moment he was about to come because he pulled away from the kiss to stare at Raph’s face. Raph snapped his eyes shut as orgasm rolled like a wave, and he pulsed around Mikey’s fingers with stuttered breaths until Mikey stopped rubbing and slowly pulled his finger out.

 Yeah, Raph wasn’t a screamer, though it was by necessity. They had the ability to sneak around but that didn’t mean either was going to abuse that advantage by screaming like porn stars. Maybe it would feel good to get a little vocal sometimes, but that wasn’t meant for them.

 It was as though Mikey was reading his mind. “I take it back, it’s sexier like this. It’s real hot to watch you come all super-quiet.”

 “So you are a pervert,” Raph huffed. The discovery that Mikey was quite the dirty talker in bed was not an unpleasant one. Still flushed and twitchy, Raph went hunting beneath the blanket until his fingers wrapped around Mikey’s cock, still hard and wet against his thigh. A few pumps later and Mikey quietly moaned as he came on the sheets, and Raph had to admit it was pretty hot.

 Not to mention messy. There was no saving the sheets, and he’d probably left some stains underneath as well, so Raph wiped the cum off on them, then relaxed as Mikey cuddled up to him.

 “Should get a shower,” Raph murmured. He was warm and sleepy, body thrumming pleasantly. Staying here all day sounded nice, but was definitely pushing it.

 Was it so wrong to want to keep this safe, secret little thing going on a little bit longer? He was content here, next to Mikey. Oh yeah, the sex was nice. But the idea of being raw and open with someone like this? Raph was too cautious to ever use the word ‘happy’, though this came as close as he’d gotten in ages.

 “I’ll shower when I’m dead, dude,” Mikey said, heavy and drowsy against Raph’s side.

 Raph grinned. Idiot. Mikey was lucky that Raph liked him a lot. “I’m gettin’ up before you start drooling on me. You better change the sheets later. I’m not sleeping in crusty stuff tonight.”

 Raph pecked a kiss on Mikey’s forehead and slid out of bed, taking a moment to confirm there were no suspicious fluids left on him. A shower would be awesome. And later, a bike ride and some time spent with the police scanner. It’d been a few nights since the Nightwatcher was out, and he couldn’t have the scumbags of the city think they were in the clear.

 Mikey watched his movements as he gathered his gear, propping his chin on folded arms. “I’ll just swap them with Donnie’s sheets. Think he’ll notice?”

 “Ew. Yeah, and he’ll burn the whole lair down.”

 “Fiiiine,” Mikey huffed dramatically. “Maybe I’ll swap them with Leo’s instead.”

 Raph’s grin faltered. It was supposed to be funny. Bringing Leo into the room, if only in name, felt wrong. “You won’t die if you do laundry, Mikey.”

 Mikey’s look practically screamed are you really willing to take that risk? Raph grinned again.

 “You are going out tonight, right?” Mikey asked. “For some training?”

 There it was again, that pang of guilt. Raph wasn’t sure what was worse; that he kept lying to Mikey about where he went at night, or that Mikey still completely bought it without question. “Could use some fresh air, yeah. Just for a few hours.”

 And on top of that, the realization that Mikey knew him so well that somehow, he could read it in Raph that he needed to be out tonight. Mikey didn’t know the full story, but he still knew Raph so well.

 Mikey stretched, yawned, and slithered out of bed. He was definitely going to need a shower too. In a perfect world, they could shower together. Maybe one day. And Raph wouldn’t even have to be sick to enjoy the privilege of bathing with Mikey.

 “Don’t come home too late, got it?”

 How could he, with the promise of more fooling around and more time with Mikey? “I won’t, mom.”

 Mikey stuck his tongue out, and to Raph’s delight, actually began stripping the sheets from the bed. “You should let me join you up there sometime, bro. I could use a workout too.”

 Raph wasn’t so crude as to mention that Mikey was getting plenty of working out in these days. “One night soon. That’d be nice.”

 He leaned into Mikey, enough for a parting kiss, and left the room unseen by anyone.

 And it would be nice, to go out with Mikey one of these nights. Maybe they could actually run some katas on the roof, like in older days. Maybe they���d even start fooling around topside.

 And maybe, just maybe, he could trust Mikey with his secret.

 Mikey hadn’t said much about the Nightwatcher since the two of them started their whatever-this-was. Kind of cute to think that Mikey was distracted from his crush on the vigilante, now that he was occupied. He’d still be thrilled to learn the Nightwatcher’s identity, Raph knew it. He’d ask to ride the bike. He’d ask to come along.

 Maybe they could become a team. Mikey, on the bike behind him, holding on to Raph’s waist. At his side, while they busted some bad guys.

 He had to think about this, because revealing his identity to Mikey was not something he could take back. But Raph dared hope, for a shining moment, that things would actually turn out okay.

 ***

 It took two hours for things to go from okay to fucking disastrous.

 Raph’s hands shook as he struggled to peel himself out of the suit. His fingers were slippery with blood and sweat and the light-headedness wasn’t helping either.

 His pulse roared furiously in his ears yet he kept hearing, again and again, the sound of the gun going off. Raph always forgot how loud those things could get.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

 Raph’s entire body was practically rattling now, working the leather down from his hips and then his thighs. Blood, thick and tacky, splashed free from the material, and continued to ooze from the holes on his right thigh.

 Cocky. Stupid. Careless. Raph continued the litany of self-hatred as he managed to kick off the rest of the suit, pulling out the small first aid kit he kept with the bike. It had a couple of band-aids, a pair of tweezers, a roll of gauze. It was small and useless and Raph tried to control his breath as he spun the gauze around his thigh until the roll ran out.

 It should have been easy. Couple of idiots doing smash-and-grabs in cars at midnight. The kind of thing Raph could have ignored, because his focus was more on keeping people from getting hurt than stopping wallets lifted from cars. Still, it should have been easy.

 But, they had guns. Nothing new. Punks with guns? Yeah, sure, Raph dealt with that all the time. Punks willing to fire their guns? Bit rarer. If Raph hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did and kicked the guy’s arm down, the muzzle would have been pointed at his abdomen instead of his thigh, and he definitely didn’t have enough gauze to pack his guts back in.

 Raph tied off the last of the gauze, leaned over his leg, and groaned. The bullet missed the femoral artery. He was no doctor, but Donnie had drilled a few things into them over the years. They all knew first aid. They knew how to set broken bones. How to stitch. How to recognize the signs of concussion. And they knew the places where you absolutely did not want to get sliced, stabbed, or shot.

 But Raph was lucky. The bullet had gone in and out of his right thigh, leaving both entry and exist wounds and no bullet to pry free, missing that all-too-important femoral artery, the one that meant you were a goner in minutes if it so much as got nicked. But the wound was still deep, hurt like hell, and bled a lot.

 Like a lot. The gauze was only good for three layers around his meaty thigh, and blood was already saturating the white.

 He had more supplies back at the lair. More gauze. Butterfly bandages. He could stitch himself up if he had to. He just had to make it back.

 Every step was like a white-hot poker in his leg. Dizziness slowed him down, made him nauseated. He hadn’t even managed to tie the gauze that securely: the momentum of his steps loosened the bandage, and blood flowed freely down his leg.

 “Ugh, dammit…” They’d had it drilled into them not to leave clues that would lead anyone back to the lair. A trail of fat blooddrops was a huge frickin’ clue. Before he got any further, Raph tied off the gauze, tight enough that it may as well have been a tourniquet, and reached down to swipe his hands up his leg, rubbing off the worst of the blood before it could trickle to the ground.

 He'd had to repeat the motion four more times before finally reaching the lair. He was smeared with blood, but at least none of it had reached the ground and left footprints. He thought so anyway. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think.

 Raph made it to his room. The gauze was now completely soaked with red, drooping down his thigh from the weight of the blood. Raph was barely able to close his door before falling to his hands and knees, swallowing thickly as blood spattered to the ground beneath him.

 He had to… had to clean that up. He found a rag on the floor near his bed, dabbing at the spatters. Dried blood was the worst to clean out of the flooring. Had to mop it up while it was still wet, or…

 Nausea rose. Sweat dripped to the floor. Raph rubbed at the bloodstains with the rag, blinking, dizzy, wondering why the splatters kept growing even though he was cleaning them up.

 Raph blinked the gray out of his vision. Chills prickled up and down his spine. A moment later, he hit the floor. Maybe it was his addled brain, but he could have sworn he saw a blur of orange before he passed out entirely.

 ***

 Despite everything that followed, Raph was grateful it was Mikey who found him. Mikey had the good sense not to yell for anyone else to get in here.

 Waking up was slow and hazy, like wading through mud. Raph’s head felt like it was full of helium. Mikey was handling him, cradling his face, moving his body, calling his name.

 When the rush in Raph’s ears calmed to a dull roar, he blinked and saw Mikey hovering above him. The shock of pain from his thigh had him clenching, grunting weakly, enough to draw Mikey’s attention.

 “Raph! Raph, I got you, but you need to breathe.”

 Was he hyperventilating? It felt like it. Raph grunted again, throwing his focus on the sensation of Mikey pressing hard on his thigh, letting the pain anchor him to reality.

 “Atta boy. Holy crap dude, you got yourself good here. I can fix this though, I can fix anything, you’ll see…”

 He was babbling, probably another way to help Raph stay conscious. It was pretty hard to fall asleep with Mikey chattering in his ear.

 He watched as Mikey pulled more gauze from a roll, sectioned it off with his teeth, rolled it into a thick pad, and pressed it to Raph’s thigh. Raph shifted a little, trying to get sensation back into his freezing limbs while Mikey worked. Okay, so he was on his back, something wedged under his head. Too hard to be a pillow, probably a bunched-up towel or blanket. Probably because Raph’s pillows and blankets were currently wedged under his legs, elevating them while Mikey worked.

 Oh. How was he going to get the blood out of his blankets?

 “Okay, that’s it for now.” Raph felt medical tape tacking to his thigh, then Mikey’s hand on his forehead. “Once we’re sure the bleeding’s good, I can do stitches. It’ll all be good. Damn Raphie, you look like garbage.”

 “F-feels like it too,” Raph huffed. He wanted to take Mikey’s hand. His own hands were still too shaky for that, resting on his abdomen while he caught his breath. In and out. His pulse was coming down, beat by beat. He felt thirsty as hell but at least clarity was returning.

 Thanks to Mikey. Another quick glance revealed a pile of bloody gauze, and the very real possibility that he could have bled out on his bedroom floor if Mikey wasn’t forever looking out for him.

 Mikey’s hand was on his cheek, stroking it. The serious, frightened look in his eyes was giving way to something softer.

 His next question made everything come crashing down. “Raph… Raph, what happened to you?”

 Chills prickled down Raph’s spine again, this time due to dread. No. No. There was no way to explain a bullet wound. Mikey wasn’t stupid: the moment he got close enough to stitch, he’d be able to tell what caused the injury. And Raph would have to admit everything. And Mikey would be worried about the wound but thrilled about the revelation and--

 He’d been an idiot to think any of this could work out. Stumbling home with bruises or a broken wrist were negligible things. A bullet wound, though. Raph could have died. Which meant, if he told Mikey about the Nightwatcher, and Mikey got excited and tagged along…

 It meant Mikey could get hurt. Mikey could die. What if Mikey got shot? What if Mikey got a knife to the gut because some punks were feeling brave and Raph was too slow to react? He couldn’t have that happen, there was no way.

 Mikey being Mikey, would not take no for an answer. He’d probably agree to stay home while Raph went out on Nightwatcher business, only to follow him in the shadows, looking out for him. Out of love. And that love would get Mikey hurt, and no. No.

 Mikey was still talking, still touching him. “Kinda looks like you ran your leg through with something? Like a spike, or…? I won’t laugh if you screwed up a flip again, it’s okay.”

 “Shut up! Just… stop.”

 “Whoa, Raph.” The hurt in Mikey’s eyes was palpable. “What’s the big deal? I’m not going to laugh at you for screwing up!”

 Raph lashed out, smacking Mikey’s hand away from his face. There wasn’t much energy due to the blood loss but his meaning was loud and clear. “I said stop. Stop fussing. I don’t need it and I don’t need you.”

 “Okay, I think you’re delirious, bro.” Mikey’s voice wavered, as though he was trying to convince himself. “Let me take care of your leg properly, get some sleep, eat something, then we’ll talk.”

 Raph managed to work his hands under him and sat up, slowly, pausing to blink the spots from his vision. It’d be safer for him to stay horizontal but he wasn’t going to be able to sell this conversation if he was flat on his back. If Mikey was going to buy his anger, Raph had to make himself imposing.

 “I don’t want you to take care of anything,” Raph huffed. It hurt to lie to Mikey. It could hurt even more if he stopped lying to Mikey. Raph was still addled, dizzy from blood loss, but he knew what he had to do. “Shit, Mikey. It’s not cute anymore. I don’t want you hovering over me.”

 Mikey held up his hands. Raph didn’t miss the way they were still coated with blood. “Dude, you passed out. What did you expect me to do? Leave you to bleed out on your floor?”

 It was better than the alternative. “Look, this thing we got… it only works if you get off my ass. I don’t need to deal with this.”

 “What are you saying?” Mikey’s voice was brittle. “Raph?”

 Raph clenched his teeth. It was getting hard to breathe. Every word hurt like a poker in his gut. “I’m saying this thing, this… whatever we got. It has to end. It was stupid in the first place.”

 Mikey’s eyes welled with tears. “Raph! Okay, okay fine! I’ll back off if that’s what you want. Whatever it takes. Can you at least let me fix your leg? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

 “I can stitch it myself.” Planting his palms on the sticky floor, Raph managed to scoot back a few inches, leaving his leg propped by the pillows but creating space. “We’re done here.”

 “Raph—”

 “We’re done, Mikey!”

 “Come on!” Mikey slammed his hands on the floor. “Stop being dumb! Everything’s so messed up, that’s why you and I are working out. We’re good together. Don’t give this up, please. Whatever’s bothering you, we can work it out.”

 They should probably have been worried about the noise alerting Donnie and Splinter. Raph didn’t care. It was hard enough to keep a scowl on his face, to pretend he wasn’t crumbling on the inside while he tore Mikey apart. “I don’t want to work it out. I want you to go away.”

 “…I put new sheets on the bed.”  

 Shit. Why did that hurt most of all? “I don’t care, Mikey. And I don’t need you. Go away.”

 Raph saw it in his eyes: the fight left and Mikey was done arguing. And not a moment too soon, because Raph wasn’t sure if he could keep up this horrible charade any more.

 “Fine. Asshole.” Mikey sniffled, stormed to his feet, and paused only to kick the first aid kit towards Raph. It smacked Raph’s hip, hard. “Next time you hurt yourself, deal with it. See if I care.”

 Raph said nothing. He should have been relieved, and maybe he would be later, knowing this was all for the best. It was hard to feel anything but terribly sick for now.

 Mikey paused by the door. Raph feared he was going to try to plead his case some more, but he turned back to glare, tears soaking into his bandanna. “You know what, you deserve to be alone.”

 The door slammed. Raph slumped to his elbows.

 This was okay. It was better than the alternative. Raph was the protector. It was his job to take all the pain so his family wouldn’t have to suffer. So they wouldn’t have to die.

 He was already no one’s favourite. Mikey might as well hate him too.

 Hands shaking, Raph rummaged through the first aid kit and dug out the needle and suture thread. He could do this himself. He didn’t need Mikey.

 He didn’t.

 Fuck.

[supernovafeather]

Loving Couple

Leto Atreides x Wife!Reader

Content: implicit sexual mentions (skipped smut), married couple, difficulties to conceive a child, reader is in such a great mood she looks high like seriously wtf is happening to you reader, fluff.

Today is a great day you think to yourself as you stretch in your bed. It's early, but you slept exceptionally well. Your heart and mood are so light right now that you can't stop this huge smile from spreading onto your face. Rain pours down the window, the sky is grey, it must be cold but no care given. You feel great.

Turning your head to the side you watch the man lying by your left as he rubs his eyes without any energy. Someone is not having a good moment waking up.

"Good morning my lovely Duke." You coo as you lean on towards him to plant a kiss on his bearded cheek. "How are you feeling ?"

"Great, thank you my sweet." He mumbles confused as he narrows his eyes. "Good morning too."

"Still not motivated for the ceremony my great and all-mighty husband ?"

This time he doesn't answer, too deep into the sleepy mist he's still plunged into to try to find a reply. It's usual to witness exhaustion getting so heavy on his features and you hate that. So whenever you can help, you do.

"Tell me Leto." You say with a huge smile as you move to straddle him confidently as his confusion increases. "There must be something that could boost your mood."

"Oh well... yes there is something indeed." He mutters as you undress without needing further notice.

Once finished, you leave the bed naked and whistling as you head to the bathroom. Leto still hasn't tried to get up and you wonder whether the maidservants are going to see him like that in the morning. During your shower you hear him going into the bathroom before joining you, his arms around you as he kisses your neck.

"I don't know why you are in such a good mood but it's a pleasure to see."

"It's always a pleasure to see me, just admit it Leto." You taunt him with a wink when he starts ringing your hair.

"Who are you and what have you done to my Duchess ?" He chuckles.

"You sound sleepy. I thought our powerful Duke could have the strength to carry the world on his shoulders."

"I had a mountain on me this morning that made me love my bed too much."

"Never felt so good hearing you calling me fat."

"What ? No no that's not..."

You just laugh it off, kissing his lips and cleaning his beard as he just seems more confused if even possible. Today is a weird day but you embrace it. Why not showing this extreme good mood around you after all ? And you know Leto didn't mean it that way.

"I love you." You coo as he tilts his head to the side.

"I love you too. Do you have something to tell me ? A... a special day ?"

"I just feel great." You shrug.

Being at the court requires you to remain calm, calculating, bored some times. Not today. You get more talkative than usual with your maidservants but contrarily to your husband they don't freeze in shock at this, they keep adjusting the long and thin dress around you with small smiles. You improved their mood and this simple fact lightens your heart even more as you go to the dining room to take your breakfast.

The ceremony is a torture for you. You can't smile at the cat you see playing with a Lady dress at the back as the poor woman tries not to disturb your husband's speech. As talented and charismatic and handsome as he is, the guard struggling to get the little feline is just too interesting to listen to Leto carefully. He already repeated it to you twice and you are a bit tired of hearing of the wonderful work from the engineers for this new generation of warship.

After the end of his speech, you join him to walk by his side but instead of simply locking your arm with his you also take his hand discreetly not to violate any rule from the etiquette. People from the past loved it when the leading couple showed respect to each other but it was apparently not the same for love. It's not an unpleasing surprise to Leto who greets you with a grin before leaning on you to tell something in secret.

"Thank you for this morning. Even though I am used to speeches it's always great to release some stress before."

"You are welcome my Lord. I'm happy to help."

"But please be honest... is there anything making you so joyful ?" He asks with a slight stroke from his thumb on your hidden linked hand. "It must be boring for your today to follow me."

"I have no idea. I woke up like this." You say with a smile.

"I see." He says before humming with a tender gaze. "Maybe some good news you learned recently ?"

"What are you thinking about ?" You ask genuinely.

The Duke doesn't her the opportunity to ask as an old man interrupts your discussion with plethora of excuses, bowing with a smile as he asks your husband and you to follow him for lunch.

While eating, you feel Leto acting closer to you in public. Instead of sticking purely to his duty as he should and interacting with his guests, he regularly rests a hand on your forearm behind the table, inquiring on whether or not you like your food. This unusual attention brings something back, this warmth you felt in your heart the first time you irremediably fell in love with this man. Not that you weren't still in love with him but... throughout the years of failing to conceive his heir, of mutual dedication to duty and the quietness of a couple that has shared their life for years, you forgot that little flame.

At night, once in bed, you enjoy this contact with your husband. Not in a sexual way despite your mutual nudity under the blanket. You enjoy each other's presence, your cheek on his shoulder as you feel him relaxing, his nape cracking as he turns his head from left to right.

"It's finally over." He mumbles as he caresses your back and scalp.

"As you say." You confirm with a sigh. "It was a bit boring towards the end, I have to admit."

"Thank you for your good mood today. It helped me a lot to appreciate all of this."

You send him a small smile, just enough to share your answer with him. Then this same smile disappears at the gentle pressure applied on your lips, the pressure of his arms doubling around you. When he breaks this contact between your faces, he keeps his eyes on you with this seductive glint you know so well as he strokes your cheek.

"My sweet, are you sure there is nothing you want to tell me ?"

"Uh... I love you ?" You say nervously as you wonder what he had in mind.

"All this joy... it felt unreal from you. You have stopped smiling like this a long time ago. And all of a sudden it comes back during all day ?"

Leto is wearing this knowing smile and this time you are the one being confused. It's flattering to have him caring so much but really... you are oblivious to what is going on in his mind.

"Leto, what are you talking about ?"

"Are you pregnant ?"

Now this makes sense. He thought you learnt you were carrying his child. After all you got the confirmation recently that you could both conceive a baby, it was just that for some reason it wouldn't work despite your numerous trials throughout the years. Your relationship got a few difficult moments due to this but never anything that would get you kicked out of the court for not bringing an heir to your husband. You got lucky to be so much in love with each other.

But now, you have to tell the truth.

"Leto, I am not pregnant." You say gently as his features looks like falling from disappointment. "I was genuinely in a good mood this morning and it had kept going during the day."

There is no other answer from him other than a sad nod breaking your heart.

"I'm sorry honey..." you start as you feel his mind wandering elsewhere.

"Don't feel sorry." He says with a kiss on the back of your hand. "You have nothing to do with this. Nature or Gods don't want to give us what we want. The important is that you got the opportunity to smile like you used to in the past. I was afraid you were starting to turn off this light in your eyes."

You rest your forehead against his in an affectionate gesture soon coupled to his kiss, and you cup his bearded cheeks with your hands.

"I am still going to try for a kid with you my love." You confirm with a peck on his lips. "Maybe this morning was the one. Maybe it will happen later. But it is going to work. We want it, we are ready to welcome your heir, and we try actively. Extrel actively these days even..." You add while cooing.

"You surprised me this morning." He smiles. "Usually I'm the one that likes to play like this so early."

"Usually doesn't mean always. If I can spend some good and privileged time with my husband..." You smile as his hands get lower and lower under the blanket as you start slowly to straddle him, your hands on his chest. "...then I am going to appreciate each second of it, and make my beloved love it as well."

You are faster than him, smiling at his positively surprised face as you launch another trial with much enthusiasm.

- - - - -

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino @harrys-tittie

[imagine-a-dream]

Personal God

Crowley x female plus size reader

summary: Honestly PWP, but in my mind it was something along the line of You are insecure in your body and Crowley convinced you to try and ride him. warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, err worshipping kink probably? word count: 1656a/n: I'm trying to get out of my writing block and @walkingaline suggested to try and write ideas with an actual pen on paper, and it worked like magic. Forever greatful for our friendship, even though I dissapear sometimes 😭 you are the best, Fran, I love you! ♥ Also veeery self indulgent. I need some positivity in my life rn.

Crowley’s green eyes were soaking in your form through half-lidden eyelashes, never once leaving you. The look of absolute bliss and awe on his face only encouraged you to move even slower. You wouldn’t, couldn’t believe him when he said he adored the way you looked. You used to brush his words off as another complement of a sweet-talking ex king of the crossroads, not fully understanding his affection even after all this time. But right now, as you were looking down at his flushed face, riding him, hearing his short breaths and groans... you started to actually believe it.

You lifted your body up and down his length with a grace you didn't realize you possessed. You moved your hips in slow circles, not yet pushing down on his member fully, giving you both enough friction to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy. You have never felt so powerful as right at this moment. The mighty and feared demon, king of Hell, who could kill with the snap of his fingers and knew no mercy, was nothing but a desperate, whining mess underneath you.

And it felt just amazing, his cock pulsing and twitching inside of you, stretching you delightfully. His hands were grabbing your wide hips, desperate and needy to feel you. Cheeks covered with a thick blush, mouth open, moaning openly without a care in the world. You wanted to laugh at how fucked he looked right now, wanted to tease him, but all the sounds died in your throat when you locked your eyes with his.

"You’re doing so well, my Queen."

His voice is almost trembling and he is looking at you like you are the most beautiful creature in the whole world. And to him, you really were just this: beautiful. You were beautiful in fancy dress, all dolled up and looking regal on your throne beside him, giving orders to his, yours, minions; you were beautiful in jeans and these bloody plaid shirts that he despised seeing on anyone but you; you were beautiful with your hair messy and your eyes tired from sleepless nights after hunts. You were beautiful in cute pajamas with your favorite cartoon character, all sleepy and comfy and warm, smiling softly into his gentle kisses.The intensity of his gaze is intoxicating, making your headlights and chest heavy with emotions.

You gasped when the head of his member hit you just right, and moved your hands from his biceps to cover his chest, to stabilize yourself. Your nails scratched lightly over his sensitive nipples. This made Crowley hiss and throw his head back.

He was becoming impatient. His hips jerked up slightly against his will, but he stopped himself and stilled under you. Oh, how he wanted you to move faster, to moan louder, to take him all the way to the hilt. He would love to flip you over and take you hard and fast, making you choke on screams… But it wasn’t about him tonight. It was all about you and your pleasure, your body, your confidence and love.

"So good for me, dear. Fuck, you’re amazing..."

His voice sounded sinful, rasping, and heavy with lust. His chest vibrates under your fingertips, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine, making your hips stutter and grind on his shaft slightly harder than you intended. He moans loudly, not caring if anyone hears. He wanted you to see just how good you made him feel.

His hands travel up your body to cup your breasts and you sigh in relief when he gives them a small squeeze. The heat of his palms spreads through your body like a wildfire and you spasm around his shaft. His fingers play with your nipples, repeating your own motions from earlier, and you finally let go and take him all in. Crowley curses through gritted teeth and you let out a breathy laugh and decide to speed up the motions and the new rhythm makes him almost choke on his moan.

"Yesss, darling, just like that..."

You were nothing but the finest piece of art in his eyes at this moment, so free and confident. In the darkness of the room, only illuminated by the street lights, you look nearly holy. He was sure he could spend an eternity just looking at you, admiring every curve, every freckle, every darn stretch mark you hated so much, but he adored. Every part of you, every scar, every birthmark, every inch of your body, was telling the most interesting stories that even the whole Library of Alexandria could not compete with.

He never believed in gods, even after his death and rebirth as a child of sin, forever chained to his womb in the depths of ungodly Earth with all of the pain and filth on and under its surface. But you... You were so much more than any god could give him. And he will forever cherish you, worship you to the end of life itself, and be forever yours to command. He would even start to pray, if it meant to see your bright smile, only aimed at him and him alone. He would kill anyone, would sacrifice any being of any power in this universe or other, if it meant you would spare one glance at him. And it would be enough.

You grind yourself harder, your pace quickens, and it takes all of his will to not meet you halfway. No, he wants to make you enjoy yourself, to take the lead in how to bring you both to the edge. But even his strength is not enough and his hips jerk once or twice to feel you deeper, closer.

One of his hands wanders down your body, gently squeezing the softness of your belly on its way, only to stop just when you need it the most. His thumb presses on your clit and you shudder and grind yourself even harder on him, moving your body faster. You clench around him, your breath is hushed, and your thighs are trembling.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. It’s like the flames of hell are licking your body, trying to burn you alive, claiming you as his.

You’re so close already. His thick cock massages your inner walls in all the right places, sending jolts of pleasure with every thrust; his fingers grip your flesh so tightly that you are sure there will be the print of his fingertips all over you by tomorrow. His eyes glow softly in the darkness, consumed by bloody redness and you know he’s close, too.

When his thumb starts to circle around your clit, you know it’s a matter of seconds before you finish. And he knows it, too. His other hand lowers to your waist, helping you chase your high, lowering you harder down his dick. Your walls flatter around him erratically and you feel the coil in your stomach tighten unimaginably.

"Keep going, my love. You are so gorgeous like this, fucking yourself on my cock, taking what you want. Come on, darling, cum for me. Cum for your king. "

He presses harder on your swollen bud and it’s all it takes for that coil to finally snap. The power of your orgasm knocks all the wind from your lungs, your mouth opens wide in a soundless scream, your back arches, and your legs shake around him. You can barely notice that Crowle keeps thrusting into you as waves of white hot pleasure wash over you again and again.

Your name sounds like prayers, falling from his lips, and you feel as if you are his personal God. You have barely come down from your high when you feel your second orgasm approaching. Crowley fucks into you rapidly, using your body as a fuckdoll, chasing his own pleasure.

"Can you cum one more time for me, love?" He whispers and all you can do is whimper in response, your body shaking, too overwhelmed with feelings of him still pounding into you. "I know you can, my queen. Just one more time, come on…"

You can feel like you might explode, and it takes only two more snaps of his hips to send you both over the edge, and this time you cry out for the whole world to hear.

You collapse on top of him, absolutely drained. He huffs out a laugh and pets your head gently. You lay there in the afterglow, not moving a muscle, for a few minutes, and try to catch your breaths. Finally, he moves under you and you panic, thinking the weight of your body is too much, you’re too heavy. But he hushes you and pulls you even closer. His softening member slips out of you and you mewl at the feeling of his cum dripping out of your sore core.

Crowley gives you a soft kiss on the top of your head, his hands lazily rubbing your back and upper arms, fingers drawing obscure patterns on your skin.

"Told you you’d like it." He murmurs somewhere in the crown of your head. "And a king never lies to his queen."

He feels you smile against his chest and lets out a chuckle. You only laugh at that and he slaps your buttcheek playfully.

"A good king, ‘ight. Am I not good for you?"

You find the strength to lift yourself a little to meet his eyes.

"The best."

"‘S right." He grins proudly and you want to argue just for the sake of pissing him off like you always do, to have a real conversation about kings and queens and all the other stuff in between, but you are so tired and your eyes close on their own accord. Before darkness consumes you completely, you hear a whisper.

"Rest now, my goddess."

You feel his lips on your forehead and fall into deep slumber, feeling happier than ever.

masterlist | request rules

[soupbabe]

Heard you wanted to be spammed with requests-

So uh- Idk if you do platonic headcanons but- maybe platonic Stardust crusaders with a pillar crusader? Doesn't matter what,,, gender the bby pillar person is,,, just,,, sweet pillar babe who's tall af- and totally acts like a doofus at times---

You dont have to do this tho uvu

Stardust Crusaders + Pillarman! Reader HCs

It says Pillar*man* in title, but reader will be gender neutral, I think that's just the species (?) name! Also I like doing platonic requests so I don't mind doing this at all ! <3

Joseph Joestar

He met you around the time he met Santana

You were stuck in the same Pillar as the youngest pillarman, also playing the role of a guard dog before you were turned into stone

The main difference between you and your (uh forced adopted?) brother is that your face broke out in a huge smile and giggles filled the room when he booped your nose and told you to be happy

You were loyal to Kars, but throughout the time in Battle Tendency that decreased due to the realization that he never cared about you and did abandon you without thought

Joseph was there to comfort you through it and you helped in defeating Kars in return

After BT, you were sent to be studied at the Speedwagon Foundation and years later they were able to replicate the red stone of Aja for you

Ultimate Y/N ! Ultimate Y/N !

Sunburn no more

You became a nature deity, similar to Kars

First thing you did when the study was done was prank Joseph into thinking that the Ultimate Lifeform came back

Although it didn't work all too well, your forced down smile and stifled giggles definitely wasn't a sign of Kars, despite the mighty wings you sprouted

You lived with Suzi Q and Joseph for the majority of your new life and you adored being apart of their lives

Also they did make you babysit Holly numerous times even though you had no idea what a human baby looked like until now

Should've learned their lesson when one time you were caught making a rough sketch of what would have been a traditional pillarman tattoo on a 10 year old Holly, claiming that it's needed for her to grow up big and strong like you

Although you weren't a stand user, you had experience fighting ancient supernatural beings stronger than some stand users and you were a deity among men. Joseph didn't wait to take you with him when he found out that Dio was making a return

When Holly got sick and it was clear the crusaders had to go to Egypt, you didn't hesitate to sign up. It was a rare time that you were serious and your loyalty to your aged best friend shined through. You loved his family and you saw Holly grow up, of course you'd be there for him

Throughout SDC, you mostly just laughed at him (mostly during the fight with Mariah) and cracked jokes with him to ease tense situations

Also that bit at the end of the show where he pretended that Dio possessed his body?? He got that from you and you both laughed while Jotaro gave you both a glare

Iggy

Oh my god you barked back.

Y'all gossip with each other in dog, you're a nature deity, of course you can understand him perfectly

Added bonus of your powers is that he naturally relaxes with you

Sleepy gremlin

Jotaro Kujo

It took him a while to warm up to you

You were raised by Kars and Esidisi, dealing people who come off as cold and have occasional outbursts of anger come natural to you

He first doesn't think of you as anything when he first saw you

It wasn't until you sized him up, easily towering over the 6'5" teen, his eyes widened in astonishment a little

He has no problems with you, you're respectful to his mother and you respect his privacy for the most part

You're real bonding moment was when you made a lame, but fairfly obscure, fish pun when beating up the stand user of Dark Blue Moon

You both talked about marine life, he was genuinely interested in your experiences with ancient marine species and types of life before evolution made them what they were today

Although he doesn't like the happy go lucky types of people (they remind him of his annoying fangirls) you'll be the exception

A moment you both really became friends was in the Steely Dan fight

You shot your hand up in excitement, offering to aid in beating the hell out of the cocky bastard that mistreated Jotaro and Joseph

It was a good moment for you both to have light hearted banter and you ended the fight with a smile and a high five

Although persuading Joot to do the high five went more like: "Jotaro please" "No." "Pleassseeeeeee" "*sigh* Leave me alone after this."

I thank that you can't see stands. I can only imagine the endless lighthearted fights you and Star Platinum would have, you both giving each other proud smiles of how strong your friend has become

Noriaki Kakyoin

You gave a welcoming and cheerful aura when he woke up at the Kujo household

Out of all Crusaders, I do like to think that you would think of Kakyoin as more of a little brother

Probably because you miss Santana a bit tbh, red hair and a more reserved personality?? Easy for that to happen

Although you do make sure to keep that distinction between the two separate beings, gotta be healthy bby

You were one to always encourage him to get more out of his shell and be the friend he deserved

He would encourage you to speak about Pillarman society/culture when you both roomed together

One time you pranked him by giving him a handful cherries and giving him a tiny jumpscare when the cherries actually did turn back into your hand

Sometimes you both make fun of Polnareff together </3

Jean-Pierre Polnareff

,,,,big tall gentle giant? Oh my god he would've melted for you at first

He flirted with you first thing after the fight with Avdol, only to be immediately shut down with your laughter

It's not the first time someone hit on you, but his attempt was so cheesy and bad that it was funny

Don't worry he didn't keep on flirting with you though, it was clear that you weren't interested

That and you told him that you were over 1000 years old

You both were outgoing so it wasn't a big surprise that you two got along so well

He actually enjoys your tales of past fights and how it was like not being able to be in the sun for the longest time

That and he asked for hair care tips, your hair is very beautiful to him and to keep it as such even when you were turned to stone? Impressive

You both are dumbasses together, but you're the one to save his ass all the time

Especially during the first fight with Hol Horse, guns can't kill you and even then your skin can create a harsh shell to soften the blow

You just laughed it off, said that it tickled, and encouraged Polnareff to chase after the (now) frightened cowboy

You and Polnareff also have a lot in common too and you both are able to be for each other when it comes to Polnareff's grief over his sister and you technically being the only pillarman alive

Omg Y/N I can't believe you have yourself an emotional support himbo I'm jealous

You're also a wingman/wingwoman for him, years and years of experience (and using Joseph in his younger years as a "what not to do" reference) led you to being the perfect helper in getting whoever Polnareff wants

Muhammad Avdol

He's read about the Pillarmen, but he never thought that they were actually real

So when he met you he was flabbergasted

You and Avdol's friendship is like him unintentionally parenting a 7 foot 5 year old on one of those kid leashes

He knows that almost nothing can cause you great harm, but he still worries

Because of that his favorite form of hanging out with you involves chatting over tea or showing you foods you might not be aware of

In all honesty, it's greatly appreciated since your diet switched from vampires and humans to absorbing like 2-3 raw cows every other week. Your "palate" is not as expansive as you may think

While in India, you were able to buy some Henna and Avdol was very open to you giving him a mock Pillar tattoo

He wore it with pride and was very greatful

Sometimes when he gets homesick you make your arm into a chicken, and although it isn't the real thing, he appreciates it

You also show him ancient Pillar rituals too and it's his favorite thing to listen to

In return, you bother him to show you how to read tarot and tell him about (in your words) "occult business~"

You balance each other out and Avdol cherishes you greatly

When the mission to Egypt was over, he did name a chicken after you btw

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[ellana-ravenwood]

Good Night Rituals - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : You have a special little way to tuck your children in, to tell them “Goodnight” and send them off to have sweet dreams, and they absolutely love it. It makes, however, your Bruce a little jealous, at times...

When I was a kid, my mom used to sing to my brother and I a song every night, after our bed time story, and then she’d tell us she loved her, we’d in turn be like “I love you from here to the Moon !” and it’d go for a good half an hour of arguing over who loved the other one most...It inspired this mini-fic. Something very short, again to make you wait for longer more elaborate stuffs. Sorry i’m being slow, a lot of things (good things) is happening and I have very little time. I hope you will like this little thing :) : 

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

Dick

Dick is the one that invented this little “night ritual”. 

He told you this was the perfect name for it, because it sounded like you were witches up to no good, and he “loved that for you two”. 

Of course, it was fairly obvious he’d be the instigator of it all, as he was the oldest child. Your first little kiddo. Oh, but you helped too. 

The good ol’ days, during which you had absolutely NO idea how to raise a child. When you and Bruce, frankly, hadn’t been adults for THAT long, considering. 

And yet, and you were sure it was entirely thanks to little Dickie, everything came to you naturally. Everything felt right. Even if sometimes, you were a little clumsy. 

Both you and Bruce tried so hard though. To make Dick feel home. And like you were his parents. You never tried to replace his mom and dad. But in Dick’s own words, you just slowly became his chance at having parents again. 

Becoming Dick’s mom, and Dick’s dad, didn’t mean he forgot the ones he lost. It just meant he loved you as much as he loved them. And though the loss would forever hurt, he did know both John and Mary Grayson would’ve want him to be happy. 

And at Wayne Manor ? With you and Bruce ? He became happy. There was a few rough and dark first days, but things slowly build up. 

You became a family. You were his parents, now. And he knew, that his mom and dad wouldn’t be mad at him if he “moved on”, and allowed himself to love again. 

Bruce often said that he adopted Dick because he didn’t want the boy to become him. And in that simple fact, in that simple way little Dick Grayson understood he still had a chance at being happy, at having a family...He was already extremely different from his “new” dad. 

At least, from when he was at his age. 

Mission accomplished. 

In any case, this parent thing that was thrown your way, became one of the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life. 

And again, although there were some clumsy moments, and not everything was always great (Dick had some mighty fit of rage at times, Bruce could be a jerk, and hell sometimes you needed to get away from them as well because you could be such a dick...Everyone has their moments where they’re not on their best behavior, it’s called life), you were a mom, now. 

And being a mom, in your mind, meant tucking your kid in when it was time for bedtime. 

Only, it was easier said than done. 

Dick was a difficult child to put in bed. He’d always find ways to not sleep, and make you stay longer with him. Eventually, you made a “deal”. 

And that’s how the “night ritual” was born. 

You see, before this little ritual. This “deal” as you called it at first, before Dick found the name. It took you hours, to put him to bed. 

Bruce was often out in the city early (although he always made sure to be here for a good night kiss and a “love you, champ. See you tomorrow, sleep well”) and Alfred would monitor the computer, at those times. 

Later, when Dick grew up, you’d often be behind that monitor. But if a kid had to be put to bed ? You gladly took it upon yourself to do it. 

For you, especially in those early motherhood days, it was important to be there for your child. For him to feel like he wasn’t an afterthought, and that “the butler” (although everyone knew Alfred was more than that) wasn’t here to take him off of your hands. 

So bedtime, was your task. The task you gave yourself. 

And oh boy, with Dick ? It quickly turned into a hassle. 

“I’m thirsty...Wait, I’m afraid to stay alone in the room, piggyback ride to the kitchen ?” 

“I can’t sleep, it’s a full Moon.” 

“Hey, I didn’t clean up my room today ! We can’t leave all my toys laying around like that, can we ?” 

It was always “one last story” or “I have to pee” or “I forgot to brush my teeth !”. 

And at the time, you just didn’t have the heart to scold him and tell him it was enough, that it was time for bed. Oh well, who were you kidding. Even now, you didn’t scold your kids if they took their sweet time to get to bed. 

You just didn’t quite understood the point in getting  mad at them just because they didn’t go to bed right away. Dick eventually fell asleep, and not even that late. And if he was stalling for too long, he would only get mad at himself the next day because he’d be exhausted, and then that night he’d go to bed earlier. 

So no. You didn’t get mad. It sounded ridiculous, to yell at kids for this. However, you were a mom now. And you knew your kid couldn’t just do whatever he wanted, even if he was as sweet as Dick. 

Dick was nice almost all the time. He listened, did his chores, worked in school...So what if you gave him a little freedom sometimes ?

Yes. Sometimes. It was fine sometimes. 

But not all the time, like it had become. And not for bedtime. Seeing your son, in the morning, with big bags under his eyes, made you think of your husband, and oh you didn’t want this little 8 years old to be as tired as your Broosh could be. 

Of course, Dick was in bed WAY BEFORE Bruce came to bed. But for a small child like him, falling asleep at 10 or 11 pm was already too late. 

And so, one day you had enough. And you decided to make a deal with him. There had to be things required for him to go to bed (like a story, for example), but when you said : “it’s time for bed now”, he HAD to listen. The threat was that you’d just kiss him goodnight and leave. 

At first, Dick didn’t believe you. You couldn’t possibly have the heart to not tell him a story, and leave him alone so soon ! But you had to give him a lesson. 

And so, came the first unpleasant act you did as a parent. Because being nice and lenient was one thing, but you still were his mom. Not his friend. And there had to be certain rules, especially for such a young child. 

Rules, that he had to understand, or it was meaningless. Now, of course, you weren’t as harsh as your husband (you’d get mad at him enough, when he trained Dick and was a little too much). But still. You couldn’t let him decide of everything. You really REALLY didn’t want him to become a brat who thought he could just have anything whenever he wanted. 

Dick was a great kid, your worst fear at the time was that he’d turn into a phony who thought of himself as superior just because he was from a famous and rich family, and allowed to do whatever he wanted. 

And so, the “night ritual” began. On a common accord (because Dick was such a good kid, but also because that time you just kissed him, tucked him in and left really left a mark on him and he hated that so much !). 

You realized the reason he couldn’t get to sleep right away was because he was always wayyyy too excited, but also...because he didn’t want you to leave so soon. 

He dreaded the moment you’d leave, and he would be alone in his room. 

So you put in place a system, that would gradually make him sleepy. And...

It worked. 

First, you’d get dessert in bed. Usually fresh milk and a cookie. Something light, just to put him a little bit to sleep (Dick always got sleeping after he ate something, for some reasons). And you’d talk about your day, about how you felt. You’d lay it all out, so that your boy wouldn’t get to bed with any negative feelings. Talking, always helped. 

Then you’d read him a bedtime story. Better yet, you’d invent a bedtime story just for him (this is how your most famous book saga, “Richard and the Space pirates” came to be). If you felt benevolent that night, you’d even tell him two stories. 

One would usually do the trick, however.

Then you’d sing him a few lullabies, to lull him softly to sleep. 

And as he’d fall asleep, you’d whisper : 

“I love you so much.”

And he’d answer, outraged but too weak to really argue. A few last words before falling into a deep slumber : 

“I love you more !”

And bam. He’d be passed out. Your soft voice in his ears, as you told him a story, sang to him, and told him he was loved...It was what he needed. 

He was a rather young child too, who had a busy life. School, training, homework...So of course, with a little coaxing, he’d fall asleep fast. 

But he had to know you were there. Had to know he had those moments with you, and wouldn’t be alone before he fell asleep.

See, you understood that all his stalling before the “night ritual” was put in place, was because he was trying to tire himself out before you left. He was trying to keep you there as long as possible, just so he would fall asleep fast once you were gone. 

“I love you most.” 

You’d tell him, as he was already sleeping sweetly, clinging to his comforter as you slowly caressed his hair, laid a last kiss on his forehead, and left the room. Making sure before, that his little light was on, in case he woke up at night. 

Dick hated the dark. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you more !”

“I love you most.” 

Night ritual. 

Existing because your oldest kiddo, Dick, needed some “guidance” to fall asleep. But most importantly, because he needed to know you’d be there too, until he fell into his dreams. 

You’d indulge him. Meeting him half-way between “doing everything he wants you to do” and “being way too strict”. There were rules, to bedtime. 

A “night ritual”. 

But the rules were lax. Could be bend. And existed only so he would be able to sleep relatively early. 

For years and years, you’d do that little nightly ritual with him. It stopped when he was around 14, even if he still had a kiss goodnight and got tucked in. Things really stopped overall when he left for the Titans, shortly after turning 16, after that awful fight with his father. 

Oh and to be honest, something he’d never tell anyone...Even now, as a grown ass adult, he’d sometimes call you at night just so you could sing him a song, as your voice was still the thing that’d put him peacefully at sleep even to this day. But the real “night ritual” stopped. Your little boy grew up.

Which made you so sad...But then Jason came in. And soothed the pain. 

Jason

Jason ressembled Dick in that he really wanted you to stay for the longest possible. But, unlike Dick who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and who could be a bit of a brat sometimes, Jason wouldn’t say anything. 

Dick definitely used his little charms and smiles to make you and Bruce crack, and give in...the little bugger even taught his younger siblings everything about how to manipulate you two into saying “yes”, to your greatest dismay...

Oh but, was one more scoop of ice cream really that bad ? After all, your children were nice most of the time, it was fine to be a little lenient sometimes, and though Bruce loved to think of himself as a strict parent, nobody was fooled, you were both pretty cool and lax...Which didn’t mean your children were misbehaving brats, although they had their moments, like everyone. 

Anyway, Dick used to make it clear he was demanding for you to stay longer with him when bedtime was coming. 

But Jason was a little shyer. He spend his entire life until then thinking he was bothering the people around him, that he was a burden, so he really didn’t want his new family to think that of him. 

But you could see it in his eyes. You could. When he wanted for you to tell one more story, or to sing him one more lullaby. And although you were constantly teased by your husband about how easy those kids played you (as if he was one to talk)...you couldn’t resist. 

You were always left rather sad and depressed, if you put one of your kids to bed and they looked visibly upset. So you’d stay longer. Anything for them to go to bed feeling good. 

About life. About themselves. About everything, really. 

A child shouldn’t have his sleep burdened by any worries.

Of course you knew you couldn’t be forever there for them, they’d eventually grow up and you wouldn’t really need to “tuck them in” anymore (at the time, you had  no idea that even well in their twenties, if they came to sleep at the Manor, even as they already moved out, they’d ask you for a good night kiss...The magic of being consistent in your love for them, really). 

You knew that eventually, they’d grow up too much and wouldn’t need you as much. That it’d be harder, too, to cheer your little ones up. Growing up unfortunately meant your worries grew with you too, and were harder and harder to forget. Or to be distracted from. 

You knew one day would come, in which little Jason would not be soothed anymore, by you telling him a bed time story. 

So maybe, you cracked a little too often, especially with him. 

You knew Dick had a good childhood, before you adopted him. But Jason ? He was bruised and abused, and thrown away like a dirty socks too often. Nobody ever wanted him, anywhere he went. 

Which was why, he didn’t dare to ask for a second story when you finished the first one. 

See, Dick would just jump up in his bed, do a backflip and dramatically say : “Pleaaaase fair lady, another story for the poor squire boy !”. Which would make you smile, and tell him one more. 

But Jason ? He didn’t say anything. And held all his feelings of sadness and disappointment inside. 

He wanted, more often than not, a second story so bad. But he didn’t want to bother you. He didn’t want you to realize he was actually a burden, and to throw him away, just like everyone else did. 

Jason always got to have a second story. Of course, any of your kids would if they asked. But Jason never dared to ask. So you’d just give it to him naturally. 

He always started to fall asleep half-way through the second story, which you’d keep on hold to then sing to him. 

Your songs would make him slowly drift to sleep, a genuine smile on his face. 

Oh. Jason. Always such a sweet boy, afraid to bother others, yet as contradictory as it sounded boisterous and full of life. 

Your little Jason. When Dick left for the Titans, you hadn’t realized how much you missed having a little one home. And then. 

Then there was Jason. 

When he died, you thought your “motherhood” died with him. Dick was over eighteen by then, and even if Jason’s death made him come back to the Manor, there was no “night ritual” anymore. You didn’t have the heart for it anyway...

You still had Dick, but losing your young son like that, knowing how he died, made you feel like you would never recover. You were in such a bad shape, that you couldn’t even help Bruce when he also fell into a dark well. When he turned back to being overly violent as Batman, practices he stopped when Dick left and opened his eyes. When Dick questioned him. 

You still had Dick, but it felt like part of what you were as a mother, died with Jason. How could you do a “night ritual” properly now, with the memories of your son’s sweet smile, him telling you this was his favorite part of his day ? With the memories of...

You moved from the East wing to the West wing, after Jason’s death. None of you could walk past his empty room anymore. 

Dick came back. And it was his turn, to help you fall asleep. More than one night, he spend trying to comfort you as you couldn’t stop the tears from running down. He never left you alone. 

Bruce couldn’t handle any of it, and he buried himself under his work as Batman. It would take him some time, before he realized that you had to be there for each others...

When Jason died, it felt like it was the end of everything nice about motherhood. Every night, you fell asleep with your head in your oldest son’s laps, seeing in his eyes the grief and pain of it all.

And you felt guilty. More depressed and sadder. You always hated seeing your children off to bed looking upset...

But it was hard to resist. Everything felt so far away. And Bruce wasn’t there. This was one of the darker moment, in your family life...

Dick felt helpless. He hadn’t been able to save his little brother. Now he couldn’t even help his parents. It felt like the entire family was breaking...

And then. Then Tim came in. 

Tim

Tim’s parents never tucked him in, too busy with their high society lives. 

So when he started to live with you and Bruce, after he lost both of them, he didn’t really expect you to...

“Do you want a bedtime story, maybe ?” 

You asked him on his first night being officially adopted. 

Oh but this was rather long after you started to see him as your own son. Tim already stayed over the Manor many times (without his parents ever even calling to know where he was). And he’d been Robin for a few months, before his parents passed away and he was officially adopted into the Wayne family (A/N : no need to tell me that canonically, Tim got adopted quite a long time after his parents died and he was “just” a ward like Dick was, for a while ;). No need either to tell me he was “older” than the age I give him there, which is around 10/11...Firstly because it varies according to canons, like sometimes he’s young, sometimes he’s fifteen, but also because this is a fanfic and my canon ages for the boys are taken from the canon I prefer XD which are not the ones in which he had a certain “Happy 15th birthday” pizza. Anyway what I mean is, that I’m not entirely accurate here for sure, but eh, it’s a FANfic, let’s allow ourself a little freedom...there’s no official canon on his age or how old he was when adopted anyway, it varies wildly from era to era hehe). 

Both you and Bruce kept your distance from him, at first. In more way than others, he painfully reminded you of the son you lost. And it felt wrong, to replace him so...

Replace him ? 

Slowly, both of you were reminded of that conversation you had with Dick, once. When he was little, and asking if his parents would be mad if he called you and Bruce “mom and dad”. 

That conversation, during which all of you talked about how you didn’t replace John and Mary, you just became another family for him. His new parents. 

Didn’t mean he would ever forget about the ones who were ripped away from him. Just that he...

He allowed himself to love again. 

And you did, too, when you finally accepted Tim in your life. 

That boy had a way, anyway, to crawl inside your heart and settle comfortable there...He was just such a bright one, in more than one way. Sure, he was extremely intelligent, but he also just...Shone. A new sun in your life. 

Not one that would replace any other Sun. Just. A new one. That you were allowed to love, too. 

“Do you want a bedtime story, maybe ?” 

Now, he was officially your son. And this was the first night he’d spend in the Manor being yours. Before, you never dared to tuck him in, by fear of getting too attached just for him to be ripped away from you...And he almost did. 

His father, almost took him away, before his ultimate demise... But that was another story. 

Tonight, was the first night as your son. And he was still so small, just ten little years. The age Jason was too, when the official adoption papers were signed...

You chased away the painful memories, as little Timmy looked at you, surprised. But you could see a hint of interest in his eyes. 

“A bedtime story ?” 

“Yes, if you want to of course. You don’t have to-”

“I’d love a bedtime story !” 

He was in such a hurry to tell you this, that it made you smile. And you could feel it in your bones. That boy never had anyone asking him if he wanted to be told a story, before sleep. 

It was obvious in his excitement, and it was obvious in his hopeful eyes. Eyes that were asking : “...Do I really mean something to you ? Enough that you’d spend time reading to me ?”. 

It broke your heart. Poor little one. Even though he had parents, and came from a rich family, he was never truly cared for. It was obvious in everything he did. 

Often, he’d try to do stuffs on his own, and would be surprised if you, Alfred or Bruce would ask if he needed help... 

Ah. Well tonight. Tonight called for one of your made up stories for sure. A mere random storybook wouldn’t do. No. You had to tailor one for him. Just for him. So he would finally know how special he is. 

“Ok, well then.”  

You settled next to him in his bed, as he sat up, the excitement pouring out of his very being. Alfred chose that time, to drop some milk and cookies, as he informed you he would be down in the Batcave to help Bruce. 

Impeccable timing. As usual. 

You thanked him, and started your story, as Tim looked at you with wide eyes, eating his cookie absentmindedly, quickly realizing you were telling a story about him ! : 

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His name was Timothy, and he didn’t know it yet but one day...He’d save the entire Kingdom of Waynalia. How, you might ask ? Well it was simple. You see, young Timothy had a talent to cure people’s heart. And the King and Queen of Waynalia, who were known to be cruel and vile, only were so because they’ve had broken hearts for far too long...” 

Tim fell asleep at the end of the story. And just like his brothers, quickly took to this “night ritual”. After all, he was still just a child. And this entire “milk/cookie/ story/lullabies/kiss goodnight” was great. 

Cassandra

Cassandra was fifteen, when she started to live with you at Wayne Manor. Too old, you thought, for the “night ritual”

Dick himself stopped demanding it around aged fourteen (after a certain Wally West mocked him when he heard of it), and even that was rather old when you thought of it. One of the main reason he slowly detached himself from it (apart from being mocked), was being Robin full time now, and going most nights out, so he didn’t really have the energy anymore for the ritual. It wasn’t needed. Which sort of broke your heart. 

Jason died before he ever got the “chance” to ask you to stop....

But this was not something you wanted to think about. Oh no. 

In any case, Cass was fifteen, and you thought, too old to want some bedtime stories by her mom, or any sort of snuggles. 

That was until...

A nightmare. 

You heard her, it felt even in your sleep. Something woke you, and then she started to scream. Bruce wasn’t home yet, and it was her night off (you forced all of them to have one, at least once a week). 

That night, you had marathoned your favorite TV show with her, and went to bed your separate ways. You did kiss her goodnight, and told her you loved her (you always told them at least once a day, because you learned that in your line of work...you never knew what could happen...Jason’s smiling cheeky face came to your mind, did you tell him often enough that he-no. Not tonight.). 

And then, late, it was pitch black out, you heard her scream. 

Your mother instinct made you run to her. Quickly, you understood she had yet another bad dream about her father coming to get her, and forcing her to be a weapon again. It happened so often... 

You shook her up, and she almost knocked you down as she was slowly regaining consciousness and wondering what the hell was happening and where she was. You know, those few seconds before you’re fully awake, when you’re not even sure you’re even someone anymore ? The time you need to remember oh right, I’m human, and I was in my bed. This is my bedroom. Right. 

To sooth her, you started to slowly sing to her. To hold her while you rocked gently back and forth, and sung. 

She didn’t talk, as you dried her tears. As you reminded that this was all fine, she was home, and David Cain would never hurt her again. 

Cass calmed down, and fell back asleep. You held her most of the night, waiting for Bruce to come back. You just didn’t feel like going back alone in your bed, after such screams

The next night off she had, when it was time to part at the top of the stairs after yet another TV show marathon, when you’d go to your room and her to hers...

She stopped. And held onto your sleeve. 

“Cass, honey, what is it ?”  

There was a few seconds of silence, before she said : 

“Do it again ?” 

And you understood instantly. 

See, the other nights, the ones she didn’t have off, Cass would come home exhausted after a night of vigilanting. But when she had her night off, when she wasn’t “working”...Sleep was hard to come. 

You knew all too well what she felt. Your Broosh was the same, and already poured his feelings to you about it more than once. 

Now, Cassandra wasn’t much of a talker (your husband either, really, but then it was different with you)but you could see it in her eyes. 

“Sing ?” 

She nodded. And so you went to tuck her in. 

You thought she was “too old”. You thought she wouldn’t like it. You thought, as she was slowly discovering her own independence after being treated as a weapon and not choosing anything in her life, that she’d want to be alone in moments like this. 

And oh. Oh you thought wrong. 

That night, you sang to her until she fell asleep. And slowly but surely, the “night ritual” put himself into place. 

Over the years, it didn’t change much. Because it was such a successful formula. Milk and cookies was talking about their day, getting their feelings out. A story by you. A soothing lullabies. Snuggles and kisses. 

Winning formula. 

Why change it ? Your children were all wildly different, but the one thing that linked them all, was how much they loved you and your antics. 

Each of them had “mom time”, where they’d spend the day just with you (just like your Broosh and you had date nights and such). You always took time to spend individual time with all of them, and during those times the activities would be very different from one kid to another. 

But those “night rituals” ? They didn’t need to change. Because they were perfect the way they were. Exactly what they all needed. Pure love, in many ways. And the knowledge they’d never be alone again. 

Love and loneliness. 

Two things your youngest son, Damian, struggled with for years. 

Damian

“I love you, little one.” 

The first time, Damian didn’t respond. He just nodded, and turned around in his bed, back facing you. 

He couldn’t face you, or you’d see the “stupid” smile plastering his face at the mere thought he was loved, and had a real mom...But that, you didn’t know.

You didn’t really take it personally, you happened to know another “emotionally stunted” Wayne, so you were used to it. It took a while, for Bruce to finally admit his feelings for you. Even if they were obvious, and written all over his face (which is why Damian used the “back facing you” trick). 

You knew it’d take time. So for now, you’d settle with a simple kiss, and reminding him he was cherished. 

And then one day... 

“Why do you not read me bed time stories ? Or make one up, with me as the hero ?” 

“Beg you pardon ?” 

You were diligently tucking him in, as he never told you off when you did it, when he asked this, taking you by surprise. What he said didn’t quite register, until he added : 

“Grayson says that when he was little, you’d tell him a story. Made him the hero of it. And then you’d sing. He said there were cookies, too. Why do you not do that with me ?” 

Oh. Oh. Oooooooooh. 

You got it now. But you’re no less surprised. 

“I thought...You had no interest in those ?” 

Damian nodded slowly, and said : 

“I know why you would think this...Mom.”

Mom. That...He hadn’t call you that very often, so far...

“But when you come to tuck me in, I never have nightmares. I sleep soundly, and I dream of-Soft things. Like unicorns and cats.” 

This makes you smile. Oh. Oh if only people could see the Damian right in front of you, and not the Damian he liked to pretend he was. 

Sweet, sweet boy. 

“I know why you think I don’t want a story, and snuggles, and all the thing Grayson gushed about for hours. But I...Do. I like when you come to tell me goodnight, and I wouldn’t mind if it lasted longer ?” 

He was so unsure. Very unlike his cocky usual self. 

This, was the real Damian. 

The one who really wants to connect with others, who wants to be good, but he’s just not really sure on how to proceed. So he pretends he doesn’t care. 

But he does. He cares a lot. 

He’s very much like your Broosh, in that regard. Like father like son, eh ? Both of them love to hide emotions from their faces, and pretend everything is ok, even when they’re breaking inside. 

Silly boys. 

You managed to reach Bruce. You were sure you could reach your son...

And it had already started. You could see it. You smile, and leave his room to get cookies and milk. 

And oh damn it, you should’ve told him you were doing that ! Because when you came back, he was laying in his bed and looked absolutely crestfallen ! There was even small tears in his eyes, oh no ! 

You quickly understood that he thought you were refusing to do the famous “night ritual” with him. That you just went to bed too, and weren’t going to tell him a story. 

His face brightens, truly brightens, reminding you of when the sun just comes out from behind high mountains. He sees the cookies and milk, and oh. Oh he looks so excited. 

You dried his tears with the back of your hand, and smiled fondly at him. 

It makes everything worth it. All your effort to connect with him, worth the work and heartache it brought. 

You knew. You knew you’d eventually make it. And it’s that evening, when he asked for “the night ritual”, that you truly realized it. 

First, cookies and milk, and a little talk about his day. His feelings, too. 

Then the story, one you made up with him as the hero. He seemed to love that, especially to be a good hero, and not a villain. Cute, and heartbreaking at the same time. 

Then come the lullabies. 

And finally, the soft drift to sleep, and a last feel of warmth as you kiss his forehead and leave him to a deep slumber. 

Damian has never felt so peaceful in his life before. 

Duke

You didn’t really dare, at first, going to tell him good night. 

Unlike your other children, Duke arrived in the family being a sixteen years old boy. Way pass needing someone to tuck him in. And you didn’t want to overstep your bound, you already knew how difficult things were for him. How hard it was to adapt to it all. 

It was quite the same than with Cass. But even more complicated. 

Cass’ childhood was inexistent, really. Destroyed before she could enjoy it. So sometimes, when with you or Bruce, she’d let go, and act like a child, even though she was older. It was fine. She never had a childhood, she could make up for it now. And so what if she liked hot cocoas and cuddles ? Nobody would hold it against her. 

In fact, most adults would probably LOVE to be taken care of by their mom again.

But Duke, was different. He had a happy childhood, parents who were loving and caring...His mom most likely told him stories, and sung him lullabies. 

And he was sixteen. And in the middle of an identity crisis, as his powers just barely manifested. 

So you didn’t go to tuck him in. Even if you really wanted to. 

You wanted to give Cass freedom, let her explore herself, as she always lived following someone else’s orders and view of life. 

But Duke ? Duke was an entirely different case from Cass. And you could see him, at times, feeling lost and sad. 

You always hated having your kids go to bed upset. But what could you do ? 

He was certainly not gonna let you...Or, was he ? 

After all, you never asked. 

“Do you...Want a bedtime story ?” 

He stares at you, visibly confused and thinking you’re a little crazy. And you realize yes, this question is ridiculous. The boy was sixteen ! 

“Nevermind, sorry that was stupid. I was just thinking...Well I don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry. Night buddy.” 

“Wait !” 

Uh ? There was a sort of little panic, in his voice. As if he was afraid you were leaving so soon. You turned around, and waited for him to speak again. 

“Maybe not a...bedtime story but...Maybe, maybe we could talk ? For a little bit ? My...My mom and I used to talk every night, it helped me sleep.” 

You felt a lot of things at the same time. 

Touched he wanted to do with you what he used to do with his mom. 

Reassured to realize your guts were right, and that his mom did tuck him in sweetly every night. 

And sad that it took him so long to ask you for this. 

“Of course Duke, of course.” 

Duke, was older than any of your other children, when he came into your life. But it didn’t mean...

It didn’t mean he didn’t need you. Or your motherly side. 

He never quite had the full “night ritual” experience, as some aspect of it were definitely too childish. But he had the cookies and milk. And the talk. And the feel that you would always be there for him. 

Always. 

************

The end ? 

No. 

Bruce 

Bruce tossed and tossed in his bed, sleep evading him. 

There used to be a time, every nights were like that. Unable to fall asleep, and when he did, his slumber was plagued with the most terrible nightmares. 

Maybe that’s why, more than anything else, he decided to use his nights to be a vigilante ? Of course, the cover of nights helped in many ways, doing his Batman work in broad daylight would be more difficult (even if he did do some work during the day). Especially in regards of his “Brucie Wayne” persona, his cover up, pretending he definitely can’t be Batman. 

Ever since his parents died, Bruce had trouble falling asleep. That’s probably why it was so easy for him to train himself to sleep barely a few hours a night, and stay in shape even as he often ran on very little resting time. 

He lived like that for so many years...

And then. Then you appeared in his life. 

And every nights in your arms were peaceful, he was taken by a deep sleep that could happen only with you. He slept so soundly, when you were there, that often when you had to wake up before him, you had to call Alfred so he’d help you untangle yourself from his grasp (I wrote a story about that haha : How to remove a Wayne safely).

You forced him to take at least one night off, and he was so sure he wouldn’t be able to rest on those nights...yet he always fell asleep like a baby, around 11 pm max, often falling asleep in front of whatever movie you were watching, just the two of you. 

You had that power. To allow him to sleep well, and not have such awful nightmares.

So when you weren’t with him, he couldn’t find sleep. 

He would toss, again and again, and whenever he’d almost fall asleep, his hand would unconsciously look for you in bed and the fact you were absent would make him be wide awake again. 

Yes. He just couldn’t sleep, when you weren’t there. 

Which is why...Which is why he was a little grumpy, when you would take a long time telling your children good night. It was a sort of jealousy he wasn’t very proud of. 

Fighting other men to get your attention ? Any day. Fighting his own children...Felt a little shameful. Not like he could control this feelings, there was time, he was a little selfish. And you two had such few times to yourself, with the life you lead, that any opportunity was taken gladly.

He’d always try to be there for the story time, and for a kiss and some “Love you, kiddo” before leaving either for the cave, or to take an early night in.

Early night ins. Rare occasion. 

Like tonight. His one night off this week. 

He trusted his cousin, Batwoman, to take care of the city, and his oldest sons, Dick and Jason, who were now old enough to go out there on their own, too...Well, he did still hid trackers in them, and made sure to ask Kate to keep an eye on them, but they were adults. 

Capable of taking care of themselves, and go out there to keep Gotham safe, and take care of their younger siblings.

They were still absolutely forbidden to go out there alone. And no one wanted to argue much with your husband about safety, he had already made punchlines for those occurrences and it was impossible to win against him. 

Cass, Tim, Damian and Duke weren’t allowed yet to fly solo like their older brothers. They were only allowed to go out there while Bruce wasn’t IF they were with Kate, Dick, or Jason. 

Bruce particularly liked when they were with Jason because although many would think he was the most reckless one, because of his “bad boy” reputation but...When it came to his siblings’ safety, he did NOT joke around. 

Dick encouraged them to become their own person, and to take initiative (he trusted them to know what they could and could not do, and he was right). But Jason ? Jason took after you, and your “mama hen” personality, for sure. 

Actually, Bruce often sneakily stuck one of his younger kid with Jason, so his reckless son would be more careful. Neither you nor your husband wanted to ever lose him again...So what if you had to resort to dirty tactics and ask him to look after a younger siblings for him to be less incautious ?

In any case, it had been a long time deal by then, that Bruce HAD to take at least one night off. All of them had; They each had one night a week. Conveniently, there were seven of them. 

On those nights, you and Bruce would be together every single second of it, relishing in a little alone time, and in spending an entire night together for once, and not just a few hours there and there. 

But tonight, Damian was sick, and couldn’t go out either. Which was why you weren’t in bed with Bruce, right now. You were tucking your sick son in, and it already took quite a while on normal days but as he was feeling under the weather ??

Bruce knew you. He knew you would stay with him until he fell asleep. And he knew his son, too. He knew he would try to stay awake as long as possible just to be with you. 

Which meant...Your husband being alone, right now, and unable to sleep. Ugh. He should’ve just gone out as Batman tonight, and take a break another day. ...As if you or Alfred would’ve let him. You knew that “taking a break another day”, with him, meant never. 

Bruce tossed a few more times, and resolved that he couldn’t sleep up until you’d come. So he sat up, and thought he might as well take a walk around the Manor. It always calmed him down, as a child... 

That’s when you decided to come in.

“Going somewhere ?” 

You ask him, suspicious. He knows you think he was about to leave for the Batcave. And he doesn’t correct you. It’s better you think that, you already knew way too much how to push all his buttons down, he’d rather you not know that he was in fact about to just walk around the Manor and not go to the bat cave because he promise you to take the night off... 

Oh. Oh if Superman could hear his thoughts right now. He would surely not recognize his “workaholic” friend...And definitely not recognize his will to not piss off his wife, and listen to her. The Batman didn’t care, if he pissed people off ! Well. Except for his wife, who could be very scary, when angry. 

Damn it. 

Your face. 

Your face shows much concern, behind that slight bit of anger at the thought he was about to sneak to the Batcave, that he can’t hold it back for too long. 

To hell, if you were the only one who knew him perfectly, and had him wrapped around your little finger. You gave it back to him plenty. So, just as soon as he was telling himself he wouldn’t tell you the truth...He told you the truth : 

“No. I was-...I was just about to take a walk around the Manor.” 

You look at him, a question in your eyes. And you don’t have to ask him, as he answers : 

“I can’t sleep when you’re not there. Needed to clear my mind.” 

It makes you smile, of course. And it’s the truth, oh it’s the truth. 

He really can’t fall asleep, when you’re not near. 

You climb on the bed, and slowly move to him. 

“How’s Damian ?” 

“Asleep. His fever went down, finally. Thanks the gods.” 

“Was he trying to fight sleep, and argue to have another story ?”

“Oh you know he did.” 

“Haha, I don’t blame him. Anything, to keep you closer for longer.” 

“What a sappy man you turned out to be, my heart. Who would’ve thunk, right ?” 

“Don’t tell Clark.” 

This makes you laugh, and you move even closer to him, settling in his laps, facing him. His hands find themselves around your waist naturally, and as you lay your own hands on his cheeks, looking at him fondly and longingly, you say : 

“I love you, my Broosh.” 

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.” 

“I love you so much I think I’d die if you were gone.” 

“I love you so much I put up with your bullshit.”

“Hahaha. Cheeky. I love you so much I eat your awful gluten free cake without batting an eye.” 

“You ass ! Well, I love you so much I don’t even mention it when you call this disgusting mixture you make in the morning “coffee” “

“Oh wow, ouch. I love you so much I don’t even care about you criticize me.”

You chuckle a little, and kiss his nose, before adding :  

“I love you so much, that I wouldn’t change anything in my life. Not even the heartaches...Because everything lead me to you. And a life without you, is no life at all.” 

Admittedly, you cheated a bit, using his “I love you so much without you I’d die” against him, twisting things a little to pack a little more punch. And...

There’s a short pause, he looks at you, and then he leans over, slowly and softly pecking your lips. You think this means you won tonight, and you will be back in his arms in no time, allowing him to sleep properly...But you’re wrong. 

He says, after burying his face in the crook of your neck, in barely a whisper, his breath tickling you softly : 

“I love you so much, I would quit being Batman if you asked me to.” 

“Wait, what ?” 

You never asked him to. You never did, and never will. Because you were on of the only person on this Earth that truly understood him, and that loved him unconditionally. 

You knew and understood why he dressed like a bat each (or almost each) nights, to go fight crimes in Gotham City. 

You knew and understood all of his motives. 

And for this reason, you’d never ask him to stop doing so. But him admitting he would stop if you did ask, it made you feel...So much. 

It touched you beyond all measure. You didn’t even know how to respond to it. 

“Ah, I win, didn’t I ?” 

You had no words to answer. You knew how much you loved him, how much he meant to you, and how impossible it was to even envision a life without him. But he always  managed to surprise YOU with how deeply in love he was with you. How much he’d give up, just for you. How you knew, he would burn the entire world, if it meant saving you...

He would for his children, too. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had been to that warehouse sooner, and killing the Joker meant saving Jason...he would’ve done it. There was no point doing in afterward, once his son was already gone...But there, in the moment, to save him ?

He would. He would kill everyone, just to save his family. 

This was a side not a lot of people knew. They all assumed he wouldn’t do it, that he would let you or his children die for the greater good. That’s why considering, you guys weren’t kidnapped that much. 

Every villain, everyone, always thought that the Batman would not budge from his principles even if it meant saving those he loved. 

And they were wrong. They were so wrong. 

It was good, though, that only you knew that. 

“Ah. I win, didn’t I ?” 

You don’t have the words to answer him, your heart overflowing with so much. Overwhelming. So you go to the next best thing. 

Actions. 

You kiss him. With all the passion and love you can gather in your being. 

You kiss him, and he kisses you back. 

That. 

That was his night ritual. 

The only way he could fall asleep peacefully, like he used to when his mom and dad tucked him in. Before their death. 

Finding purchase once more, in your arms, after years of night plagued with nightmares and pain. 

Being near you. With you. In every way possible. Touching you, feeling you near. Right there. By him. 

The big bad bat’s “night ritual”, it was you. 

It was, and would always be you. 

The end (for good, this time, haha). 

_________________________________________________

As you might’ve noticed, I’m in a very soft mood lately haha. I guess I’m just happy about my current situation, so I wanna write all the fluff and make the Batfam happy...Not for long though. I have some mighty angst in store for you, just you wait ;). In any case, here’s to a small bonus story. Hope you liked it even if it’s not what I said I’d post ^^'. I assure you what I planned is coming, I’m just being damn slow. As usual any comments and reblogs are more than welcomed <3. 

PS : Last time I posted a bonus story, an anon wasn’t happy I wasn’t posting longer stories I said I would post soon haha...So just a quick thing : those stories I’ve been posting lately literally take between 20 minutes to an hour to write. It’s extra fast, and I don’t re-read myself. So I can post them rather rapidly. But those I have in store that are long as hell and full on one-shots I thought a lot about, not just random drabbles, need a lot more work. Which is why they take longer. Which I’d think is obvious to everyone (most of y’all are super understanding and nice <3), but I guess not huh...Please. Be patient with me. I’m super busy lately. But everything I said I’d post WILL be posted. I can promise this much. 

[kareniliana]

Klaus: Love & Power

A//N: I’ve been gone for a LOOONG minute. But I have good news about it. 

I MADE THE DEANS LIST! 

Winter qtr of college was a little difficult but it was the best I’ve ever done in school. Such good news right!?

Anyway, this qtr I have a little stricter schedule, which means I knew specially when I can write. And I had been. 

GET READY!

& enjoy!

xx Karebear 💛🧸

Yours and Klaus’s love story seemed far fetched for most people but for those who were able to experience your connection grow into an immense amount of love for each other, would say otherwise. You became his world, alongside with Hope. In his mind, after he was able to curse Hayley and the werewolves in the bayou, he had the perfect life. His two great loves under his roof, under his sole protection. You would never agree to what Klaus has done, but nonetheless you love him. He’s the complete opposite of your previous partners in more ways than that. You understood him, through and through. You knew him like the back of your hand, you know his next move before he does. 

You were holding Hope in your arms as you walked along the bookshelf trying to get her to sleep, but all the effort was about to go to waste when Klaus comes barging in panting about to rage about gods knows what.

But before he could begin you raised a warning hand, “Don’t you dare wake her!” You whisper shouted at him. He instantly stops dead in his tracks.

Once his breathing normalizes he sits down on the couch, “The witches are siding with Marcel against me, they want my crown.”

You walked over to him, handing off his sleepy daughter to him. “You don’t need to be everyone’s king. You have all that you need with Hope and I, right?” You asked shyly.

He looks down to a sleeping Hope, then he looks back up to you before nodding his head.

“Maybe you should just give them New Orleans?”

Klaus sighed before standing up, “I should put her to bed, it’s late.” Klaus avoided your advice, walking off to Hope’s bedroom.

After a few minutes of contemplating whether you want to still be here when Klaus comes back or not. If you stay, you’ll more than likely have to sit there listening to him rant about this losing battle. If you leave, you can avoid all of that. 

With no incentive to stay, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the compound. 

As you walked down the steps you notice a disheveled Elijah. He sat on an almost broken chair, drinking liquor out of a broken bottle. The entire ground floor is basically destroyed, broken tables, chairs, artwork, glasses and everything in between. 

“Who in the Hades did you fight today?” You gasped at the sight, oddly enough no bodies were to be found. Blood could be seen splattered all around.

“Y/n, my apologies for the mess, I seem to have taken it a bit too far.” Elijah stands, setting the bottle on a table. In mere seconds the table caves in, shattering the bottle on the ground.

Elijah tried to fight the smile off his face, but it only grew twice in size.

You laugh at his reaction, soon Elijah bursts into laughter as well. As you descended down the rest of the steps, Elijah explains how some of his sires became a threat to the rest of his family.

“Therefore I sent them a message, ‘come after my family, I will come after you.’ It’s what this family does best.” Elijah explains as he begins cleaning up the broken furniture as you stood on the last step listening to him.

“Violence begets violence, this family of yours lives in a cycle of violence.” You sighed, crossing your arms across your chest. You sounded almost defeated.

“You speak like it’s your final efforts dealing with the dramatics of my family, why is that?” he asked, noticing how fed up you are.

“I love Klaus and I love Hope, but...” You shake your head, holding yourself back.

Elijah stopped cleaning, “No, no, please don’t hold yourself back now. If there is anything this family is in dire need of, it’s your brutal honesty. Please continue.”

You sighed, “It’s just... no matter how hard life gets for him, he will not give up the one thing that brings most of this unwanted violence.”

As you spoke Elijah had come to the same realization as you, his face fall into a slight frown as he listened to you.

“After all this heartbreak and sorrow brought upon your family, you’d imagine he would at least hand over some of the reigns. But no, the mighty Klaus Mikaelson has to be King of everyone.” You talked without any reservations on the topic, eventually your tone became stern and cold.

“I know my brother can be a lot, he wants the perfect life for Hope. You can't blame him for that.” Elijah speaks with some regret, they're problematic past on his mind.

“I love that man but at some point I have the face the truth, there’s nothing more that he loves than power.” You almost choked on your words, first time saying them out-loud was harder than you thought. 

Without another thought you gather your composure and hurried your way to the exit, “I should go.”

Elijah opened his mouth as he was going to say something but was speechless. There wasn’t something he could say that would fix what you were feeling. After some short time has passed Elijah had managed to get the ground floor back to its glory.

Meanwhile Klaus sat in Hope’s nursery all night, just watching her sleep. He kept thinking about what you had said; giving up New Orleans. How would he be okay with giving everything back to Marcellus? 

Klaus hadn’t realized that he had been there all night until the sun rises and began to beam into the room. Letting Hope sleep, he finally leaves her room quietly. He walked around the house in search of you but much to his surprise, you weren’t in bed or the kitchen or even the study. You never came back.

Elijah walks into the study behind Klaus, “Hope’s still sleeping?” 

“Have you seen Y/n? She never came home last night.” Klaus asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Not since last night when she left, you had a fight.” Elijah states which only angers Klaus.

“Were you eavesdropping on us last night?” He began to raise his voice, Elijah simply looked at his younger brother with a stern look.

Smirking at Klaus, “I had a conversation with Y/n on her way out, that is all.”

Klaus wanted nothing more than to chase you down and talk but Hope started crying meaning she’s awake. First Klaus tends to his daughter, contemplating on what to do with the situation at hand.

He knows you love him with everything that you are, but letting go of this city was something he didn’t think he’d every have to do again.

As soon as night falls, Freya comes to watch over Hope while Klaus goes out looking for you.

You sat in the lycée with Davina, she performed a cloaking spell on you to stay hidden for a while. She practiced different spells, continually getting up for different plants or herbs for said spells.

“I never would have thought that the city of the dead would be this... peaceful.”

“It’s a great place to help think, maybe soon you’ll start telling me why you need to hide from your own boyfriend.” Davina laughs slightly as she walks back to you with different colored potion bottles in her hands.

“Klaus needs to be King of New Orleans, I just need to finally accept that as one of his personality traits.” You sighed, setting down whatever witch instrument you had been playing with.

“A guy like Klaus means there is no changing him. Take the time that you need to sort your feelings, I’m meeting up with Josh. No one should come through here.” Davina gathered her things and walked out to go with her vampire friend.

Hours pass and soon it would be night, your thoughts ran wild. You love Klaus with every cell in your body, you could die loving him and it'd be a worth while life. So maybe him being the King of New Orleans is something to fight for. You’ve loved him when he's at his worst, so why can’t you love him when he’s fighting to stay King.

Coming to the realization that no matter where or what Klaus is doing, you’ll love him and want to be with him. Almost immediately you made your way out of the Lafayette Cemetery and straight to the Mikaelson compound.

After a few hours, Klaus lost hope in finding you before you wanted to be found. He went back to his daughter to wait for your return, running into Elijah at the enterance.

“Anything?” Klaus asked him, almost pleading with his eyes for some good news.

Elijah shook his head, “I didn’t want to mention this but, brother maybe she's not coming back.”

“Why on earth would you say such things?” Klaus asked before looking over to Elijah who wore a guilty expression. “Unless she said something?”

They slowly began to make their way inside the fortress, “Our chat last night, she mentioned that you might desire power more than you desire love.”

Klaus stopped dead in his tracks, there you were standing in front of Freya who was holding Hope.

Once you noticed the brothers enter the room you began apologizing for basically vanishing out on him. “I am so sorry, I needed time to figure out my stupid feelings.”

Klaus walked straight to you, pulling you into his embrace. Freya and Elijah looked to each other, making their way elsewhere to give you and Klaus some privacy.

When he pulled away he held your hands in his, “Your feelings are never stupid. There is nothing I love more than you and Hope. I’m sorry I made you feel that way, it was never my intention. I don’t need to be King.”

Your eyes go wide and you furrow your eyebrows, “No, no, I was wrong. I know why you have to be King. It’s okay, really. I know that everything you do is for those who you love.”

Klaus smiled down at you, “I do love you, do not forget that.”

[slumbering-shadows]

Time for Coryn's misadventures in the (Violet)Pokemon world! Saga of Day 1 under the cut. Note: this si my first pokemon game so if I seem confused I am

I chose Sprigatito as my starter. Did not get an initial screenshot because I temporarily forgot I could do that. I have not touched my switch since Maiden Of Black Water dropped. I'm uh.. Not sure how to feel about the neighbor girl. She is very excitable and definitely less annoying than the neighbor boy from sword/shield but also a little creepy? Like we've known eachother for five minutes and she is Obsessed with me.

This was not significant I just thought the lil spider creepin in the back was funny

I don't remember the names of my first pokemon I got off the top of my head. I know I got Lechonk, Hoppip, Psyduck, and that cute otter with the floatie, and the spider...

girl help I'm surrounded by meeces

The scatterbug I forgot about evolved! Very exciting. I think. I dunno. He kinda sucks lmaooo but at least he's a cute lil guy.

Made it to the big city! It was very cool, although I do have mixed feelings about each individual type of clothing being in a completely seperate area. I understand the desire to make the city feel big and lively by having lots of stores, but needing to go across the whole damn place to find gloves to match my new hat? Not great. Also the frames... gibe me back my frames...

okay yandere lookin ass

look lady you just barged into my house unanounced and uninvited you will give me five fucking minutes to prepare for my day. I think we should all pool together our battling money and get her some stim toys or something cuz she has way too much nervous energy

This is how I started out my treasure hunt! Uh. Not fucking great? Creepy mfer. I tried talking to him and he was all "ohhh I can sense you don't trust meeee" maybe people would trust you if you weren't ominous as hell.

After watching three people fight for my affection attention for twenty minutes I decided to go hang out with sandwich man, because making the Greatest Sandwich is a noble goal methinks. Also my pet motorcycle really loves a good sammich and I think it'd make him happy. Anyway I saw this thing trundling around and I'm obsessed. He's just a little cube!!! I caught him. I named him Cube. He is going to help me beat up the Titans. Cube is small, but Mighty.

Honorable mentions of events:

-jumped off a cliff on moraidon(?) and fell directly on top of a smolive. How did that olive survive that impact I don't think a motorcycle is light.

-found a baby chansy and accidentally killed it >:[

-got to watch a squirrel clip into the void

-local girl cannot read maps, gets lost. More at 11

After that I got sleepy and called it a night. Will continue the thrilling saga tomorrow!