#the fact that that is not an option distresses me greatly

[zero-0-clock]

it is my personal belief that cain (durge, circle of spores druid) started growling at araj. the moment she started pushing for astarion to bite her, cain bared his teeth and started growling. both astarion and gale were Very into that.

[the-alarm-system]

I hope this doesn't sound rude, but... why is a lot of your activism insistent on making people plural? I thought the phrase "the future is plural" is more about acceptance than anything, and plurality can be distressing for some. Not all, of course, but certainly some.

I'm not the best at wording things-- again, I hope this doesn't come off as rude! This is just a genuine curiosity I had after seeing your recent posts.

- 🐁

So the phrase "The Future is Plural" does come from a place of desiring more acceptance, but I like to interpret it as more plurality for multiple reasons and I will list them out

1.It's funny to do as a partial joke, I'm insufferable and enjoy making pluralphobes scared and uncomfortable because i fucking hate them

2.I feel like the idea of being plural is terrifying to singlets due to stigma and the "horrors of possession" when in fact being plural made my life so much better and I love my bandmates forever and ever, I want that terror to ease because being plural isn't scary and singlets should know that. Singlets should know that being plural can be extremely fulfilling.

3.I want to push to singlets that the option is there for them to become plural, I think since tulpamancy and willogenesis isn't that well known so singlets never actually take the idea of a whole new path of their life into consideration when it can greatly improve it

4.if you're talking about plurality being distressing to plurals, i genuinely believe that it's due to the lack of plural acceptance and those who understand plural experiences in our daily lives. Aka if there are more plurals, we would be less afraid to unmask and discuss our plurality to more than just like 5 people. Same how if you knew more trans people it would be easier to come out and discuss issues more openly

5.I'm not just like this about being plural, I'm also like this when it comes to being trans lol. Do you know how many times I've told my mom that her life could be better if she took T?

6.PLURIFICATION BEAM

I understand plurality, especially CDD/traumagenic plurality, being horrific sometimes. Before I knew I was plural, I had a headmate who was a replica of one of my abusers. But I also had(and still have) a bandmate who protected and loved me. If plurality was more open, I'm sure things would have been a lot easier for very very young me.

[vickyvicarious]

Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself.

This line is so interesting to me, because it's part of the pre-Dracula sleepwalking, and yet already we are seeing this element of Lucy not knowing what is going on with herself. Not simply with regards to her not knowing that she's sleepwalking - but something deeper, a possible failure to understand that there may be any reason for restlessness at all. In other words, she might not even realize that she is stressed (enough to affect her mood/health).

Of course, the other option is that she knows it full well but isn't willing to admit to it. And that certainly fits with the themes explored in her story! I do think to a certain degree it has to be true that Lucy knows things are wrong but doesn't want to admit to that. In fact, we get confirmation of her doing this at various points. But those are more about physical issues. This line suggests Lucy might be in denial or unable to recognize her own emotions when they are not positive or do not correspond with what is expected for her. For example, she should be happy about getting married to Arthur, so anything outside happiness is repressed. I want to make it very clear that I'm not suggesting she doesn't feel this happiness. She loves him, she's excited to marry him. Period. However, she may also be stressed about other things in conjunction with this. Later on in this same entry, Mina describes Lucy's reaction to the abuse of the pet dog:

Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do. [...] I greatly fear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things—the ship steered into port by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror—will all afford material for her dreams.

These lines about Lucy feeling influences and being super-sensitive... Mina means them here in the sense that she will be very upset and affected by all of these distressing experiences, more than other people would. But the story itself certainly seems to suggest that Lucy is more susceptible to magical influences as well, what with the fallout being Lucy delivering herself to Dracula. There's ambiguity whether she was simply returning to her favored seat, or whether Lucy, much like the dog, felt Dracula's presence during the funeral. The reader is free to interpret what they like here, and I've waffled on it myself in the past. But there's a couple things that make me think 'both' might be the answer, and one of them is the link between Lucy and the dog.

During the funeral, the dog behaves uncharacteristically in a couple of ways. Initially, its reaction to Dracula is noise and protective behaviors. This is consistent with other dogs who have been in his presence, but isn't typical for this dog in particular (and thus is definitely due to him). But once it is forced onto the gravestone above him, it cannot try to alarm or fight anymore. Instead, it sinks into a state of terror and seems unable to flee. At the same time, Lucy is clearly also very distressed, but makes no move to help the dog.

They are both quiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs bristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect, to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way.

In the past, dogs have raised the alarm against Dracula, but we've never actually seen them meet him on the page so much as heard about it afterwards. It's possible that they always cower once he gets too close. But it's also possible that the dog's close proximity to him here allowed him to influence it in some way, perhaps similar to the way he used his paralyzing gaze on Jonathan during the shovel attack (though obviously not relying on line of sight in this case). Regardless if it was an automatic aura or a more deliberate action on his part, it seems clear that the dog was affected by being so close to Dracula. And I wonder if Lucy's "super-sensitive nature" allowed her to sort of... pick up on that influence. Her behavior matches the dog's in the moment. She too is deeply distressed but seems unable to move, only to look on. She's also atop the grave Dracula is in at the time. And perhaps that influence lingers, affecting her in her sleep even as Mina fears the other events of that day might. Perhaps it draws her back to the place she first felt it, a place that her sleepwalking self is naturally already inclined to head towards. Something she feels, but cannot verbalize, and does not even necessarily understand she is feeling.

Perhaps her sleepwalking was influenced by others in the first place, without her even realizing it. I do think Lucy is more observant than she's given credit for, and she could very well be noticing Mina's distress and her mother's illness. But she could also, with this theory, be affected by them in a subconscious way, enough to influence her own health and sleep.

Basically, what I'm hinting at is some kind of unaware empath(ish) Lucy. I think it could work really well with established themes and details. It would tie in so well with details like her looking in her mirror and trying to read herself, or her sleepwalking in her youth, her father sleepwalking, her father being dead. (Perhaps he too had this ability. Perhaps he was ill when she was sleepwalking as a child.) It also could be such an interesting piece of everything surrounded the theme of keeping up appearances, putting on a happy face, not voicing distress. Her mother has taught her to be this way - and sure, it's a function of her societal role, but also... maybe it's related to her knowing Lucy is different in some way even if she can't verbalize how. The people-pleasing tendencies, her distress at turning down the suitors: sure, she's a very sweet person, but also what if she feels their distress too in a much more literal way than most people?

Perhaps Lucy has always been this way. Perhaps she has shared in the distress others feel to the point that it has made her sickly in the past... this could be a contributing factor to the way her mother tends to infantilize her and want her to be 'cared for', to the way Mina observes her health so closely from the start. Maybe Mrs. Westenra is trying to hide her illness because she thinks Lucy couldn't handle knowing about it, without being aware that Lucy is already affected by it even without the knowledge. The only difference that is made is that Lucy know doesn't know why she is affected, or even the full extent of how she is affected at all.

It works so well with everything happening with Lucy, both now and later! Of course you don't have to read her as any form of psychic (she could still be picking up on things just through observation, or just be stressed about the big life change of becoming a married woman), but it is really fun to do so. And it fits all the themes.

[enchantedmirage]

I've been lurking around the side of DID tumblr, and I keep wondering if I should make a system blog? Like, the thing is it's not necessary for me because I have been very functional recently which is fine, good even because it means that they don't perceive any danger (mentally or emotionally) to come out.

Or if I repurpose my main to be that sort of hub, because it already has the links to all of my other blogs and stuff. I will probably go for this option if I do decide. But basically:

I don't have Dissociate Identity Disorder, since I don't meet all the criteria but most especially not having amnesia between switches, or having this feeling of lost of time.

Not diagnosed at all, and I hardly think I will because I present as high-functioning but because of the above I've been suspecting that it's OSDD-1b

I have three alters/headmates, which have been steady for the past two years now. There had been far more in the past.

The three of them co-front or basically co-pilot with me, unless something major happens and I'm incapable then they will full reign control until I am fine.

For more context: (under the cut)

Ann has been with me since I was four years old.

Kuromi's current state is the most recent at two years, but their predecessor's predate back to five or so years ago (2019)

By that, I mean that Kuromi was a cause of the other alters (at least 3) 'merging' together as their functions overlapped. They don't have any memory of what happened before though, only through what Ann tells them.

Rii also came into being two years ago, from two previous ones: Aisatsu and Koriyuu. Two years ago she also went by Riko and used to front the most, which helped me cope with the stressful situations but made me distressed because I didn't like the fact that people kept associating me with her.

And that has thankfully mellowed down in recent times, I do have to hand it to Rii for navigating the online world for me, and I don't mind sharing it since I go by 'Aeriko' now.

I as the system's host have struggled greatly with this for years, and this usually is the source of my fragmented sense of identity.

Ann has made me realize that I can't ignore the existence of this system, due to her role as a persecutor. The other two are an overlap of other functions with Kuromi distinctly being the gatekeeper, and Rii as the protector.

[booksandwords]

The Boy in the Dress by Jonathan Butler

Read time: 8 Days Rating: 4/5 Stars

The Quote: You must tell Warwick's story — 'Mum' Butler (she died while Jonathan while writing this Warwick was her Uncle. If any line made me emotional it was this one, it was her death.)

Warnings: Homophobia

The first thing you need to know when reading this book is it is an investigation written from an assumption. The author, Jonathan Butler's assumption or familial belief that Warwick Meale was gay. There was no evidence. I could just as easily project my own sexuality onto him. Quite frankly that was extremely frustrating, especially because the author kept pointing out the ways ie saw himself in his great uncle. But yes this death did impact his life too. Warwick's homosexuality prevented Jonathan's mother from easy acceptance of him and his sexuality. His father's family had that generational homophobia I've honestly just come to accept. They'll all be gone soon anyway. His mother's diagnosis was hard that was just a painful disease. Jonathan does in the last chapter acknowledge some of the concerns I have with the book's premise, as does one of the interviewees. I do appreciate that he nearly acknowledged his naivete in the original now he has finished it.

This is not a bad book a does a good job to educate readers on some of the realities of queer culture in WWII but some of it was also nss (no shit sherlock). It does at times feel a little disjointed but that's kinda charming. It feels like what it is... someone's personal research project that they lost control of. There is an interesting writing style used. It is readable, with very short chapters. I think the longest I found was about 20p most would have been under 10. It combines two narrative writing styles in a single chapter. One is written almost from the prospect of being there at the time, though not 1st person. The other is J relaying the facts he discovered as they were relevant. It's quite a captivating way to read the story. Even if I did occasionally lose track of who the players were, there are a lot of them.

I like the conclusion that Jonathan comes to with the three cases he raises. They feel like almost the three options for Warwick's death. Though there uses some wriggle room on all three. Jack Lloyd's conclusion feels particularly stereotypical and disappointing for the family. His senseless death is excused because of gay panic. Even if sexual encounters at the time were slightly more fluid than people would like to think. We are talking about virile young men in their prime for the most part, what do you think was happening?

Have some comments and quotes.

I think this is book for those with an interest in queer history. But for those with an interest in military, it feels like it could add a whole other dimension, especially those younger readers.

There is a bibliography available online for those with an interest. I was entirely unsurprised to see serving is silence included and referenced in this.

Tom and Clyde and written in a way that makes you kinda what to know what happened to them, we do find out. We find out about most of the major players.

Look no further than Australia's Defence Minister Peter Dutton who, in 2021, scolded defence personnel for celebrating the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, Interphobia and Transphobia. He ordered his department to stop pursuing a 'woke agenda'. — I really hate Peter Dutton. The thought that he may become our opposition leader now Scott Morrison has stepped aside distresses me greatly.

But what made the blood of many Australian men boil, more than anything else, was the Americans' relationships with Australian women. The Yanks were paid considerably more than the diggers and had nicer uniformer and a certain way with women - they knew how to dance and how to charm. — I mean can you blame them? The Americans were the peacocks with the finer plumage and women needed to make their nests somehow. Hard to do in the post war period.

History has a very real impact on people today. It's shaped how I see the world And so much our history would be lost without the nations archives. — My librarian self loves this quote. It is a joy to see someone acknowledge their societal import.

As a child I found it soothing to gaze at that image of a boy in a dress, It offered me hope that maybe I wasn't so different. The older I got, the more I struggled with an alarming feeling growing inside me, a feeling I couldn't name at the time. It was an urge to wear my sisters' clothes, play with dolls and be free of typical 'boy things': — This is the importance of Warwick to Jonothan. I think s many queer people have someone like this. But few have someone so close to them, so biologically connected.

[aronarchy]

For the ask meme, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 23, 24. I'd do more but that is all I can remember.

What are your personality disorder(s)? If you have multiple, do you think you have a “main” one?

I have anankastic personality disorder (the DSM likes to call it "OCPD"; I don't think it's a particularly fitting name given how psych currently defines obsessions and compulsions and OCD and those don't particularly fit), NPD, and ASPD. I don't think I have a "main" one per se; some are worse/a larger part of my thinking/feeling/action at different times and they fluctuate. I used to think a lot about which of my disorders I'd get rid of first if I magically had the option one day. My answer has varied greatly over time, and I don't think I can pin down a consistent one. They all suck.

2. Do you have mental illnesses besides personality disorders? Do you think them or your personality disorders affect you more?

I have ADHD (I consider mine a disorder) and C-PTSD. I may also have some degree of OCD symptoms (leftover?), though I've always tried to bury them/ignore that they exist/pretend they're not that bad actually, and I don't think I can really accurately measure how badly it affects me, and trying to do so or just try to explain it in general/talk about how I experience it would require thinking about it which is always unpleasant to some degree. I usually just try to forget they exist.

My ADHD affects my ability to survive under capitalism fulfilling capitalist demands. It impacts my actions and decision-making and perceptions and behaviors 24/7. It's the reason why I know I will never be able to fully do the things I want to do which my anankastia requires me to do and why I fail at everything which requires skills, why I forget everything, why I'm answering this ask from 8/11 a month and a half later because I just Couldn't anytime earlier, why I'm still struggling hard and feel constant existential despair at the overwhelming workload in front of me which will never fully disappear, why I forget everything and why I'm a total mess.

I've only recently come to terms with the fact that I have C-PTSD, mostly because I didn't really understand that all the things I experienced/am experiencing were/are traumatic, and was in heavy denial and didn't really think my symptoms "counted" (was working off very normative models/explanations of what it looks like). For the past few months I've been examining myself more, including my subconscious physical and psychological reactions to certain things and their patterns and my difficulties doing certain things because of certain mental blocks and feelings those produce and how it is in fact woven into every aspect of everything I do too and how it has awful negative effects on me.

I don't know how to say which affects me "more." It would be like comparing apples and oranges. They all affect different aspects of me and my life (a great deal).

4. What would you like mentally ill people without personality disorders to understand?

That 1) you being misdiagnosed with a PD you don't have by saneists isn't an excuse to center yourself in discussions about our PDs rather than us, 2) yes the current psychiatric paradigms and diagnostic criteria are based on statist fallacies conflating current social/external harm/ongoing trauma with inherent harm/trauma and that needs to be corrected, 3) no that doesn't mean our PDs don't exist at all or that none of us would experience inherent distress post-revolution, 4) it does in fact also require paternalism to so arrogantly demand that you know what our minds are like more than we do, 5) in fact everyone who isn't us can shut up with your assumptions about what our minds must be like most of them are laughably simplistic and totally awful and completely off and make huge sweeping generalizations, 6) yes our experiences are in fact nuanced and complex and messy and often not what you expect including our relationships with compassion, empathy, kindness, anger, authoritarianism, entitlement, violence, victimization, and abuse, having them, not having them, perpetrating them, and/or fighting against them, 6) psychiatry is bad actually and please use your critical thinking and learn how to actually critique things even if they're part of the status quo, 7) no you cannot in fact predict with 100% accuracy someone's internal psychological profile based on some external behaviors you need to unlearn your impulse to do so and following the threads of your beliefs to their origins in carceral culture and start holding authoritarians accountable, 8) please learn what a disorder is, no it's not "when someone is abnormal," no it's not "when someone hurts others," 9) it costs you $0 to not use ableist/saneist slurs or insults or armchair-diagnosing there are literally dozens of other actually accurate things you could say, 10) someone fighting back against you oppressing/victimizing them is not "evil boundary-violating" or "gaslighting" or "abuse."

5. What would you like people with your personality disorder(s) to understand?

Fuck psych. They'll only get worse. Not worth it. Your instincts are right about them being full of bullshit and unable to understand much less help. Learn and cope and heal outside of authorities' radar.

Also, anankastia is incredibly misunderstood and erased, even among other people with PDs, and it sucks, and no one ever talks about it ever, and the few people who do talk about it usually just discuss more shallow surface-level versions of it which I have never been able to fully relate to at all given (what I feel is) the severity of my symptoms and their messiness and how deeply it is woven into every aspect of my life and mind and how tightly they all lock into each other in a way I don't think I can extricate myself from ever (pre-transhumanism, at least). I would appreciate more nuanced discussions and acknowledgment and advocacy for cases like mine (the hopeless ones that don't get happy-ending stories about the magical successes of DBT turning their entire life around and fixing all their problems).

Also, you don't have to be an edgelord to get NPD and ASPD destigmatized or accepted. You don't have to brag about being pro abuse or abusing others or assaulting others or dangerous or whatever. You do have agency and nuanced experiences. Also, it's okay to be cringe, and if you cringe at pastel uwu positivity then it's not for you but that doesn't mean it's objectively bad, wrong, or harmful. Also, fakeclaiming others/training yourself to hyper-scrutinize/fakeclaim others is not going to make you seem more valid/real/correct in the eyes of the neurotypicals. Best to deconstruct that early. Also, the pushback against "allowing minors to dx with PDs" is entirely based on numerous pseudoscientific and ageist fallacies which would appear obviously incorrect if you used a single moment of genuine critical thinking and analysis.

6. What would you want a mentally ill person who’s really struggling today to know?

I don't know. That there are people out there in the world fighting for liberation? That some of us have hopes and dreams and plans of totally eradicating our unwanted pain? Options for direct action, ways to contact people who can get you out of an abusive/unsafe situation? That trying is still worth it? That later/tomorrow will be better? That your brain is wrong and everything's okay and you're still okay? You're right and you're valid? I don't know.

23. What are your hardest mental illness symptoms?

When I was 6-11 years old I would probably say the anankastia, the absolute total overwhelming need for [X] to be [Y] way or to do [A] in [B] way despite that being physically impossible and the overwhelming fear of that happening and the intense pain/discomfort which would follow, and the intense pain/discomfort if I did do it correctly anyway because it was time-consuming and exhausting and extremely stressful trying to get it perfectly right all the time and punishing myself if I didn't get it exactly right and arguing with myself trying to figure out what Counted as "Right" in the first place.

When I was 12/13 I would probably say the NPD symptoms which were already showing up and the total paranoia of being criticized/being viewed as less "Good" at all in any way and going to drastic and hugely time-consuming measures trying to prevent that and trying to perfect that the need for which caused me intense constant stress and fear, and being criticized for harming others in an attempt to preserve my own self-esteem/sense of superiority which I need(ed) above all else and caused a major collapse in me and total despair and I couldn't cope with that, and I could hardly cope with any of my other mistakes/failures either.

Or maybe my intense self-hatred regarding my body influenced by my other disorders to cause a horrible eating disorder for several years(?) (recovered now dw).

In 2021 I would say "my overwhelming feeling of need to hurt/abuse/exploit/do injustices to others in order to get things right/feel psychological/emotional fulfillment/not-empty-and-feeling-like-nothing's-there and feeling like I can't/shouldn't hold to my ethical principles (what ethical principles?)/not considering the feelings of others and the horrible shit that would result from my plans which I singlemindedly pursued because I need it so badly and feel like I have no other option and if I don't do them I have nothing and oh shit things actually have consequences."

Right now? I'm not sure. I'm even more of a mess, and everything's too hard, and the last few nights I've successively had breakdowns after feeling significant existential despair. I'm still way better than I was in 2021 though, that was a total trainwreck.

24. What do you do to get over mental health slumps?

I cross my fingers and wait until I get lucky and they go away on their own. Apart from that, meds. My "coping skills" are nonexistent.

[sinisterexaggerator]

For the requests if you are still doing them.

Cad Bane being nursed back to health by a girl after crashing really badly on a planet. She also fixes Todo for him and tries giving him money, when he is recovered enough to go, for his troubles, becauseshe doesn't exactly know who he is and she is probably a bit naive.

Smut is optional if you can fi d a way to put it in!

Title: Damn you, Fennec Shand!

AO3

Word count: 7.9

Dear Anon, your wish is my command ( and boy let me tell you, there’s always a way to fit smut in – in fact, maybe my smuttiest Cad Bane fic yet to date. Thanks for that! )!

Warnings: Smut, explicitly detailed. Like, REALLY graphic. Description of alien anatomy ( xeno dick(s) ), tongue-fucking, face riding, rough kissing, pillow biting, dirty talk, rough sex, vaginal penetration, and mildly dubious consent. Biting, blood, angst, feels, naked/forced cuddling, caretaking along with one grumpy Duros - A.K.A. a sickfic.

Notes: Pagodon is a planet featured in the Mandalorian that is populated by the fearsome ravinak located somewhere in the Outer Rim. This story takes place after the episode of Bad Batch entitled “ Bounty Lost” where Fennec Shand sabotages Cad Bane’s ship and leaves him stranded on Bora Vio. By the way he holds himself, it is evident he is injured. Well, I fuck him up even more.

References to Duros anatomy comes from my own concepts of how I imagine things might work as Bane is noted in several different places to be “reptilian.” I tend to favor the double-dong ( hemipenis ). ;D

I don’t know how this wound up being so long! Hope you enjoy! Comments / likes / kudos/ reblogs all greatly appreciated!

                             ░░▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓████▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░

Alarms were blaring, the Duros experiencing a feeling he wasn’t used to; one of fear and overpowering concern for his well-being. His ship had been sabotaged back on Bora Vio by that accursed witch of a woman Fennec Shand – his bounty lost, and all his credits - the only thing he had to show for it were his extensive injuries, bruised ribs most likely, as the pain in his midsection had yet to subside or dull. His face ached; his whole body from her forceful punches and her kicks. She was fast, adept at her profession – he had been caught off guard, nearly killed, and it had taken him two days to get off the kriffin’ ground.  

“Todo! Why’s de warnin’ ssignal for de energy accumulator goin’ off! Ah thought ye said de ssystem was recharged!”

“It appears that I have failed to properly solder one of the energy accumulator’s uptake lines after it was severed by that woman! We are losing ship functions at an astounding rate!”

“Ah'm aware o’dhat, ye chiphead!"

“There is no need for name calling sir, I-"

“If ye don’t shut de kark up, Ah'm throwin’ ye out de airlock!”

Things were compiling atop each other, getting out of hand, more noises sounding in a raucous discordance from all directions, The Justifier’s main console bleating at him like a wounded animal, though they were in realspace and there wasn’t much that he could do in the off chance of changing things. The indicator for the energizer was added to the fray – it could take days to fix, and by then he’d freeze to death; run out of oxygen – he wasn’t about to send out a distress beacon, either. No telling who or what would try to pick him up.

“Just where de sskrag are we, anyway?!” They had been taken out of hyperspace by the loss of power, Cad Bane slamming his hand down on one particular, square button. A map of the current system was pulled up; they were on the outskirts of the one they’d left – Lido, a part of space he wasn’t too familiar with, though close enough to the Outer Rim to give him a small amount of confidence – hopefully they wouldn’t wind up in some desolate, Maker forsaken place.  

“I would tell you, but I am not permitted to speak.”

Cad Bane growled, ignoring his smart aleck comment, knowing the droid was trying to get the best of him; his personality lacking in his ability to read a room, even in the face of certain doom.

“'Spose we betta try an’ land dhis thing, no danks te ye!” The nearest planet was half a parsec, the Duros taking over. He chose manual operation, as Todo was an example of omission in his derelict of duty – he ought to have the damn droid reprogrammed, though instead he barked out a set of orders – it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Ah think we have enough juice te kick us de rest of de way dhere, but get ready fer a crash landin’! Betta magnetize; we’re jumpin’!” Cad pushed a lever fully forward, the stars stretching out before his eyes, as the last little bit of energy left in his ion engines boosted him across the short length of hyperspace that resembled a nighttime sky.

It took mere minutes; seconds; before they fell out into realspace a second time, right above the atmosphere of an unknown spheroid that looked arctic, somewhat foreboding or uninviting, though The Justifier had been pulled in by its gravity.

“Todo, if Ah die ‘cause’o’yer negligence, ye betta engage de sself-destruct ssequence Ah programmed, or Ah'm comin’ back te haunt yer metal chassis!”

“But sir, I hold untold quantities of data that may be val-”

“Exxactly! Don’ want no one knowin’ m’business! Jus’ do it.”

Todo sighed though he had no lungs with which to expel air from, shaking his head a minutia as the alarms got louder, the fuselage beginning to rattle as they started to descend into a swarm of billowy, white clouds. Cad pulled up on the controls, tried to ignite his retro thrusters to curb the impact, though they sputtered and died out. He released the landing gear and grit his teeth. He closed one eye, realizing he was about to crash into solid ice.

---

You were a resident of the pale blue dot known as the planet Pagodon; a waitress at the one establishment worth a snot on this freezing landscape; the Public House, a part of the settlement known as Ferryman’s Ranch was your stomping ground, though few people came to visit here. You mostly served locals, riffraff, a crook or two, your life was more than boring, that is until you found yourself on break.

You stepped outside only to bear witness to a trail of engine smoke following behind a nearly decommissioned starship. It was coming in rapidly, headed for the barren wastelands Pagodon was known for, and you were overcome with worry for the poor soul left aboard, as ravinaks were living beneath its glacial layers. They were dangerous; attacked at a moment’s notice – you ran inside, yelled to your boss you would be right back, though knowing that was more or less a lie.

You went home first as fast as your legs could carry you, gathering up a various assortment of things that might be needed: a durashelter and blankets, your trusty blaster, a medpac, a small toolkit, and something warm to drink held within a thermajug.

You hopped on your speeder bike well equipped for treading your planet’s unique, frigid surface - it was coming nightfall, you only hoped you wouldn’t be too late.

---

You approached the crash site; saw a small light in the distance - it was moving, but just barely. The closer you got to it, the more curious you became. Once you were near enough you realized it was a droid of some sort - he was missing one of his little legs, though the one left to him had its rocket thruster activated. He was spinning around in circles; he looked downright distraught; shaken, though you were sure he couldn’t experience emotions, yet he kept repeating the same old thing. He seemed broken, out of sorts, or at least confused – not a good sign, but you hoped to remedy his ails.

“Mister Bane – M-Mis – Mis- Mister Bane. The ship- the shiiip.. shiiiiip...”

He cycled through that series of words again, thinking the person with the name of Bane was this droid’s owner as you conked the poor thing right on his access panel with your balled up fist. He sputtered out, shook his head, his golden eyes blinked; the light cut out, but only for a moment, then he was back online.

“Oh! Hello! Who are you? Where am I? Where is Bane? Where is my other leg?”

You ignored his questions and pressed on - he managed to follow you somewhat, gliding along behind you like a lost hound looking for its way home. He teetered on his axis, somewhat destabilized. “Bane is still inside, isn’t he? Oh, I do hope he’s still alive… “

Todo had his own fears to deal with, thinking he didn’t want to have to initiate his self-destruct - he was loyal to his master without a fault, even if that meant the end of him.

From the outside, the ship didn’t look too badly damaged, though it had nosedived into the ice below. It had skidded a few feet but hadn’t managed to break through. You were wary the ravinaks could show up any moment now; they could recognize footsteps, pressure put on the planet’s surface – the droid had been floating, but you were a sentient who walked on two able-bodied legs.

The door was cracked, stuck halfway open, you skirted around the corner and stepped inside - seems the droid had managed to escape somehow. You were careful as you inched down the narrow hall to the starship’s cockpit – you had a bad feeling about all this.

Sparks flew from a cable dangling down before you; you circumnavigated around it, careful not to shock yourself. The lights were dim, nearly nonexistent, as you came upon the scene of a man laid out on the floor - that droid’s other leg was still magnetized to the damaged ship’s interior.

He was weak, struggling to right himself - he couldn’t seem to stand. He kept lifting his body up, bent at the elbows, thinking he should have taken his own advice. His heavy captain’s chair had dislodged itself, pinning him down by the back of one spindly leg - every time he moved, his chest met the floor soon after, Cad having been thrown forward against the windscreen, and his already injured ribs had taken the brunt of it.

The Duros coughed, or at least that’s what you thought he was – the green blood he retched up onto the floor confirmed it. He was bleeding internally, and that’s when he saw you – somehow the large hat he was wearing hadn’t fallen off during the violent crash.

He reached out a single hand as if asking for assistance, though apprehensive; he didn’t speak; his red eyes contracting at the blaster on your hip. You weren’t aware, but the alien thought you might be another bounty hunter, law enforcement, someone to kick him while he was down.

You stepped closer and he tried to push himself up again using the aid of one arm only, his other hand gripping at the handle of one LL-30 BlasTech pistol, but he was too debilitated to even withdraw the weapon - the man soon after succumbing to unconsciousness.

More sparks flew, but this time off the console – you were unsure of the state of things, though you were a fairly good mechanic  - you had fixed mobile objects like your own speeder bike, your bosses hovercar – you thought to have a look once you were less preoccupied.

You pulled this man named Bane along, having freed him from his imprisonment with all the strength that you could muster, removing the hefty seat that had entrapped him to gather him up beneath his arms.

The droid was happy to see you had returned; found his master, as he spun around haphazardly. He posed a question; one he was dreading an answer for. “Is Bane dead?”

“No, but I have to comm for help. I can’t move him like this on my bike alone, or you.” You pressed the link on your communication device, calling the outpost some few miles off. You requested assistance in the form of a vehicle big enough to haul a droid and an injured man; to tow a starship, though they said there was a storm brewing in the distance, and it might very well be a half rotation before they could reach you – it put a damper on your spirits.

You set up the durashelter; it would block most of the wind. It was insulated, though the nights on Pagodon were even colder. You were careful not to disturb the ground too much, treading lightly with a gentle step. You laid out blankets, your sleeping bag, but the man had stirred - he coughed up blood again.

You monitored his breathing by the rising and falling of his chest; it was shallow; you withdrew the medpac as the little droid was frantic. “Miss! My scans indicate that his vital signs are unstable; he was badly injured in the crash; I am afraid he has suffered internally. Please, is there anything you can do for him?”

You unzipped the pouch to withdraw a stim-shot - you had an idea, but you needed to wake him up first; you decided to try to rouse him on your own before injecting him with something.

You took off one of your warm gloves, pressed your tepid hand to his blue cheek encased in black; you whispered to him, coming in close, using the name the droid had given you, though you had no idea who this man was. “Bane? Can you hear me?”

No response: his skin was frigid, colder than you expected him to be. Your exhales came out in small, transparent puffs, denoting the drop in temperature as the sun had nearly set, though on this planet you could always see your breath. You gently shook him with your other hand; his lids fluttered, two crimson, egg-shaped eyes revealed to you for just a moment, yet the Duros was too groggy to stay awake.

You readied the pneumatic dispenser in your hand, pressed it between your knees to hold it steady, then loaded the stimulant to administer the shot – they flew open then; those horizontal pools of red that might as well be magnets as they drew you in.

You had momentarily forgotten your other hand was on his face; he took you by the arm, yanked it back before he sat up straight. You gasped, though his actions were short-lived. He released you, groaning out in pain and anguish, his arm going to rest against his wounded midsection. The Duros’ breath was labored as he tried to speak, however his voice came out unfriendly; angry, callous with his droid, and perhaps you for touching him, his accent something you had never heard before; laced with the cybernetic modulation of his breathing apparatus. “Todo! Wha - what happened? Jus’ wh- where’n de eight Stalbringion hells are we?”

“Mister Bane! Are you all right?!” The one-legged droid appeared curious, though ecstatic that his master was still alive, answering him his question held over from before the crash. “I believe this is Pagodon, sir. Is that correct, Miss?”

Your gaze traveled between the two of them before the one named Bane spoke up again; you had already lost your focus – though this man was injured, he was handsome, and you had it in your heart to help him if only he would allow you to.

“It’s so blasted cold! How cahn ye stand it?”

“You get used to it.” you stated quietly, your eyes centered on the Duros. His fiery gaze shifted towards you; his eyes only half opened - his lids were drooping, his hand still gripping where the pain was. You realized the stimulant seemed to be wearing off already – you had to act fast – you dug into your medpac once again and handed him a small vial of something; a dose of bactade you hoped would heal him from the inside out.

“Drink this, it will help.”

“Ain’t drinkin’ nothin’ ye give me, girl.” Cad Bane was an untrusting man; he rarely partook of food or drink he didn’t watch be prepared. It was unthinkable that he would swallow something a stranger had given him, no matter his condition.

He went to stand, put one knee up, pushed down on both hands – he made the motions, but then cried out. His grip on himself tightened as he fell back. He had bent over in exasperation and distress, Todo hobbling forward on one leg still attached, begging his master to accept your kindness. “Please, sir. You are severely wounded. I don’t want you to die as then I would have to self-destruct, and I am sure that it is a very unpleasant experience.”

Bane was squinting, his words pushed out of him in a tone of voice that betrayed his current state. “Sso glad t’know you care…”

“It’s only bactade – listen to your droid. He’s right.”

“Don’ tell me what te do, lil' lady. No one orders me around.”

“Fine, then die.” You made a movement to get up, frustrated, realizing this was a lost cause. Why risk your life, weather the coming storm, when this Duros was only going to be rude to you?

You gathered up your belongings, made to leave him there. You decided to let the  durashelter remain; he would need it, but it was then he seemed to come around.

“Maybe Ah's bein’ too hasty…” He grit his teeth, bared his fangs to you, more so in pain than out of anything you had done. It came out quiet, like it had been hard for him, something he wasn’t used to; forced to be polite. “Yer not … leavin’ me ‘ere, are ye?’

You handed him the vial again, and he took it this time. He was nearly too enfeebled to undo the cap, his oversized, cerulean colored fingers struggling to spin it the right direction before he finally threw it back. He swallowed it, made a face that was disgusted with the taste; his tongue idly licked the remnants from his mouth, and you noticed it was forked; unusual to you. “S’awful. No more’a dhat.”

Even though this bacta drink might aid him, Bane was no stranger to his temperature dropping fast; this planet was a poor one to get stuck on as a Duros, but he was unable to help himself. “Feelin’ tired … maybe Ah jus’ …”

He sank back on his forearms, one hand still idly resting against his person, that droid of his buzzing around in rings, not able to completely right himself. “Bane, you are in danger! I sense your biological functions are beginning to slow down.”

“S’normal…”  he mumbled out. “Just so … b-blasted … c-cold.”      

“Miss? May I speak with you a moment?”

Bane had seemed to of fallen back even further, barely keeping his head up, his eyes open; if he weren’t blue already, you were sure he would have been by now. You followed the droid back to the ship, pausing several feet away, he was frank with you; it never failed to surprise you the personalities these little machines could carry.

“I am afraid this atmosphere’s too much for him. Bane is too proud to admit this, but he is slowly dying. He is Duros - his internal temperature must be regulated or else he’ll freeze to death as he does not have the appropriate attire for this weather! His insulated breathing suit can only do so much! Our trip here was unplanned as you might be able to imagine...”

“Well, let’s get him in the durashelter.” you offered, meaning to turn around. The droid shifted, slid in front of you, asking you a somewhat peculiar favor.

“I am afraid that might not be good enough. Bane needs a source of heat, and fast. Our ship’s power… The energy accumulator…” The little droid had lifted both his hands, fingers idly tapping against each other as if he felt embarrassed, tiny clinks issuing forth between the awkward stretch of silence, perhaps not wanting to admit that this was all his fault, or at least it felt that way.

“Would you so mind?”

“Would I mind what?” You thought you knew what he was getting at, but it was hard to verbalize; it had to be confirmed; there was no way you would think to do it otherwise.

“You are warm. I am not. I would take your place If I could. Please, do not allow Bane to cease functioning.”

You glanced to the Duros in the distance; he had laid back again, though the stim-shot had served its purpose – you got the medicine in him. You wished those nerf herder’s at the outpost would hurry up; you were lucky so far in terms of the ravinaks not attacking; you only hoped he would last the night.

“But-” Your eyebrows knitted in defeat, somewhat unsure, but wanting to do what was best for him, even if he seemed to be a jerk. “All right…”

“Oh, thank you! It is said skin-to-skin is best.”

“You’re- wait, what?”

“When a person suffers from near to hypothermia, it is said that-”

“Don’t push your luck!” You almost thought to stomp away from him - you were cognizant enough to know better; those feisty creatures might hear you; feel your angry footsteps. You paused above the now unconscious Duros, canting your head a bit; he was sort of cute laying there defenseless, yet you knew his snark might come back to bite you in the ass by tomorrow morning if he managed to survive.

You dragged him to your makeshift shelter, placed him atop your sleeping bag. You cuddled up beside him, wrapped your arms around his chest, one of your legs resting upon his. You pulled the blankets up, tucked him in like you would a child – thought twice; unhooked the canister of oxygen from his apparatus; the lengthy tubes; they would only get in his way of laying flat. In addition, you took that silly hat off and placed it to the side.

His chest rose and fell softly, though he didn’t rouse. He was still shivering within that same hour, then another came and went. He hadn’t died yet, but you thought about what the droid had said, contemplating a course of action before you sighed out loud.

You unfastened his protective outer vest, unzipped his tunic and his trousers next, and with some effort managed to remove them along with his steel-toed boots and the fancy blasters holstered on his hips. You had to find the mechanism with which to unlock and dislodge his forearm gauntlets before you could take them off - it was almost impossible, frustrating – he had so many contraptions, gizmos, and strange things on – you wondered what he needed all those for. 

He was left in a skintight suit of black armorweave you suspected, though the droid said it was insulated – you unzipped it to expose his chest; his waist; his injured ribs. There was bruising all across his abdomen. You reached into your medpac, withdrew more bacta, this time in the form of a medicated patch. You removed the packaging and gently placed it on the largest of his wounds – he flinched, though didn’t wake from his involuntary hibernation.

You lamented to yourself, shook your head, not believing you were about to do this. You took off your heavy coat, pulled off your sweater and your shirt. The bra came next; you were left bare breasted - you refused to take off the rest of your apparel, curling up again next to this grumpy man who had crash-landed on your planet.

His skin was cold no doubt, like the ice that made up the ground outside your shelter; you honestly felt bad for him, one hand coming up to stroke his chin; his cheek, the skin left exposed to you that wasn’t hidden beneath his skull cap – he made a sound. It was a rumble in his throat, low, but not unpleasant – perhaps a noise of protest, though he didn’t rise to consciousness. You held him there the whole night through.

---

Cad Bane had woken up with an alarming start – he was trapped under something - he did not move. He stared at the ceiling of the durashelter, though he felt warm; comfortable. His gaze darted around the confines of the space before he realized you were laying next to him under thick fur blankets.

His first instinct was to shove you, yell something, throw the blankets off - get mad at nothing and everything all at once - but you were sleeping soundly, and he realized you were nearly naked - Cad Bane couldn’t help but notice your large breasts were pushed up against him; a part of a woman he was known to favor – it almost quelled his rage.

Another thing he noted: your hand was on his face. The warmness of it was cupping his gaunt cheek the best it could. He shifted, turned his head a fraction of an inch – he thought you pretty, though his eyes had narrowed. He didn’t know how he felt about all this.

He decided to try and remove you without disturbing you too much; his arm beneath the blankets changed position. One gloved hand rose up, and he realized he was stripped of everything he had been wearing, though instead of getting angrier he was surprised you had gone to all that trouble of undressing him, of cuddling him; showing him affection, though in light of death.

His reedy fingers were placed atop yours against him, his palm encasing your soft flesh. He did the unthinkable – he pressed it to himself – you would never notice, you were resting peacefully, but your eyes had fluttered. He caught on quickly; retracted his appendage, though his sudden jerky movements caused him to writhe in pain.

“Dagnabbit…” he pushed the many layers off, exposing you, your chest and his, though for you it was more embarrassing as you blushed full flush, your cheeks ruddy as he sat up – he examined you without a hint of inhibition as he gripped just below the patch of bacta.

He stared, blinked those ruby magnets, took in your mammalian, shapely bosom, though just as you thought – his snide remarks cut deeper than a vibroknife. “Sspose ye had yer way wit’ me – don’t remember anythin’ – must nahtta’ been te good a time.”

You were overcome with anger; how dare he think you would take advantage of him. Without contemplating further you pulled your arm back and brought it forward, aiming to slap him across his grouchy, glaring face.

He caught you midway there; fangs bared. His large, spidery digits nearly engulfed your entire hand. You gasped, not knowing what he planned to do, and you hadn’t thought things through. He dragged you near to him, a half inch from his surly countenance – his steady gaze bore into yours, filled with seeming menace; he had all the appearances of being ornery - right before he kissed you.

He let your wrist go, brought both his large hands up – he cupped your cheeks almost gently. You blushed again but for different reasons, not sure what he was playing at or where this was even going, though you hadn’t thought to stop him – in fact, you didn’t mind.

You felt he must be feeling better as he dropped one cool extremity to knead and encage your breast; his tongue prodded at your lips, asking for entrance – you permitted him, and he pushed against you harder then.

His fingers gripped you, dug into your skin; he pulled you in, forced his tongue almost halfway down your throat through your open mouth. Your nipples had become erect at his cold touch; the tips of rough finger pads tweaking; stroking its pert point.

A growl emanated from deep within his larynx; primal; an expression of his lust. His other hand lowered, gripped your mound through your skintight pants. You pulled away, expelled a breath of air out of surprise even though you suddenly found yourself aroused.

He stared into your eyes as he massaged you, his entire palm cradling your increasing enlivened sex; he whispered, though it came out more as a grumble - the intonations; the inflection of his voice like the utterance of a beast who could sense you were in heat, and him prepared to rut.

“Ss’my turn now, lil’ lady …”

“But I didn’t-” you began, though common sense suddenly overtook you. You gently braced against his attractive frame with the flat of your open hand. “You’re injured, you can’t possibly-”

“Ain’t dhat bad off…” He leaned his body forward, slowly - you knew he was trying to circumvent his pain. You felt his teeth first, a nip, before his tongue trailed from the arc of your tender neck to just below your ear. You shivered as he tasted you, Cad enjoying your delicious flavor; a bit of sweet mixed in with salt, but he didn’t stop.

"Don't like owin' people," he confessed, the tip of his forked points flitting against the opening of your ear canal - it caused your body to spasm as your one hand still upon him clawed into his scarred and beaten chest. You wondered how many times he had brushed with death, and his anatomy was suddenly fascinating to you; he didn’t have nipples; areolas, though his pectorals were firm and fit.

The droid was outside waiting, he had heard voices within the shelter, he piped up, though obviously low on charge. He was quiet, perhaps not wanting to disturb, but disturb he did. “Mister Bane? Are you all right? Is he alive, Miss?”

“Alive enough te weld yer mouth shut if ye don’t kriff off.” He had pulled away just far enough so he wouldn’t deafen you with his complaint, the droid needlessly apologizing before you heard his little thruster tote him off to an unknown place. You felt bad for him, but didn’t mention it, as Cad started to tug at the edges of your remaining garments; he was making little headway. You would need to help. Despite him saying otherwise, he was still very vulnerable, susceptible to injury.

“Please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself – your health comes first – I think that-”

“Dhat’s yer problem – ye think too much …” He moved in to caress your flesh, your supple breasts, the cut between them, down to your belly button. You sat upon your knees with your pants halfway shimmied afield from your broad hips. He dipped down low, meant to finish what you’d started, or perhaps start something of his own - he involuntarily cried out, though he closed it off between his saw-toothed fangs, one arm coming to bear down upon his aching abdomen.

That was the straw that broke the bantha’s back. You gently pried him up; his brow ridge was furrowed, hating all of this; his seeming inability to even move in certain directions. His internal organs were still healing, though the bacta and your warmth had saved his life – yet that didn’t mean he couldn’t project his sour mood.

“I told you.”

“An' now Ah’m tellin’ ye.” He took you by your hair; it’s roots; loose strands of it falling about your face; he tugged you forward with him as he leaned back, laid out again on your sleeping bag. He held on with one large hand even as his breathing hitched, the other one being used to yank each side of your trousers down in turn.

“Get em’ off before Ah rip’em off!” he seethed, and you complied, feeling slightly alarmed, though strangely curious, turned on, and feeling heated, annoyed that he wouldn’t listen to you, but that feeling quickly dissipated as a single finger extended; glossing between the folds of your ripe womanhood. You were drenched in your own wetness – it was quite apparent – he could also smell it, knowing no matter what your current attitude that you were on the cusp of fiending for him.

You were suddenly embarrassed, though the Duros had displayed a grin. The apex of his finger trailed to the nub that was your clit. He stroked it with assertion, rubbed against it, your gasp was soft as you threshed against his touch.

“Know how te shut ye up, but Ah might wanna hear de way ye sing.” He took his hand away; you were left wanton for him, but not for long. Both long arms reached out; he coerced you, repositioned you, forced your legs to straddle him. You braced yourself against his shoulders, your breasts hovering above his head. He craned his neck and you watched in awe as his teeth delicately clipped one nipple, a trickle of blood forming, though it had hurt so good.

He drank from you, suckling hard, your nether regions soaked as he grabbed you by your hips. He didn’t ask; he forced you forward, letting go of your wounded breast to sit you flat upon his face.

His thin fingers had spread your lower lips apart, his arms on either side of your thick thighs – he had exposed you – now you were the one who was feeling vulnerable. That forked organ of his entered deep into your body’s cavity, your emptiness filled as he wormed his way as far as he could go. He sampled your nectar; delectable; as if that tongue of his were the proboscis of an insect, one of his thumbs shifting as he toyed with your clit again.

The sounds that exuded from his mouth were the guttural utterances of an animal; you could feel the rumble in his throat as it vibrated against you, though he minded the fangs for now – you squirmed, perhaps meaning to get up, not knowing how you were feeling, but his grip was taut. He forced you down, smothering himself in the velvety confines of your genitalia as if hungry for you; dining on a meal.

That one thumb kept caressing you: rough, yet gentle. His other arm snaked around your waist like a serpent meaning to constrict its prey. The sensation within was a patient writhing; forceful; like the squirming of a tentacle -  he was tongue fucking you and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You relented; reached for your own hair; your body stretched itself as your fingers dug into your scalp, your breasts protruding in the open air. You moaned out loud; you couldn’t help yourself. Each stroke of him inside you, outside you, caused you to release another sound.

It only encouraged him, He propped a knee up, held you there behind your arching back, his other hand now free to explore your shapely curves. He groped your breast again, the one that bled; he pinched you, it sent a lightning bolt of pain through you – but pain that was masked with pleasure.

You came hard, but he wouldn’t stop, not until he had lapped up every drop like a thirsty dog who needed water. He finished you off by biting you again, the soft flesh of your labia. You yelled out, shocked, pulled from your euphoria, though he hadn’t bit hard enough to leave a mark.

You scrambled back, your chest heaving. He grimaced, as you had almost sat along his wounded midsection. He closed one eye, grit his teeth, though he tried to push himself up to sit. He lightly raised a hand; he wiped his mouth off on the back of it before he looked you in your eyes – or at least you thought he did, as you had positioned yourself across his lower half; finding that his cock was hard beneath you; it had an express shape -  he wouldn’t ask for anything, the Duros having wanted to repay you in his own way.

“Was a pretty tune. Wouldn’t mind hearin’ it again.”

You blushed, opened your mouth to speak, but you heard voices – human ones, the sounds of a tow truck that sported two forward-facing arms that could be used to encapsulate his starship. Someone called out your name, a familiar person; someone you knew back at Ferryman’s Ranch.

Cad Bane raised one half of his brows slope, confused for just a moment, and you thought to explain yourself as he had gone to move, almost too quickly, concerned about The Justifier, all his belongs, his home away from home – his source of transit, and his droid was out there somewhere. “I called for help last night – there was a storm. They are here to help.”

That same man called again, you rushed to put on your clothes. “Be right out!” you shouted, Bane left to his own devices figuratively and literally, as you suggested he do the same.

---

“Do you think perhaps we could find and reattach my leg? Where are we off to, Miss? I am sure Mister Bane wants to get going as quickly as possible – is there a technician who might be able to repair our ship? I could certainly go for a recharge – I am feeling rather drained. I only have a few hours left before-”

“Cahn’nit! Tired’a listenin’ te ye bellyache.”

The little droid was talkative as you all three were driven back into town together. Your speeder bike was coupled in the back, along with Bane’s massive ship. You sat across from him in the back of a hover car as the tow vehicle rode along behind – you were honestly surprised you hadn’t seen any ravinaks - that was until one punctured through the ice.

You had been lost in thought, your imaginings, lingering on the act Bane had committed – you studied him – his arms were crossed, his face turned away from you at an angle, revealing to you his handsome profile. His hat was tipped down low, though you could still see the glow of his deep red eyes. His lips were tight, and he held tension within himself – he was unhappy, though you felt that must have been his default mode of being.

The whole entourage jerked to a sudden stop. Cad Bane grit his teeth again, shielding his wounded personage. He was angry then, tired of hurting, tired of feeling like a sitting mynock. He stood; the thrusters on his boots fired up; he rose into the air and then dropped down - right in front of the ravenous creature who had sank its giant tusks into the bottom of the tow truck.

You watched, awestruck. He extended an implement from his forearm gauntlet – it was a lanyard of some kind, a metal microfilament; it had wound around one oversized, sharp fang. He pressed a button, held it down, cranked the power levels; set his contact stunners to full blast. He conducted a jolt of electricity so strong down the length of it that the ravinak screeched in pain; sizzled, fell back into the depths below the ice. Everything was silent – he released the line from the odd contrivance on his arm; tipped his hat at the driver; the workers who were startled; staring, before he took a moment to open the door this time, acting as if nothing happened. No one else had even had the time to withdraw their weapons or blink their eyes – he was hypnotizing.

You were turned on by the thrill of it; the way this reptilian-humanoid named Bane could command a beast without so much as a note of concern present in his sinewy, alien configuration, though he was more or less a man – he was piquing your curiosity left and right - you quietly observed him sit down to collect himself; the ravinak hadn’t even put up a decent fight.

---

“Two days tops - got a lot of repairs that need to be made. Energy accumulator is offline, the wires look like they had a bad stitch job … energizer is shot; won’t hold a proper charge. Some damage to the hull on impact; landing gear is misaligned, thrusters need recalibrating…”

“Yes, yes.. Ah get it. Fine. Don’t dally, dhen…  Considerin’ yer de only tech crew on dhis dang-blamed planet. Ah’ve got’a burra fish te catch … “ He had plans for Fennec; he thought to seek his revenge when he was healed; or at least obtain an eye for an eye, interfere with her bounty this time – she owed him credits galore.

You listened, intent on helping him – you knew this man; you had a favor you could pull. You wheedled him to the side, struck a bargain; you were willing to help out – you knew your way around a workbench, and you would start with his droid’s leg, move your way up to assist in fixing his crippled ride, and in turn it would cost him half the price.

Bane withdrew a toothpick from his pants pocket, leaned back, propped his foot against the wall - this was the first time you saw him do this – you bit your lip as he placed the object between his. He gnawed on it; chewing helped him to redirect some of his agitation as he sighed; annoyed, posing a question to the both of you. “Any accomodations around dhese parts?”

“You can stay with me.” It rolled out of you without a second thought.

---

You had learned his full name by now, Todo 360’s too. Cad was atop you, two dexterous digits inside you open mouth. They toyed at the edge of your flat incisors, pressed against the tip of your wet tongue, though his forefinger and thumb held you by the chin as he steadied your servile movements, your outright moaning, as he baited you to verbalize your pleasure. “Make sure de neighbors hear, Ah like’it when ye scream fer me.”

His cock was full inside you - your jaw had dropped when you saw what he was packing, though this was the third time he had entered you, twice the night before. It was large; long like one of his distinctive fingers, made to expand by the flow of emerald blood. This particular part of him was ridged, and you were shocked because he had two of them … They were covered in spicules, though pliant; they didn’t hurt, they rubbed against your g-spot like a felicitous massage as he railed you, shaking the headboard of your simple bed.

Cad Bane was not a gentle man when it came to this. His fingers shifted, gripped the hair along your scalp – he dug in with all five as the other hand propped him upright. He ground his phallus into you until he decided he was bored of this – he made you flip around at his leisure, though giving you short notice. The slighter of his cocks was somewhat prehensile in nature; it stimulated you at the same time as the one inserted, mooring itself upside your pulsating bundle of soft nerve-endings.

You gripped your pillow with both hands, drove your teeth into the downy fabric; he pushed you against your home’s partition from the outside world; slamming his narrow hips into your backward facing haunches – it drove a whine out of you until it transformed into a moan of jubilation – it might as well have been an extra finger down below as the tip seemed to of curled itself back under you; latched on. It was practically cinched over your safeguarded area; it had attached itself – your labia having been parted by this extra shaft as you were willingly forced to endure the first; like being mounted to a wall, though that wall was Cad Bane’s hemipenis.

“Dhat’s it, take’it like de good girl ye are…” His genitalia was made for a Duros’ to match, though the feeling it filled you with was unlike any other species you had experienced. You were afraid to lose him in that moment, for him to leave tomorrow morning had made you begin to cry. He slowed his rhythm, but didn’t pause, thinking he was perhaps being much too rough, though he hadn’t given you a safe word, and you didn’t ask for one.

“Ain’t becomin’ of ye te do dhat.” He punished you by sitting up, his chest having been against your spine; his cool skin had a slight roughness to it, but Pagodon wasn’t the best place for his microscales. He tugged you backward by one arm around your waist as he sat down crossed legged upon the mattress – still bruised, still beaten - he had fucked you just the same.

You sank into his lap, his foreign cock nearly pressing against your cervix – you quickly rose just enough so as not to impale yourself. You shifted precariously onto your knees – you used the muscles of your thighs to gently ride him as he sat back and watched you dance for him, his hands groping your firm breasts from around and behind.

You wiped your tears away; Cad Bane didn’t comment on it; only added his two cents to the way you made waves along his member, that second organ still titillating you as it drove you to cum, your body’s natural secretions coating him as he drove it home. “Ah oughtta stuff ye full-up; make ye beg fer it… ”

He tried to hold it; wanted to make you cum again, but he suddenly pushed you off. You gasped as he bent you over; he released his seed along your back, your buttocks, his fangs gritted as he growled out sounds of appreciation. His own dirty talk had sent him reeling over the edge into an orgasm.

He slapped your ass afterward, dredged the abrasive undersides of his weedy digits along your skin, left a mark; a large red welt, before calling it a night.

“A trip te de refresher might do ye good,” he said.

---

Todo had been left with the lead technician while Bane had been ensconced by you; you had truly wanted to keep a watchful eye on his condition. The droid had come to alert his master the repairs were finished. The hunter had been hanging out around the Public House, as you had asked your bosses permission to have the last few days off. You left him waiting as he idly drummed his fingers along a table, seated in a darkened corner - he studied the holoprojector above the bar; the news was on, though nothing truly noteworthy.

“Sir, The Justifier is primed and ready for us to finally leave this place! What is next on our agenda?” His leg had been reattached – he was cheerful; downright happy, yet the Duros had ignored him.

Bane swirled another toothpick betwixt the opposing points of his fleshy tongue; bit down; slowly rose. You were waiting by the door, a forlorn look of sadness on your face you were trying your best to hide – his was a mask; unreadable; stoic by his very nature.

He crossed the threshold, he shivered a bit at the temperature compared to the one indoors, obviously disgusted by this place – you felt he couldn’t wait to leave. You sucked in a tiny breath, held out a small bag within your hand – it clinked, as credits were inside grazing one another. His eyes constricted at your humble gift.

“I know you spent a lot on your ship’s repairs … Here, I want you to have this.”

“Don’t want yer creditss... Ye’ve done enough.” He batted your hand away, traipsed onward to begin his walk back to this town’s one hangar - you followed him as you tried to hold back your fragile feelings. You called out to him as he meant to board.

“Wait – Bane – I ...”

He turned around, removed his toothpick, deposed of it with the flick of his lithe wrist and adjoining digits. He strode forward the three or four steps it took to meet you, your head downturned; eyes lowered.

He coaxed you up by the crook of a knotted knuckle and his thumb – he saw your eyes were watering. His face never faltered, never changed appearance. He leant in and kissed you as a way to say goodbye; a simple press of his hairline mouth to yours.

“So long, lil’ lady.” He walked away, almost dismissive, and the lead technician had come to join you. He whistled out, shook his head, giving you a dumbfounded comment; he was astounded.

“Cad Bane, huh? You sure know how to pick ‘em. That’s a story to tell your grandkids.”

You glanced to him, eyebrows furrowed - you were irritated, but also inquisitive. “What do you mean by that? You know him?”

He scoffed, almost laughed, surprised by you being so naïve. “You’re kidding, right? Cad Bane is the toughest, most infamous, quickest draw in all the karkin’ galaxy – he’s a bounty hunter. Didn’t you know that?”

Your hand moved to your mouth, you tried to hide your shock - he was gone then, and Todo too - his ship taxied to the edge of Ferryman’s Ranch, your home sweet home; your little outpost, until he took to the skies, Bane having ignited his engine’s thrusters, and in that moment you knew you would never lay your eyes on him again.

 ----

My other works can be found here!   <3 

[captains-simp]

Yelena Belova ~ The Shot I Didn’t Take

(Clearly) Inspired by e4 of hawkeye

Summary: you don’t usually do what your opponents ask you to, especially when they could kill you without a second thought. Except with her, all she had to do was shake her head no

Yelena X fem!reader

1.8k words

Warnings: violence, brief description of blood and murder

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕️

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When you arrived at the location, she was already there. You had been prepared for that. In fact, you would be lying if you said you weren’t expecting it. Widows moved fast. 

You recited everything Natasha had told you about the widows in your head as many times as you could manage. It was clear by the sound of her voice over the phone that she was distressed she couldn’t be there. Her and Clint were in another country on a classified mission and as you were the one who voiced your concerns about your boss’s safety, you were sent to get him before the widow did. 

Swinging the door open with your boot, you held your gun out in front of you as you took in your surroundings. You didn’t get much time to assess the condo that was well out of your paygrade before a grenade came tumbling towards your feet. You cursed loudly and shot back behind the door and thankful for the thick wall between you as the device detonated. 

Let's try that again. You thought as you got back up and proceeded into the room with far less caution. Of course, she was already waiting for you, ready to swipe out your legs from under you with one swift movement. Natasha had tried that on you your first time training with her. You kicked out and your leg successfully collided with the widow’s stomach. She doubled over too sharply for you to get a chance to see her face, instead noting the blonde braid. 

Thinking the grunt she gave was a good sign, you raised your gun until the next second it was flying across the room. You blinked, only having seen a blur of movement before the widow started throwing punches left and right that you were not at all ready for. You did your best to block them but had no chance to get any attacks of your own in. She was pushing forwards, backing you into a corner to limit your options. That much you were aware of. 

The blonde managed to land a swift punch to the side of your face that made your head jerk back. You were about to curse her until you spotted a no doubt ridiculously priced vodka bottle on the cabinet next to you. The widow caught on to your intention when you grabbed the bottle but ducked too late to miss it collide with the side of her head. The bottle shattered against her and she stumbled back. You didn’t wait to see what damage was done, instead grabbing your gun from wear it had fallen and sprinting into the bedroom to find your boss. 

“Fuck.” You whispered when you saw the pool of blood forming beneath where his body lay. You were about to leave to face the widow until you heard your boss cough from the floor. “Sir?” You crouched down next to him and grabbed the napkin from the table next to him and held it against his wound. Part of you wondered if he would ever realise how lucky he was to survive a widow, assuming he did make it out of the building and recover. “We need to get you out of here.” Luckily for you, the man was skinny and helping him to his feet wasn’t as hard as it would have been if you were helping any other higher up. You were still greatly disadvantaged though, clutching onto your gun tightly with your free hand. 

As alert as you were trying to be about the assassin you could only assume was less than ten feet away, very few could stop a widow. The bullet landed square between his eyes and you only processed it when he toppled forwards. You spun around to face the widow but she was already on the balcony. You ran forwards, gun aimed at the back of her head and finger on the trigger until she turned around to face you, expression set in stone. Her grey eyes watched you carefully, like she was silently daring you to pull the trigger. 

You pushed aside your doubts and was about to shoot when the blonde simply shook her head once. You froze, not knowing why the hell you should comply when you could have shot her on the spot, but your body obeyed. Without a word, she threw a device that you didn’t care to register to the floor and leapt over the side of the balcony, turning towards you a final time before she fell. 

You stood like that for another few seconds then lowered your gun with a sigh. “I’m so getting fired.”

*

By some miracle, you didn’t get fired. You did get something worse: hours of interrogation. You were asked, over and over, how an executive had ended up dead with his killer nowhere to be found all while you walked out of there with just a sore jaw. You had tried to make up some excuse about the timings being wrong. You got there too late, she was too fast. You weren’t lying in that sense, you just decided against telling anyone that you didn’t shoot the assassin because she simply signalled for you not to. 

What bothered you most was that you really didn’t know what had happened. You had hesitated before the widow had even shook her head and you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because she didn’t try to kill you either. Sure, she was hostile, but she could have easily shot you before your boss. It bothered you to no end that you couldn’t make sense of such a small encounter and you pondered phoning Natasha to tell her the truth, it was only a matter of time before she found out what you had told S.H.I.E.L.D and rung you to interrogate you too. 

You closed your eyes and pressed the bag on chicken dino shapes to your jaw, wincing at the contact as you tried to relax in your chair and focus on the playlist playing from your speaker that was one drop away from breaking. A few songs in and you felt yourself finally begin to get tired as the thoughts racing in your head slowed down. 

“Dino shapes?” Your eyes snapped open and leapt up from your chair in alarm, catching the table next to you with your foot in the panic and knocking the speaker straight to the floor. You cringed when the music stuttered then ceased completely while trying to find the owner of the voice. Her Russian accent was almost as prominent as the judgement in her voice. The blonde stepped out from a shaded corner of the room and you scoffed at her dramatics. 

“Shadowy corner?” You fired back but stopped as soon as you could see her face clearly. 

“Yeah I don’t know why I bothered with that, you wouldn’t have noticed me if I was standing in the middle of the room.” You squinted your eyes at her and she gave you a faux smile. 

“I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. I’ve trained in all three Academies and work with the Avengers. I would have noticed.” You said as confidently as you could to try and distract from the fact you were etching towards the bookshelf. 

“I’ve been standing here for an hour.” The blonde stated. What? “And I took the gun out from behind the Lord Of The Rings book within a minute of being here.” A smug grin teased at her lips and you started to regret not shooting her. 

“Maybe I knew that and was enjoying the company.” You suggested as you took in her new outfit. The soft brown jacket with badges scattered across it was certainly different to the black combat suit you had seen her in previously. Her hair looked good down, bangs suited her. The braid suited her too. That just wasn’t fair, not when you were standing in front of her in Star Wars PJs. You hoped that that was the only reason the widow clearly wasn’t intimidated by you. 

“Well, only having plants to talk to must get quite tiring.” Okay, what the hell? Did she come to your home just to take the piss? That wasn’t enjoyable when you couldn’t think of anything to say back. 

“Is there a particular reason you’re here?” You asked, honestly unsure if you should consider yourself in danger. 

The blonde didn’t answer you. Instead, she sauntered over to your kitchen cupboards and grabbed the bottle of vodka and a couple of shot glasses then made her way over to where you stood to sit down on the couch. You tentatively sat down in your chair and watched her pour out two drinks. 

“My suit is going to smell of wine for a long time.” She complained before taking her shot swiftly and pouring another. 

“Drinking my vodka isn’t going to change that.” You grumbled. She ignored you. 

“Why didn’t you shoot me, y/n?” You didn’t verbally question how she knew your name, but your eyes shot back to her upon hearing it. 

“Didn’t feel like it.” You shrugged. How many more times were you going to be questioned for one action? 

“Ha.” She said bluntly. “Why?” 

“You got a name?” The blonde pushed your shot glass further towards you. “Doesn’t seem fair that you know mine and I don’t know yours.” She watched you for a second before answering.

“Yelena.” 

“Well, Yelena, why didn’t you shoot me?” You questioned.

“I asked first.”

“You also had the first chance.” You fired back. Yelena tapped the glass in her hand, getting visibly irritated. She looked cute when she was annoyed. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t do it.” The widow didn’t make any indication that she was going to answer or even respond to what you said. In fact she looked far more interested in contemplating pouring another glass. You would feel confident placing your bets on what she decided. 

You flexed your jaw and grimaced, bringing the bag back to your aches as you glared at the blonde. She smiled smugly and stood up abruptly. You were startled when she made a stride towards you and reached out. Yelena ignored your protests when she traced her thumb over your jaw until you shut up upon the contact. 

“This is no need for dino shapes.” She concluded and let her hand drop.

“Sometimes you don’t need a reason for dino shapes.” You argued. Yelena opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by a gentle knock at the front door. 

“Y/n, you in there?” Wanda asked. 

“Hide.” You instructed as you shot up and downed your glass before grabbing the twin one and bottle, rushing to the kitchen to put them away. “You can stay in the closet in my room and I’ll get rid of her as quickly as I can but I don’t know-” You turned around to face Yelena and frowned when you didn’t see her. 

The curtains blowing gently caught your eye, bringing your attention to the open. Something told you that wouldn’t be the last time Yelena showed up in your apartment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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[tenthgrove]

yess thank you for letting me ask you about the lore >:3c so I have to get my absolute favorites outta the way first— what kinda lore and thoughts do you have for sorbet or gelato ( <- before they get together and the earlier years of them getting together if you need a specific period ) I have to also ask are you ok if I go down the “line” and get your thoughts in other asks about the rest of the la squadra babes? Thank you sm 💖💖 I hope you’re having a wonderf day/evening

Ah! Now this is one of my absolute favourites! Apologies to anyone who has already heard me ramble about my Sorbet and Gelato backstory ad nauseam on multiple occasions, but this is really an area where I can't help myself. Besides, this is my opportunity to go more in depth where I haven't before:

(Note after writing this: It's stupidly long. I'm sorry I just can't help myself with these backstories. I couldn't decide what to leave out so I decided nothing.)

(Also please feel free to ask me more lore questions because I love doing this)

We'll begin with Sorbet, born in Naples in February 1967 if you follow the canon timeline (although by default I write in modern AU so move the dates 20 years later). His situation at birth was absolutely dire, the eldest child of an incredibly vulnerable woman and one of her clients as a sex worker. Sorbet's mother was by all means a decent woman but her severe mental illness and drug addiction made it impossible for her to be a good mother, which of course had a bad effect on Sorbet growing up. After Sorbet, she had 5 more children, all through clients, and Sorbet was saddled with much of their care.

Though he loved his siblings, Sorbet was pretty much done with this life by age 12 and was easily swept up by older boys from the local street gang, who paid him well to peddle drugs when he should have been in school. This was a very underfunded neighbourhood so nobody questioned his truancy, and within the next couple of years he had stopped going to school entirely. Shortly after this, having acquired sufficient money through his crime involvement, Sorbet left his family to stay with his new friends, moving between them on a regular basis. He also discovered his sexuality around this time and dated a few male friends, though none of these relationships got very far.

By age 16, Sorbet had earned a reputation in the street gang for skilled and passionate violence, and was selected by the ringleader to commit the group's first planned murder, in exchange of course for a lucrative reward. Sorbet accepted, succeeded, and became the group's de-facto assassin whenever needed. He continued to hoard considerable money for the remainder of his adolescence, though continued to be functionally homeless since he didn't see it necessary when sofa-surfing was suiting him fine.

Before resuming with Sorbet, let's explain the life that Gelato came from. Gelato was born in October 1967 in St. Petersburg, Russia, (Note- I previously used the city of Minsk, unaware that this is in fact, in Belarus) to an upper-middle class businessman and his Italian wife, a distant relative of French Monarchy. Gelato's relationship with his parents was rocky from the start due to the fact they would have preferred a girl after three successive sons, but any parental love they had for their youngest child broke down entirely after he was diagnosed with both Autism and ADHD at age 5, in an evaluation intending to find the cause of some behavioural issues that were really, just a response to emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13 he, his parents, and two of his three brothers (the eldest was already an adult by this time and elected to stay behind) moved to Italy to escape some allegations of corruption in the father's business. They moved to a rural village in North-West Italy where the community was very middle-class and quite stifling for Gelato, who had enough social rules to remember in the familiar, economically-diverse city he grew up in. His behavioural issues got worse and began to include things he would later regret, such as attacking and stealing from younger children, and things he would absolutely not, like attacking and stealing from teachers. By this point the family had largely written him off as a failure, revering instead their academically successful, well-behaved older children, which absolutely contributed to the spiralling cycle of behaviour issues Gelato faced.

Then, at age 17, Gelato failed a crucial exam and was expelled from high-school. His parents kicked him out on the spot, and with no other family in Italy Gelato had very few options on what to do next. He recalled, however, one older friend having links to a street gang in Naples, and decided to see if this boy might have a route out of destitution for him. Indeed, the friend did know of a man in Naples needing assistance within the gang, but could offer no help in getting Gelato there. Seeing no other way, Gelato walked the whole journey.

Arriving in Naples, the friend's associate announced that the position Gelato was after had been taken, but taking pity on his distress, informed him of another friend who needed someone to look after an unlicensed bar that served as one of the group's main meeting points. He agreed to arrange for the small apartment above the bar to be given as payment.

Gelato accepted, but although he had now solved the problem of homelessness his life was still incredibly miserable. For one, with his pay being the apartment he had to rely on measly tips to get by, which rarely left him with enough to eat let alone anything else. Additionally, as an outsider with little understanding of the way gangs work Gelato was an easy target for abuse, and was treated like absolute shit by the bar's patrons.

By this point in time, Sorbet had just turned 18. He was, incidentally, in the same gang Gelato had joined, and a regular at the bar he worked in. For a good couple of months they took no notice of each other, until Sorbet came to be in a coincidental feud with one of the men who was violent to Gelato at the bar. When Gelato witnessed the two of them in a fight, he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to join in on Sorbet's side, knocking the patron unconscious and leaving him too afraid to visit again. For his trouble, Sorbet gave Gelato a portion of the money he looted from the fight's loser, and flirted with him lightly before going about with his evening. Unknown to Sorbet, he had just sent Gelato falling head over hills in love.

Gelato found out about Sorbet's sexuality from other patrons and, delighted, attempted to flirt with him the next time they saw each other, but his attempts came off very poorly and Sorbet actually thought he was being insulted. Angered, he dragged Gelato into the cellar to demand what was going on. Gelato, terrified, admitted having a crush, which Sorbet found to be the sweetest and most genuine thing he'd ever heard. While he couldn't promise a relationship, he did agree to show Gelato more attention in the future. But, it was only a matter of days until Sorbet found himself loving Gelato back.

This whirlwind relationship continued happily for three weeks, Sorbet greatly improving Gelato's situation through his saved money and helping him fend off the abusive patrons. Gelato, in turn, offered Sorbet a permanent place to stay in the apartment, which he accepted. Sorbet was in the process of moving his things, and they had plans to refurbish the place to make it actually habitable.

But then, everything came crashing down. One night the bar was subject to a surprise raid by the police, operating by the false assumption it was empty. Sorbet and Gelato attempted to flee but were caught, and in a panic, Gelato shot a policeman dead. Rushing to his defence Sorbet killed two more, but a fourth escaped to tell the tale. The couple knew they were screwed. Running to the headquarters of their gang they begged for protection but were informed the small group simply could not save them from a charge this serious, and gave them only a single night of shelter to plan their next move. Gelato, who remember had never committed anything more serious than minor ABH before, had an absolute breakdown over this predicament that night, and whilst comforting him, Sorbet devised a blood pact with him to stick together no matter what came.

Over the next few days, Sorbet and Gelato fled north, avoiding the police through Sorbet's skills as a criminal and Gelato's very convincing Russian tourist impression. They were almost at the French border when Sorbet awoke one night to find Gelato missing behind him. He chased his tracks to the driveway of a rural house, a tearful Gelato clutching a knife at the shut door and trembling. He informed Sorbet that he had intentionally led him to the village where his family lived, with the intention to break in and kill them as revenge for the years of abuse. Sorbet warned Gelato that this would not be good for their attempts to flee, but said he understood fully and would help him if this is truly what he wanted. Gelato agreed, and together they broke into the house and slaughtered Gelato's mother and father, additionally killing one of his brothers after he woke from the noise. The other brother, the youngest other than Gelato, was spared, as Gelato felt his role in the abuse had been comparatively more minor and he did not deserve to die. This of course, left another witness.

The massacre in the village was quickly linked to the one at the bar and Gelato was promptly identified from a comparison of DNA found at the scene to his surviving brother's. Sorbet, a known criminal, was identified soon after. Not only were the pair now known but the police figured out what their plan was and informed the French police as well, making things exponentially harder for the couple.

They made do for a while by hanging low and keeping on the move, living off money stolen from the parents' house. Eventually however, they needed more, and began making deals with local crime organisations to carry out assassinations in exchange for money or temporary shelter. While Sorbet was already a pro at this, Gelato found himself a fast learner, and soon realised he shared Sorbet's adoration for the act of killing. He felt as though he was finally coming to meet his true self.

Though the assassination deals were lucrative, they did not help the couple keep a low profile and the attacks from police were relentless. Several times, they barely escaped capture. All this was not good on their mental states, and after two years, Sorbet knew it needed to end. He and Gelato returned to Naples in the hope their old gang might reconsider protecting them, but they were met with a surprise as their old gang had been completely overtaken by Passione. Even still, the new mobsters had heard a lot about Sorbet and Gelato's exploits and agreed to get them an audience with a local Capo, Pericolo, who was impressed by the men's skills and moved by the sense of honour suggested by their love for each other. He agreed to initiate them into the gang.

Soon after this, Sorbet and Gelato recieved stands which, although not very powerful, assisted them greatly in the art of assassination. Soon, they were natural choices for Passione whenever a hit needed carrying out in the Naples area. At some point a few years in, they befriended a man named Prosciutto who had been recently forced into Passione due to his heritage. Prosciutto was also funnelled into assassination jobs and, with less of a reputation for impulsivity than Sorbet and Gelato, was the one given the order to form a new assassination squad when the need arose, around 1993 if we're following canon.

(Note, I hc La Squadra was created by Passione in response to a real life government crackdown on the Italian mafia around 1992-93, in response to an incredibly scandalous series of assassinations. In such a climate, it would make sense for Passione to want to consolidate an elite squad of its best hitmen, do avoid future problems.)

Due to personal commitments Prosciutto did not want to be the captain, so attempted to give this responsibility to Sorbet, a request the boss promptly denied. Prosciutto was, however, allowed to add Sorbet and Gelato to the team's ranks, cementing the three of them as the first members of the team.

Prosciutto would, soon enough, find another person to give the title of captain to, but that's a story for another time.

[moon-lixie]

Help - Seo Changbin

“But what if he tries to kiss me? You know I don't know how to kiss.” And just how he helped you calm your nerves and pick the clothes you would wear, Changbin helped you with this one last detail.

genre: fluff, 80s AU

word count: 2.647k

The music turned slightly louder as a result of Changbin´s nervous fingers toying with the stereo of your room, blasting Hungry Heart by Bruce Springsteen in a volume where you could appreciate every single word clearly. You didn't pay particular attention to that detail as you kept moving your feet back and forth in the air.

Laying down on your bed, your elbows supported the weight of your head that leaned comfortably against your palm. Under your concentrated gaze was a magazine acquired barely minutes ago as you walked back from school with your friend.

A deep sigh left your friend's lips, almost disrupting the calmness with the blatant distress that it carried. And for the first time in the last fifteen minutes your gaze fluttered over his figure long enough for him to snap his head in your direction.

Once his gaze started softening and his brows abandoned the previously furrowed state they had met your glance with, you moved your orbs back to the pages that lazily turned due to your slightly bored fingers.

Many Friday afternoons had been spent like that, with your friend hanging around your house or vice versa. It wasn´t often that you got bored or impatient for the night to arrive soon —because that meant parting ways with Changbin and that idea always sounded dreadful— but today was one of those days.

Today, when the night arrived, you would be going on a date —your very first one that is— and it stirred inside you an excitement that couldn´t be dampened by nothing in this world. Or so you thought before your friend released another awfully loud sigh.

“Could you quit whatever it is that you're doing? You're ruining the mood,” escaped from your lips with a fake annoyance that prevented him from tensing up any further.

He mumbled a quick and awfully faint apology but you still managed to make it out in between the familiar melody of Died in your arms that began playing as the voice from the man working on the radio station currently playing faded.

It was your turn to sigh as he started pacing restlessly around the carpeted floor of your room. Whatever was the thing that could possibly bother him that much escaped your seemingly limited understanding.

For a split second you considered asking him what was bothering him so greatly, but knowing him you were certain that if it distressed him enough for him not to even bother hiding his restlessness, it wasn't particularly something he would be comfortable to talk about freely.

He seemed to limit himself to look at the floor solely until his eyes travelled to one of the walls without notice. It wasn't the one covered with the posters of your favourite bands —that of course happened to be his favourite ones as well— nor the one where your window stared at the backyard he had sneaked into in the middle of the night more times that you could count with a single hand.

It had been the one where you had tried to do a collage of photos; you had ultimately given up one particularly hot day of the last summer that only added to the uncomfortable sticky feeling of glue drying on your palms and the lack of photos that had prompted you to carry a camera around the last months.

A small smile morphed Changbin´s expression into a less sour one, eliciting a smile of your own. The corners of his eyes began crinkling as he took notice of the fact that most pictures were of him or at least included his presence; for a second you thought you could blush in embarrassment, quickly discarting the thought upon realizing that if someone was aware of your lack of close friends it was Changbin.

Standing up you left the magazine open on one particularly unimportant page and walked to stand beside the person you loved to tease about his height.

Watching as his hand reached out forward, you took in how he ever so gently pressed the tips of his fingers on the white edges of the polaroid that perfectly encapsulated one morning on the nearby park that had risen upon you two not long ago.

A flash of sadness unmistakably passed through his pupils, worry setting itself deep within your chest.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you asked in a hushed tone as if raising your voice in the slightest would result in scaring him away.

Without words he tried to reassure you that everything was fine, softly shaking his head and flashing your way the smallest of smiles. If only you hadn't known him since you were both kids, then maybe you would believe he was really okay.

The exact moment you were about to give up on letting him drown in his own pitifulness and ask him what was going on, he turned around and quickly made his way to plop down on your bed.

Your right eyebrow quirked in amusement as you watched him reach out for the one stuffed animal he had given you for your birthday four springs ago, pressing it tightly against his chest. For a moment you caught yourself feeling slightly annoyed at him not hugging you, if he wanted to hug something so desperately you would've liked to be his first option.

After letting a small huff escape from in between your lips, you walked towards him only to playfully snatch the brown fluffiness away from his arms and ultimately lay down beside him after saying, “you were going to asphyxiate it if you kept going like that.”

“It was either him or you,” he said, this time mirroring your playfulness and seemingly letting his worries aside.

“First of all, who said that it was a he?” you said while shooting a disapproving glare to your friend, “and second, if I needed to sacrifice myself to save this poor soul then I would.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you.” Before you were able to question his words he lunged at you, his fingers tickling just the spots that had you trying to stifle your laugh with all your might.

Seconds later he hugged you close to his chest, laughs filling the whole room and erasing any trace of worry from his face. While you just begged him to let you go as a poor attempt of expressing that you wanted him to do the exact opposite.

His loud laugh died down as he let you go and faced the ceiling once again, only sporadically leaving his mouth as a breathy giggle that matched perfectly the ones bubbling up from your throat.

And then, just as silence began to install itself on your bed right between the both of you, he said something that surprised you, “isn't it time for you to get ready for that date? I mean, that's the only reason you brought me here, right?” His tone was teasing and playful, for a second it pulled you away from the daze that the thought of almost forgetting about your date brought.

Right then you had no idea but as you agreed you were also signing for an extremely picky Changbin who kept shaking his head in disapproval over and over again as you chose different clothing pieces from your closet, either because he had turned into a full fashionista on the last hours or just because he wanted to annoy you.

“I swear to god Seo Changbin, if you don't say that this is the one when I come out we´re going to have some trouble.” The comment seemed to amuse him seeing that he had snorted right away.

Taking one last look at the mirror above your sink, you opened the bathroom door and stepped right where he could see you perfectly. “So, how do I look?”

He could´ve laughed at the weird poses you were striking while trying to add to the simple set of denim shorts and the white graphic tee tucked inside them if only he didn't seem so out of breath.

The top you wore was one that you had bought with him one Saturday when you had the great idea of buying some matching outfits and he had refused until you finally convinced him to buy a simple t-shirt, just that.

“God, does it look that bad?” you began saying with a frown painting your features with worry, “I mean, it is a bit casual but you said that it would be better not to overdo it-”

“No, no,” he quickly interrupted what both of you knew would be a string of incoherent and unstoppable talking that erupted as a habit that came from pure nervousness, “you look great, really. This is it.”

One small smile brightened your face but did nothing to ease the nerves that increased as the excitement washed away, because your date was no longer a what if that could take place in the future but a fact that would occur without a doubt.

Your trembling hands reached towards your bed where most of your clothes had been left discarded, along with the magazine that just now you remember existed —without a doubt it would be crinkled.

Starting to pick up some stuff with the intention of cleaning up, Changbin soon joined you and bumped the side of his hips against yours before walking with obvious content towards your closet. It meant a lot to you that, just like always, he was trying to help you ease your nerves without being awfully obvious about it.

Quickly, you rushed towards where he was and pushed him softly to the side before laughing and putting some folded pieces of clothing inside its respectful cabinets. He didn't just brush it off and instead paid you back with the same treatment, beginning like that another fit of laughter that barely allowed you to be quick about sorting out the pile of clothing.

When you both finished the sky had turned into a deep and dark purple that threatened to end your precious time with your friend; you were beginning to judge yourself for being so impatient earlier when all you wanted now was for hours to stretch endlessly if it meant staying in his comforting presence.

His hand held yours and brought you out of your daze; your heart shouldn’t have been beating as hard because it was just Changbin. That’s right, just Changbin, your sweet and incredibly attentive friend, just that…

A comforting smile met your sight after he squeezed your hand gently to catch your attention. It was just friendly Changbin, and they were just nerves for your date, not butterflies.

Without a word he brought you to sit on the floor right in front of him, so you could be facing straight as his slightly furrowed brows and beautifully brown eyes.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, squeezing your hand one more time in the process. “Tell me so that I can help.”

You wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, a couple of hours before anyone would’ve thought those words would end up slipping from your lips, not his.

“I don't know,” you murmured quite uncertain of what to say next, so you just said exactly that, “I have no idea what to do.”

“Ask me then, I’ll help you.”

The tone of his voice, so confident and friendly, made you want to laugh out loud. “This isn’t like studying, silly.”

“We can pretend it is. Let’s say it’s a math problem we need to solve, you know I got your back.”

That you did know, he always had your back just like you had his. It had been an unspoken promise of two toddlers that still managed to stay perfectly immaculate.

You began speaking, asking silly questions and eventually moving onto the real ones, the things that worried you and made your stomach churn until you felt nauseous.

“And what if he tries to kiss me? You know I don't know how to kiss.” This particular question left your lips as a mere whisper; it had caused Changbin’s grip on your hand to tighten as he hadn’t let go of your hand since you both had sat down.

“W-Well.” His voice was shaky, it made you wonder if perhaps that was a question too difficult to answer or if you shouldn’t have mentioned it. Immediately your gaze traveled to the ground as you tried to hide your embarrassed expression.

“I guess I can help with that too.” And just how he helped you calm your nerves and pick the clothes you would wear, he helped you with that one last detail.

The fingers of his free hand brushed on your chin as he lifted your face for you to stare at him. He leaned ever so slowly, a small nervous smile coating his rosy lips whose colour matched the blush bringing liveliness to his face.

Time seemed to move terribly slow as his lids fluttered shut, seconds later it was your turn to close your eyes. Before you knew his lips were brushing over yours, his breathing fanning over your cheek in a tickling fashion that made you feel warm inside rather than making you want to laugh.

When he finally pressed his lips fully on yours it felt like you were melting, a tingling sensation travelled through your whole body and you squeezed his hand as tightly as possible.

It felt like years before he moved away from you, though you were aware that it must have been barely a couple of seconds. Just as you were pulling away, eyes still closed, his hand cupping your cheek, he spoke softly, “It would be something like that.”

A shiver ran down your spine when his breath fanned over your lips and before you even knew your lips were pressed against his once again. This time it wasn’t as awkward or stiff; in fact, he let go of your hand and moved his position for him to be kneeling. Getting closer to you seemed like his mission as his other hand gently pressed against your cheek that had begun feeling jealous of the warmth the other was receiving from his touch.

His lips moved against yours slowly and careful not to scare you away, for a second you could swear you tasted a tinge of the vanilla ice cream he had bought on the way home at the tip of your tongue.

This time as he pulled away you weren’t left with confusing interrogations that messed up with your mind but with a hammering heart that seemed to overpower the noise coming from the stereo.

“Or something like that,” Changbin said, chuckling to himself with satisfaction before sitting back where he had been like he had never once moved. But you could see it on the faint smile covering his lips that he was enjoying himself more than his timid hands were trying to show as they were shoved under the thighs of his crossed legs.

“I don’t want to go anywhere now,” you said in between breaths; he laughed right away with a warmness that reached your cheeks as well as your heart.

“I don’t want you to go either.”

The smile on his lips painted itself on your face as well; seeming to get out of a strange daze the music from the radio reached your ears with a newfound intensity that made you scared about possibly disturbing someone. That thought was left aside when you recognised the song playing, it was Friends will be Friends by Queen.

There were butterflies dancing freely on your stomach and a sense of comfort that made your heart sing. Laughing out loud you leaned towards Changbin once again; Freddie Mercury had no idea what he was talking about, because sometimes friends were much more than just that.

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

Here’s a pet tax!! This times he’s nuzzling against my arm!

Btw here’s your excuse to talk more about Dice. Or,,,any of Fling Posse! Have fun!

Oh, you enabler, you. Thank you for this opportunity and for the bunny picture.

A collection of thoughts on Dice and why he may very well be the most important character to Ramuda. Put under a cut for some slight TDD spoilers.

Dice’s Personality Traits

Compared to the other two nosy Nancies that make up Fling Posse, Dice himself is the king of minding his own business. While he does display definite interest in his friend’s lives - see asking Riou about his favorite food in the ARB event “Riou’s Kitchen” or discussing Gentarou’s latest story in FP/M chapter 7 - he tends to avoid discussing topics that make others feel uncomfortable.

This can make Dice appear oblivious, but Dice is much more emotionally observant than most characters give him credit for. Let’s take chapter 14 of FP/M for a great example of this. I’ll link it here, and I encourage you to read through it again paying careful attention to his facial expressions.

Dice begins the chapter deep in thought and adopts a solemn facial expression for the next few pages. Something is clearly preoccupying him.

However, the moment Ramuda appears, Dice begins acting much more animated and begins playing along with Ramuda in an attempt to cheer him up. Note that Dice observed Ramuda acting out of sorts for the entire battle in the previous chapters and hasn’t seen Ramuda awake since (according to chapter 15). He’s likely greatly concerned. It is arguable that his reactions are entirely food motivated...

... except for the fact that he returns to his previously somber state the moment Ramuda is no longer looking at him. Dice also doesn’t immediately accept Gentarou’s suggestion that Ramuda is trying to keep up appearances for their sake.

At the restaurant, Dice begins to play up the cheerful glutton again and attempts to directly cheer up Ramuda by operating under the assumption that Ramuda is disappointed by their loss.

When Ramuda goes to leave, the art emphasizes Gentarou’s concern, but the silhouette of Dice (and the lack of any bulging cheeks or cups carried up to his mouth) in the final panel indicates that he has once again returned to his more serious state. In this scene, Dice recognizes that something has gone terribly wrong.

Each member of Fling Posse is a performer putting on an act, and as noted by Ramuda’s reaction to Gentarou invading his privacy, Ramuda feels most comfortable when each actor plays his part. Dice is aware of this and thus acts the cheerful idiot for Ramuda in these scenes because he recognizes that Ramuda needs that stability.

If I may demonstrate another quick example, take a look at the scene from FP/M chapter 12 and compare how Dice acts without (first image) and with a visibly distressed Ramuda (other images) in the room.

The FP/M mangaka also says (in the afterword of volume 3), “I think [Dice] might have a good poker face and be able to control his facial expressions even when he’s flat out broke. But his posse doesn’t seem to understand that.“ Dice’s poker face is a boon here when he can use it to help the ones he cares about.

For Dice does care very greatly. Dice minds his own business and doesn’t make any overt actions as long as his friends are capable of handling situations on their own. However, the moment he recognizes that they are in over their heads, he takes swift and decisive action (which, in turn, can be harmful to others).

Take this scene in FP/M chapter 10 as a great example. Prior to Gentarou grabbing Hifumi, Dice was firmly a bystander, but he immediately leaps in when the situation escalates. Notice that he removes Hifumi from harm’s way but also serves a shield for Gentarou and focuses his attention on Gentarou’s wellbeing.

He then offers Gentarou physical reassurance with a hand on the shoulder and an out to the situation, which would have allowed Gentarou to move on as if his mask had never slipped if it were not for Hifumi’s next comment. Dice also shuts down Hifumi before it can escalate any further.

Although Hifumi is attempting to justify himself because he doesn’t understand Gentarou’s reaction and doesn’t see what he did wong, Dice recognizes that this statement also denies Gentarou the right to express his feelings on something which is clearly an enormous deal to him.

By labeling Hifumi’s comments as “disrespect” and “hurting people” while simultaneously stressing that this topic is “important”, he allows Gentarou the right to feel upset at Hifumi’s comments. He also continues to use defensive posture in order to keep Gentarou physically safe (which must be an intentional choice on the artist’s part, as Hifumi mirrors this pose a few pages later as he begins to defend Doppo). Even though Dice’s reaction crosses the line when he, in turn, begins to hurt someone else, removing Gentarou from the situation, validating his feelings, and making Hifumi stop is exactly what Gentarou needed but was unable to provide for himself.

Dice is a damn good friend and an exceptional person. If you ever find a friend like Dice, don’t let them get away from you.

Saving Ramuda’s Life

Let’s switch gears for a moment to take a look at what goes on in Ramuda’s mind. As a disposable pawn for the Party of Words, Ramuda has an atypical view of the world. He genuinely enjoys the company of others and can form real bonds, but his primary motivation in life is fully self-centered: keep himself alive. Every order he receives comes with the caveat of, “Failure brings death.” The fear of death is enough to drive him to betray his closest friends in TDD, even Jakurai, who clearly means a lot to him.

^ TDD chapter 13. Ramuda receives an order from Ichijiku to handle the Jakurai side of things in the TDD breakup and reflects on the time that Jakurai saw who his true personality and not only accepted it but welcomed it.

Bear with me if you’ve seen me talk about this before, but Ramuda’s ability to feel emotions is considered a fluke. Ichijiku describes it as a “malfunction” and a “nuisance” for his job. She also describes Ramuda himself as a “failure” and “worthless”, sometimes to Ramuda’s face.

Ramuda internalizes this. Notice’s Ramuda’s reactions to slipping up and having an emotional outburst in TDD chapter 9 and FP/M chapter 8.

The former of these features Ramuda looking frightened (either due to concern of losing his life for revealing more than he should have done or fear that Jakurai will consider him as “worthless” as everyone else does), insulting himself, and self-harming. While the insults and self-harm are as stereotypically cute as the rest of Ramuda’s facade, the core idea remains that he believes showing his true personality is as idiotic and worth of punishment as everyone else believes. The lack of self-worth is ingrained in him.

The slightly more grown-up Ramuda in FP/M does not react as dramatically, but I really want to draw your attention to the question, “Was I spooky?” It’s worded in a deliberately silly manner because of Ramuda’s speech style, but he is asking his supposed friends if the real version of himself is frightening. Tell me, Dice. Does seeing me scare you? Do you want to run away now before it’s too late? It’s an innocent question on the surface level, but considering the about face his last friend turned after learning more about Ramuda’s real life and job, this question demonstrates that Ramuda’s view of himself has hardly changed for the positive since then.

(Also please observe Dice’s reaction. The pause is him getting into character in order to cheer up Ramuda after a clear emotional upset.)

Therefore Ramuda is a person running entirely on self-preservation but with no sense of self-worth. He sees himself largely the same way Chuuouku does and expects everyone else to do the same. This greatly limits his worldview and prevents him from considering possible other options besides, “Do or die”.

If most of the other cast members found themselves in Ramuda’s shoes, they would have the knowledge and ability to consider other options such as running away, asking for help, or fighting back. Yet Ramuda never considers any of these. He does not have the life experiences the other cast members have to consider making any of these options. He has never observed them or had an outside source present them as options to him. Once the order comes down the pipeline from Ichijiku, it is set in stone. He can hate the order - take a look at another illustration from TDD chapter 13 - but he considers its execution inevitable.

This is why the order to hypnotize Jakurai in FP/M chapter 11 hits him so hard. Now “do or die” has become “die or die”, and his only decision comes down to the nature of his death.

Yes, this situation could have been avoided by talking to Jakurai. Jakurai gives him multiple opportunities to speak up before and during the battle, but Ramuda doesn’t have the ability to recognize those as options for help. In Ramuda’s book, people don’t help him. “Help” doesn’t exist.

In fact, the entire TDD situation could have been avoided as well if Ramuda had trusted his friends, spoken up, and explained the situation. Jakurai (not to mention Ichirou and Samatoki after a fashion) would almost certainly have helped, and that seems to be what Jakurai was waiting for. Once he pushed Ramuda too hard by accident and caused an outburst, he stepped back and waited for Ramuda to come forward on his own terms. But that’s utterly foolish, because Ramuda doesn’t operate on his own terms either. Ramuda doesn’t have his own terms. He lives and thinks the way the Party of Words wants him to think, and if the Party of Words does not want him to speak up and ask for help, then he will never, ever be able to.

The beauty is that Dice is not Jakurai. As mentioned above, Dice minds his own business up until the point a friend of his is over their head, and it’s when Ramuda starts to pull out the True Hypnosis Mic in order to kill himself for Chuuouku that Dice finally acts.

As is the case with Gentarou up above, Dice acknowledges that he doesn’t fully understand the situation but offers physical reassurance, advice, and the implicit argument that Ramuda’s real strength is something of value. Dice writes the word “help” into Ramuda’s dictionary with genuine love and affection.

While Ramuda still can’t consider any option other than “do or die”, it is Dice and Gentarou’s intervention that imbues him with enough self-worth to even consider placing his own wants and needs above Chuuouku’s.

It is this that lays the groundwork for The Loneliness, Tears, and Hope of a Puppet and gives Ramuda the basic agency to even consider acting for himself and, contrarily, acting in line with consideration for other people. It’s this that allows him to avoid ruining Jakurai’s life a second time and this that allows him to accept Gentarou and Dice’s promise of friendship. In the drama track itself, once again it is Dice and Gentarou intervening and challenging Ramuda’s preconceived notions in order to save his life.

Gentarou absolutely plays a vital role in this as well, but it is Dice that chooses to make the first move. Had he not said anything, Ramuda would have used the True Hypnosis Mic and died onstage in front of the audience.

It is sometimes the tiniest of actions and the smallest pieces of support that make all the difference. Sometimes all it takes is someone being unafraid to reach out and flip a die over so it lands on a different number.

[vickyvicarious]

She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her father; and at the same time deeply deplored her own fate.

1818

She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent; and at the same time gently deplored her own fate.

1831

There seem to be very few changes between editions in the Creature chapters, and so far it has only been a word or two which don't make much difference in my mind (for example, from later in this chapter, changing "puerile amusements" in 1818 to "infantile amusements" in 1831, or changing "his plans were greatly facilitated" to "his plans were facilitated").

But, while the above quote is also only a two-word change, it feels like one which definitely changes the meaning. 1818 says father as Safie deplores her fate when told she's going to be married off to a stranger. This once again emphasizes the prevalence of a strained fatherly relationship and a child sacrificing their desires to familial duties, a bit more than the shift to the less specific parent does in 1831. It's an odd change, as Safie and her father are meant to be at odds, and he in fact is villainized in some pretty cliche/racist ways throughout the rest of the chapter, so that dimension of their relationship doesn't exactly go away. But while he's still called her father later in the same sentence when she is defying him, it happens later on after he's betrayed the De Laceys. Perhaps the shift to parent is meant to show how she is dedicated to her family as a concept more than this specific man who doesn't deserve it; in a sense, more to the memory of her mother's values which align her with the De Lacey family. It's kinda muddy, though, and I'm not sure how much difference it makes here.

The main change that actually strikes me here is the difference between deeply/gently deploring her fate. In both editions, after spending time with him Safie fairly quickly decides that marrying Felix is okay, actually. And that, in fact, it's the right/desirable thing to do even to the point of running away from her father (though I think you could read it as more her following an honorable course of action/not having many other decent options rather than her necessarily loving him as well). Still, at the beginning Safie was not pleased about the idea. Literally gentling her reaction feels like minimizing her distress in anticipation of this 'he's a good guy' happy ending - meanwhile erasing a sign of Safie's intense emotions, and how they were helpless to the pressure of familial expectation. Once again, something that plays into themes of at the very least the original 1818 Frankenstein family. In this specific circumstance, it also plays into female freedom or lack thereof, and such feminist themes as well.

[writefightandflightclub]

Wanderers: Orestes x reader

Summary: friends to lovers / hurt + comfort but make it Roman, I guess?

Author’s note: this will make more sense if you’ve seen the film, but it’s not essential. This is my first time writing for Orestes (or ever writing historical fiction) so please be kind! And PLEASE tell me if you liked it, loved it, or hated it so I know whether to ever put myself through this again. (This was fun but it took 1000x longer due to Googling a new question about the Romans every 30 seconds. But damn, I learned so much!) Also, I made some definite choices with Orestes’ characterisation and we may not love it, so let me know!

Word count: Why is this 9.5k? I hate myself. 

Warnings: 18+only. Unrequited love, explicit smut  inc. oral sex, handjob, massage, penetration, fingering, grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), cumshot. Language. One mention of period blood. Outdated notions of virginity (one reference). Romans had slaves- this isn’t a key theme. Major historical inaccuracies, probably. Typos, definitely. Slight film spoilers?

Song inspo: Oh wanderer, I've been wondering / If your brown eyes still have color, could I see? / That night, that night with those hands, those hands (Wanderers, Cat Power)

Tagging: (PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+ REGARDLESS OF TAGS!) @darksideofclarke @damndamer0n @veuliee2​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon @himbopoes​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @lostgirlheather​ @justrunamok​ @aellynera​ @damerondjarin​ @blushingwueen​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​ @holybatflapexpert​ @arabellathorne​ @yourbucky084​ @mandoplease​ @mylifeliterally​ @arkofblake​ @multifandomlife22​

“News of it has reached you, then?” Orestes addresses you glumly as you enter the room, looking up at you from where he languishes in the warmth of his bath, soothing away his sorrows. Bright and delicate notes from a lyre resound around the room, the dappled light streaming in from the courtyard seeming to dance and glint in response across the surface of the water. The air is balmy and the room tinged gold as the desert sun sulks towards its dormitory.

You flinch. Of course you’d heard. The whole city had heard tell of Hypatia’s scathing rebuttal of his profession of love. You had come as quickly as you could in order to console the man.

You admire Hypatia, very much, and that admiration extends to her wicked sense of humour; however, you cannot condone any act which inspires such melancholy in Orestes’ eyes as that which greets you. He is a such a gentle, lovesick soul, after all.

You smooth your face, and continue towards him neutrally and calmly, obligingly pouring the large jug of sweet-smelling oils and petals into the waters. You purposefully avoid Orestes’ gaze as he watches you, his arms stretched out along the edge of the square bath. You have prepared his most preferred concoction, and you hope Orestes does not notice the sheen on your brow, resulting from your exertions in acquiring said ingredients from the market at such short notice.

Surreptitiously, you examine Orestes for signs of distress as you dip a hand in to swill the water and circulate the perfumed mixture, steam rising to meet your flushed face. You note his eyes are puffed and bleary as if he has been crying, his curls uncharacteristically mussed.  

“You look as though you might offer me counsel.” Orestes breathes, reading the set of your face with ease. He knows it is unlike you to bite your tongue. Straightforwardness is a quality Orestes admires in women; or, at least, in the few he keeps close. Further, it is a quality he more than tolerates in you, despite your mismatched positions within the household.

“One as lowly as I could not dream of it, Orestes.” You speak coolly and liltingly, in well-rehearsed tones, your voice nevertheless imbued with a bite and authority beyond your station. Your eyes glint subtly with humour as you proceed. “Indeed, I am not as endlessly wise as the esteemed company to which you are accustomed.” You hope you have masked the condescension in your tone sufficiently. As much as you admire Hypatia, occasionally you do stray too close to envy.

“And yet, your eyes are busy with thoughts enough for ten scholars,” Orestes observes, inhaling the perfumes deeply as the sweet musk begins to circulate.

You merely deliver him a wry smile, eyes cast downwards towards the motion of the swirling petals and oil droplets beneath your fingers. “And yet I bite my tongue. It is a skill you may hope to emulate, one day, pupil.”

His eyes shine gently in response to the soft fun you poke at him. “Come, girl. I will at the very least have your skilful fingers calm me. I will accept that as a form of counsel, if you would deliver it.” You finally look at him, your gaze flicking towards his umber eyes and finding them soft and cautious. It is not a command – not in the slightest, although it holds the appearance of one, as befits your position. Instead, you alone recognise it as a plea for comfort, from one friend to another. “You may continue to mock me, if you so wish. Indeed, mockery of Orestes is the favoured activity of the day, for all in Alexandria.”

You may not be a slave, but neither are you Orestes’ equal. He could command you, but the man, ever since he was a boy and you a girl, has only ever treated you with kindness. Still, though he may lapse and appear to forget that you serve him, the thought that you are here only through charity seldom escapes you. Despite that you are of noble birth, your parents had died before you could be married off, leaving a burden of bad debt and ill-repute behind. Orestes’ father had taken you in, owing to the deep, brotherly bond he shared with your own father. So, in the years following, you have worked for your keep. You know you are lucky to find yourself in such a rare and happy position, still being able to enjoy a moderate level of freedom. Plus, your duties are typically performed in service of Orestes, which favours you greatly. You carry them out not only with dedication, but with a song in your heart.

“Certainly, Orestes,” you state, obligingly. “And rather than mocking you, I shall meditate on your superior qualities. I will pray that something comes to mind before the bathwater cools.” You can’t help but chide him fondly, as is habit, and you are pleased that it tugs a hint of a smile from him, at least.

You climb the marbled steps up to the edge of the raised bath, coming to perch behind him where he luxuriates. You lean, reaching for the metal vessel to your side, and from it you drizzle some aromatic oil onto your hands, promptly beginning to massage the meat of Orestes’ shoulders with your deft and expert touch. You take considerable pride in the fact you can usually alleviate the man’s sorrows. Tonight, however, his muscles feel particularly taut, and you must knead him with greater vigour than usual in attempts to dispel the anguish from his body.

Orestes hums against your touch as you settle into your work and find the optimum pressure, though he does not collapse against you to the usual extent. Your brow furrows in concern as you detect the day’s pain and no doubt humiliation in his body. Hypatia had handed him a rag soiled with the blood of her cycle, in front of the whole Agora, unequivocally dismissing his affections. You could not imagine a harsher public rebuttal. Still, there is something to be said for clarity, you suppose.

“I can feel the words in your fingers, girl. I can hear them in your clipped breathing. What is it that you would tell me?” Orestes prompts, and it causes you to still your aggravated breath. It seems that his body is more in tune with your touch than you might expect – seemingly, he can read you as well as you can read him. “Speak plainly, I beg you. Not one of the slaves will counsel me with truth - only theatre and deflections. They will not admit I am cursed.” Orestes complains in a cracked voice, with a wave of his hand towards the slaves standing by with bowls of lye soap and strigils.

“Orestes...” you whisper, softly chiding this dramatic, lovesick fool in hushed tones. “It is a shame you have not pursued a vocation in the theatre yourself, as you oftentimes tend towards the dramatic.”

He huffs out a breath. “Perhaps there is truth in that. Though when love plays out as a tragedy and a comedy -at my expense- what other option is there except to take the stage and denounce this cruel pageant to any who will listen?”

You dig the heels of your hands more firmly into his shoulder blades, satisfied as the ministration finally earns a grunt of pleasure from him.

“Orestes,” you begin as your hands continue to work him. “I would willingly provide an audience for you. Most men think and speak, and yet feeling is like thinking to you. Indeed, whatever is in your heart becomes breath, and I always delight in hearing it.” There is no man you know with such an active heart. “However, I implore you, for a moment now be still and let your heart rest. Let me soothe you, rather than stirring the waters.”

Orestes sighs deeply and then gestures to the slaves. “A moment, please? Leave us, will you?” Orestes asks with a waft of his hand, and they pad obediently out of the room. “And get this lyre out of here, for its happy, mocking notes only ail me further. I can safely declare that music is not the antidote to love I was promised.”

“Shush, Orestes. Still your passions and let me wash your hair,” you soothe. You lift a red earthenware bowl and have Orestes tip his head back, so that you may wet and rinse his luxurious crown of curls. Your fingers weave into the inky tendrils to massage his scalp, your ministrations drawing a contented moan from him. The sound comes like honey, warm and liquid, sweet on his lips, and it undeniably stirs your hunger. You can’t help but trail your eyes over his bare form. His curls are wetted and slick, pink petals clinging to him, making him appear alike to one of the muses, albeit in his male form. His shoulders and back gleam with the glistening concoction of oil and water, the low, golden sun from the courtyard deepening the tan tones of his skin. Orestes is beautiful. Truly beautiful.

Hypatia had spurned him, and you could not understand it. If you could have a man such as Orestes dote on you the way he dotes on his teacher, you are certain you would not be so quick to dismiss his affections. You are certain that you would welcome them. You would welcome his touch. You would welcome his lips. Your thoughts race towards forbidden, carnal ends, and you clench your thighs together, as if you may be able to contain the swell of your arousal.

You sigh involuntarily, a brief whimper of melancholy escaping you as well as you consider the hopelessness of your own plight, and the sound snatches Orestes from the surrounding calm you have instilled in him. Even so, when his voice finds you it is smoothed and steady; no longer as cracked. His tone is more informal, and casual, now that you are truly alone.

“What is it you wish to say, sweet girl? You insist that I still my breath, so I beg you to speak. You need not withhold the truth from me,” he insists. “Can you tell me what I did so wrong? I have been relentless in my pursuit of music-making, so much so that the Gods cruelly visit aulos upon me in my dreams. When it is not her I am seeing, of course… Or, sometimes it is both visitations, sent entirely to mock me, I am certain.”

He still holds out some hope then, even now? Bless his dear heart. You keep your voice soft. As soft as the waning sunlight and the hazy air. As soft as his curls.

“Sweet soul,” you begin, squeezing his shoulders gently to brace him for your words. “I speak the truth out of kindness.” Your words are thick; dripping slowly from your lips. “You seek something from Hypatia which she cannot and will not give you, Orestes. There are others who would freely give what she withholds. To them you must turn.”

“That may be true,” he concedes, “but I want no-one else.” The lovesick man responds dolefully, his shoulders slouching and his voice small. No-one else. No-one at all, then?

You do not hate Hypatia. The woman is free to love or not to love as she wishes. You do, however, hate Orestes’ pain. You hate the love which spawned it. This tragically wasted, unrequited love, which is so abundant within him that he has become alike to an overflowing jug, liquid spilling forth from his eyes as his muse remains unwilling to drink his love down. You would drink from him. You would quench yourself on him as if parched, if he would allow it. You would dance in the waters of his fountain and consider yourself blessed.

“Shush, Orestes. It pains me that you are hurting so,” you soothe, your heart shattering on his behalf as you feel a gentle sob wrack his chest. Your usual balms are evidently not potent enough, and so, it seems, you will be required to concoct a more fitting remedy. “Will you lay on the massage table? Will you let me soothe your whole body? Your anguish is so that I cannot work it from your shoulders alone.”

Orestes twists in his position, turning his head towards you, tears glistening in his eyes like stars in a night sky. What if the sky is perpetually crying, as all of its planets are doomed to wander?

“Sparrow, I will gladly accept your magic fingers, and whatever form of comfort they might offer. The Gods blessed you with such skill and in turn they bless me.”

You smile softly, a guiding hand on his shoulder. “Come then, sweet man.”

“Ah, she no longer mocks me? I shall have to remember the effects of my teary supplications upon you.”

Orestes’ eyes sheen softly as he launches himself from the waters, his nude body shining and as sculpted as the marbled statues of the Agora, not a hint of self-consciousness as he parades over towards the table. You allow Orestes to prepare himself whilst you fetch fresh oils, noting that your robes suddenly feel too heavy and stifling even for the subdued evening heat. You strip off an outer layer, knowing that you will become further flustered as your hands begin their roam all over Orestes’ body. A desire twists in your stomach at the thought and you try to push it aside, focussing whole-heartedly on your pledge to soothe him.

You tug the lush red curtains closed to form a partition around the table, and when you turn back toward him, Orestes has laid himself out on the stone massage table, face down, his crown of curls quickly air-drying and crinkling. As you approach, you can’t help but take in the sight of him all stretched out, in particular his shapely legs and the curve of his buttocks, which are more than pleasing to you. Beads of oil still adorn his skin like glistening jewels, and your urge to touch him deepens.

Clearing your throat gently to indicate your readiness you move close, and Orestes hums softly in acknowledgment. You gently position his legs with unobtrusive and swift hands, moving them slightly apart from one another, and set his arms down by his sides, his palms facing the sky. “Comfortable?” you ask, trying desperately to keep your voice even.

“Yes, sparrow,” he says, as if pre-emptively grateful for whatever relief you care to offer him.

Taking a deep, centring breath, you again pour oil into your palms and rub until it is warmed. Then, despite the stirring and chaos in the rest of your body, your hands are sure and practised as they greet his skin. Orestes is firm and smooth beneath your caress. The man is no gladiator; he is a scholar, a thinker, and his body reflects that. His skin is not marred by battle scars, nor do his arms swell with cultivated muscle. Orestes does have a pleasing natural meat to him, and his body manages somehow to be both soft and strong; alike to his heart, perhaps. You have had dealings with gladiators- many of them brutes, and Orestes’ rarer softness is perhaps what enamours him to you. He may not have cultivated muscles, yet he conscientiously cultivates his mind and his heart. Of course, he has yet to cultivate his tongue, and often speaks too soon, but you can forgive him that. You much prefer straight-talking.

Focussed on easing Orestes, you work your hands into every part of him, relieving all of the knots you can find. Your fingers and thumbs work and knead and strum the muscles beneath his flesh until blissed out sounds are all he can emit, as if you play his body like a lyre, plucking resonant tones of happiness from him.

A sense of satisfaction overcomes you with each contented noise. If Hypatia will insist upon making Orestes cry, making his overflowing jug crack, your caress will insist on moving like potter’s hands over him. Your hands will replenish him as if he were clay; will fill in all of the fissures and restore his shape. You will pledge to leave him more whole than you found him. In pursuit of this, your hands move over his shoulders, his back, his arms, his buttocks, thighs, and calves – even the palms of his hands and his fingers. The action is almost meditative, as you focus in your mind’s eye on turning him to clay. On pushing aside the fact it is Orestes you are touching in such an intimate manner.

“Hmmm,” Orestes hums in praise, once you have rubbed him into near boneless-ness. “They say the planets seek to orbit the earth in perfect circles, but I attest that it is your hands which move in perfect circles, sweet girl.”

Your heart flutters like a locust’s wings at his words of praise, even as you continue tending to him.  

You do feel as if you have rubbed perfect circles into his flesh – simply because you feel no other flesh could be as perfect. Who needs Ptolemy or mathematics, when you have the path of your hands over his body? A path you could follow forever, your hands -through practice- finding their most perfect route around him. Learning him more deeply, as you so wish to. Still, to distract yourself from your wants, you focus intently upon the meditative quality of circles repeating.

Circles like orbits. Like cycles. Like a potter’s wheel. Like the circles of his eyes, as warm in colour as worked clay. Like circular breath. Like the mouth of an empty vase. Like gaping spaces wishing to be filled.

You attempt to calm your quickening breath as your thoughts wander, and before long, you wonder if Orestes -oblivious to your wheeling thoughts- has fallen asleep beneath your touch, until you hear him softly suspire. “You are too good to me, dove. I note how well you care for me,” he admits, tentatively. “Of the two of us, I at least pray to the Gods that you can find the happiness which I cannot. It is what you deserve.”

“Do you praise me merely that I might continue, Orestes?” you deflect, as coolly as possible, a thin smile on your face despite your shock at the earnestness of his words. “Turn over and I shall attend to your front now, do not fear.”

He turns over, gladly, as you set about applying more oil, your hands working over his form. You rub his shapely arms and chest, feeling his nipples pebble beneath your touch, inducing a throaty moan from him. You work down his toned stomach and the slight curve and softness of his lower abdomen. You carefully massage up his shins before dedicating greater effort and pressure to the meat of his thighs. The more that you touch him, the more acutely you become aware of the few places you neglect to touch him, until it is all you can think of.

You know he reads you well, and you fear you may be entirely transparent as Orestes reclines on his back, watching you with an intent fascination as you run your hands all over his body. The act, like this, feels a hundred times more intimate. You cannot tell yourself he is inanimate, like clay beneath your touch- now he is a finished work of art before you and his living, breathing presence causes a plague of locusts to flutter nervously in the pit of your belly.

Orestes is overwhelmingly beautiful like this. He has his arms folded behind him, his head propped-up on his interlaced hands. When you finally glance at him, it is merely for a fleeting moment. That is as long as you can bear to look into his deep, intense eyes, or see his tongue darting out keenly over his plush lower lip when your gaze snags there. A gulp trails down your throat and you quickly look down, focussing on where your touch conscientiously works Orestes’ upper thighs. This does little to ease your growing nervousness, especially as you see his exposed member begin to engorge, rising to sit proudly upon his stomach.

You suck in an involuntary gasp when you take in the size of him, half-hardened, feeling that his sword -if fully erect- would certainly be an intimidating weapon. You don’t mean to keep looking; however, once you are looking, you can’t seem to look away. Orestes is pretty there too. So pretty, and so readily responding to you. He is girthy and well-proportioned, plucked hair at the base of him giving him a smooth, clean appearance, and allowing you to see every veined, ruddy inch of him.

You gulp at the thought of him swelling to his full capabilities, and a heat overtakes your loins and you imagine what your hands might do to satisfy this very particular stiffness. As you imagine how you might oil him here too and feel him hard and slippery in your hands, hearing the obscene, wet noises of the slickness around his length as you work him.

Lost in your fantasies, the sudden absence of your touch signals to Orestes that you have concluded your efforts, and he props himself up on his elbows with a lazy, half-lidded gaze. Almost appearing drunk with relaxation, he hums contentedly and this time you swear you feel it reverberate in your core.

“How is it you are able to both soothe and arouse me? My whole body is singing obediently like a plucked string, resonating from your touch.” His breathy words curl beneath your skin and have you singing for him too, your arousal spreading through your body like the warmth of dawn over the horizon.

Orestes’ oiled figure appears like a cast of bronze in the subdued light, the contours of him gleaming and shadowed all at once. His dark eyes are blackened with lust like the mouths of caves, dark and inviting, and all you want to do is climb into him and be surrounded. He always looks so soft to you. So delicate and beautiful. But suddenly, laid out for you like this? He looks masculine and sharp. He looks virile and rough and…

Oh Gods, you think as you snatch your hands away from his body, lest you might cave to your weaknesses. You should not be having these thoughts about your master. About your friend.

You mind flails for a course of action, thinking that it would be proper to move away. To offer him some wine to further soothe him. To, at the very least, do something other than stare at him, yet you feel drunk on him too after so long with him beneath your caress. You don’t want to stop touching him. It is not enough to hold him in your hands. You want to tip him to your lips and drink him down, deep, deep into you.

“Give me your hands, dove,” Orestes asks softly, looking up at you from beneath the fan of his thick, dark lashes.

It is not often that you are lost for words, or that you lose your cool. However, at this moment, your breath is strangled in your throat as if your desire has made your very spirit wane. You can scarce muster movement. Still, you manage to offer your hands to him as he commanded, presenting them to him tentatively as if they are tied at the wrists, unsure what he wishes to do with them once he has them in his possession. Will he thrust his shaft into your hand here and now and have you pleasure him?

In fact, twisting to prop himself on a single elbow, sweet, sweet Orestes wraps his free hand around both of your wrists and brings your hands towards his lips, softly pressing a kiss to each palm in turn as he looks up at you, reverently. The gesture is so soft and so sensual that it brings tears to your eyes.

Oh, how you have longed for a kind touch from him. How you longed that he might press his hands or his lips to you. You routinely pour your comfort into him until he is full and free from cracks. If Orestes is an overflowing jug, by the Gods you are parched. You are an empty vessel and you need to be filled.

“My sweet dove and your magic healing wings,” he praises, his voice slowed and hushed. “If she is my injury, you are surely my balm.”

You huff out air at his words, looking down at the floor in an effort to control the burgeoning tears and tightness blooming in your chest.

“Orestes…” you protest, weakly.

His words are kind and sweet, yet they serve as nothing more than a reminder that you do not stir him. You are well aware you can make Orestes feel peace, yet you wish to excite him as she does. You wish you could summon a storm within him rather than calm waters.

Feeling a little raw and a little caught off guard, you continue, your frayed heart wanting desperately to assert some kind of dominion over him, however tenuous. “While I cannot rival her, I attest that I might provide you something which she cannot give to you.”

“Tell me. What?” Orestes asks, still clasping one of your wrists loosely in the grip of his warm fingers, unthinkingly tracing the pad of his thumb over your oily skin, his eyes languidly wandering previously untraversed routes over the contours of your body.

You boldly continue, a slight quaver in your voice. “Do you not wish to feel desired, Orestes? Do you not wish to feel loved, like you give but don’t receive in kind? I can make it so.”

Orestes laughs disbelievingly then – a warm, deep chuckle. The resonant rumble is jarring in the somewhat still night, evening birdsong and cicadas the only other sounds within the room. He breaks contact with you, and that jars you too. “To which God would I pray to achieve such a feat? Even the pagans do not possess numerous enough gods to make it so, no matter how I may try and appease them.”

Orestes swings his legs around and comes to a sitting position on the stone slab of a table, his hand coming to cup your chin in wonderment and concern that you still refuse to meet his gaze.

“I desire you, Orestes,” you state plainly, your words blurting from you like wine from the neck of an uncorked vessel, served by a drunken man. You can no longer contain them and you offer them indiscriminately. “To be desired - is that not tempting?” You look him right in his umber eyes, your voice faltering, your teeth worrying your lower lip. “Am I at all tempting to you?”

“Sweet girl...” Orestes deflects, caught off-guard himself, his brow furrowing in disbelief as his eyes search yours. He finds no hint of mocking behind them.

“I have seen your sword swollen with need whenever I bathe you, Orestes,” you continue, your voice husky. “While you relax beneath my hands. I know that there must be an inkling of desire within you.” Your voice is little more than breath billowing in the space between you. “Won’t you let me touch you, with my whole, willing body?”

A hard swallow bobs in Orestes’ corded neck, his tongue trailing along each of his lips in turn. The air in between you mingles and becomes charged. However, you know Orestes speaks with his heart. It will take more than a willing body for him to submit to you, you wager. As expected, you look into his eyes and find hesitation there.

Can you really not tempt him, then? Are you so unlovely that he will not take what you freely offer? The fear of such rejection flares in you, and so you offer an unthinking, last-ditch effort. “You can even close your eyes and think of her while I touch you, if you wish.”

At that, Orestes delivers you a grimace, as if he has tasted bitter fruit. “That would be wrong. You should know better than that.”

A flush creeps over you and you wring your hands together, your manner becoming uncommonly deferential, your head bowed. “I apologise. I know you would not soil Hypatia with such actions. Forgive me my insolence.”  

You fear punishment. Orestes has never punished you, yet you have never gone so far in your disrespect of Hypatia. However, you are surprised when his hands travel to yours to grip them firmly in his instead.

“Dove, save your apologies. I would not soil Hypatia in such a way and nor would I soil you. You deserve more than that, beautiful, sweet thing.” Orestes’ eyes are soft and searching as he looks upon you, and you are floored again by his disarming sweetness. “By the Gods, why on earth would you offer yourself to me in such a way?”

“Surely you understand, Orestes,” you respond in a small voice. “Wouldn’t you give yourself to her, in any way she would willingly have you?”

Orestes clasps your hands a little more tightly, his thumbs smoothing over your skin in attempts to calm your evident agitation. “Yes, I would,” he admits, though not proudly. “Without doubt, yes. But I am an idiot; hopelessly, pathetically in love.” Orestes speaks plainly, in a self-deprecating manner, as if the situation is both obvious and absurd.

You tug in a breath on which to launch your confession, praying for smooth sailing as the air catches in your words. “And I too am hopelessly, pathetically in love, Orestes. Though I maintain it is only you that is an idiot.” You add insult to injury, just for good measure, hoping the teasing may lighten the burden of your confession.

Confusion then realisation dawn on Orestes’ face and you look bashfully down to the floor as you continue, an involuntary tear forming on your cheek like a glistening trail of a comet through the night sky.

“In that, at least, you and I are equal, if weighed by the measure of our unrequited loves.” you profess, solemnly. A delicate laugh at the comedy of your misfortune ekes out of you then, puncturing some of the tension. “Two of us in love but not desired by our muse. Perhaps the both of us are cursed.”

Orestes looks upon you with a melancholic smile. With sudden affinity. He knows all too well how it feels to be in your shoes. Yet, he similarly has no words of comfort to offer you. He can only counsel you with truth. You wonder, as you look upon him, whether the Gods cursed him with melancholy, yet blessed him with eyes that were beautiful enough to carry it.

“Aren’t we a lonely pair?” he asks, finally, and he leans his head into your bosom dejectedly, accompanied by a hearty exhale. Still, he allows your fingers to tangle in his hair. He does not pull away from the comfort offered as your arms wind around his shoulders. You accept his comfort, in turn, as his arms wrap firmly and pleasingly around your waist.

“We are alike to the wanderers,” you breathe, speaking of the lonely planets and their blind, unfathomable orbits through the dark. Then: “Orestes?” you venture, idly stroking the back of his neck as his hands slip further down your back, shifting to your hips, his breathing becoming more ragged. He looks up at you as you speak his name, his eyes brimming with a quiet vigour. “Tonight, instead of feeling like a wanderer, you could be the centre of the universe. Might we not allow ourselves to feel a little less lonely, if only for a moment? Don’t you want someone who orbits you?”

“Sweet girl...” Orestes breathes. “You want more than I can give you.” Still, he is tugging you closer to him, holding you more tightly.

Your eyes rove hungrily over him. You cannot help it. “I am no fool, sweet man. I know well that I do not have your heart… yet I venture there is somewhere else I might make you pump blood, is there not?”

Orestes’ tongue darts over his lower lip again, the planes of his face looking sharp and angled, half in shadow. Orestes looks at you. Really looks at you, with those glinting and dark half-moon eyes of his. You pump your eyebrows suggestively as his eyes land on you with a questioning gaze, delivering him your most seductive stare from beneath your lashes.

“You are tempting, aren’t you?” Orestes teases with the hint of a cheeky smile, his lips tipping up at the corners. His face begins to come alive with it, before his cheeky edge is blunted by reverence. “In fact,” he teases, shifting his hands even lower on your hips and gently squeezing, “you are beautiful. These hungry looks you bestow upon me? You provide a certain beauty she cannot rival. She will never look at me the way you do, with desire lighting your eyes.” You can but hope that she will seem henceforth like an unfeeling stone in comparison to the liquid desire flowing through you.

“Let me, Orestes,” you plead. “Let me look at you and beauty will prosper in my eyes with every inch of you my gaze falls upon.”

“You truly desire me?” Orestes asks, nestling his head into your bosom again.

“Yes, this is the truth of things,” you respond in earnest. “It is my desire to comfort you in all the ways I know how.”

Orestes becomes bolder with your revelation, his fingers skimming lower, ghosting over your buttocks and splaying over your upper thighs, squeezing you there. “Your legs are quaking, sweet. Is this all for me?”

Both of your breaths are coming quickly, heaving in your chests. You tip your head back and moan silently into the air as his fingers dig into the meat of you, expelling affirmatives from your lips.

“Then tell me exactly. How do you imagine I may achieve such comfort?”

“When you take yourself in your hand, how does it feel?” you question in sultry tones, your hands pawing at any inch of him you can reach, skimming down his back.

“It feels pleasurable.” Orestes responds obediently, a quiver in his voice.

“Now, imagine how my skilful fingers might instead relieve your stiffness. Won’t you allow me to soothe you?”

“Yes. Yes, I will allow it. Come then and soothe me, sweet thing.” A playful, tempting smile blooms on his face, and, sitting on the edge of the slab of the table, Orestes leans back on to his hands, creating space between your bodies. It causes you to double take at the sight of him all over again, nude and oiled and his sword brandished. His eyes flick down to his proud length and you follow his gaze there.

“My sword blazes for you, dove. I am on fire as I keenly await your touch, if you would give it.”

You swallow thickly and keenly oil your palms, again warming the lubricant before you touch him. Your heart thrums in your chest now like the wings of a songbird taking flight. Then, you touch him everywhere except there, brushing against his length with only your thumbs and fingertips, until he pleads that he can take no more teasing. Finally, and with disbelieving relish, you take his fully engorged member into your hands. Starting at the tip and wrapping your hand, you slide one hand and then the other down his shaft, all the way to the base of him, making him slick. Orestes’ hips stutter into your hand from this simple motion alone.

“Your hands are as magic as ever, sweet girl,” Orestes chokes, as if he might spill his seed for you in mere moments. He emits a deep rumble from his chest as you massage him there, both hands on his shaft. There are wet sounds as you coat him until he is gleaming, and as you circle your thumb over the head of him whilst you pump and tug him in the grip of your palms, as if you intend to milk him dry. You squeeze him firmly and add a slight twist to your wrists as you work him, fascinated by the size and hardness and contours of him. Orestes throws his head back, a strangled moan emanating from his slack mouth as his eyes flutter closed from the sensations. He looks as though he might collapse from them, his arms shaking and barely supporting him.

“My dove, the things you are making me feel are surely sent from Elysium.” His voice is like warm desert sand slipping through your fingers, rough and soft all at once.

“You deserve it, Orestes,” you gush. “I want to make all of you feel good. I want to give you everything,” you admit, your voice filled with veneration.

When Orestes tips his head back down from the skies his eyes are hungry. He’s never looked at you like this before. Like a wolf emerging from a cave. Just for a moment, he looks at you as he looks at her, and you feel as bright as the midday desert sun.

“Tell me. What might I give you? My head under your skirts? My fingers buried in you?”  

“I am not finished giving to you yet,” you purr. With relish, you sink to your knees, placing your hands flat on Orestes thighs, dipping your lips towards his shaft.

Orestes moans in anticipation, yet tugs lightly on your hair to prevent you from sinking down on him, momentarily. “Your most sacred body part?”

“The Christians believe that. You’re a pagan, Orestes. Let me suck you?”

Orestes nods affirmatively and throws his head back in another open-mouthed moan as your wet mouth finds the tip of him, your tongue winding around his head and the contours of him. He feels warm and fleshy, and his girth strains and swells against your mouth, ridges and veins slipping past your tongue as you flatten it to dip you head all the way down the shaft of him. Sucking on him is divine, the uncharacteristically gruff and desperate noises coming from his mouth spurring you on.

Orestes flails and tugs helplessly at your hair after your continued efforts. “Ungg. Stop, my bird, else I will reach my peak. Your mouth is even more magic than your hands.”

You slide your mouth from his shaft slowly and with a pop, looking up at him deviously with cock-swollen lips. “Now you are trembling, Orestes. Is this all for me?” you purr, tone dark with lust. He moans again, merely from the sight of how carnal and delectable you look like this.

“I want to touch you,” he pleads, desperately. “I need to look upon you. Will you undress for me?”

Touching Orestes and giving him pleasure is one thing, though you don’t know if you can bear him touching you without becoming vapour. Without erupting. A gulp trails down your throat yet you nod keenly. You unfasten clasps and ties and slip the diaphanous fabric away from your body, your robes cascading to the floor in a gathered heap like a despondent cloud.

“Fuck.” Orestes intones gruffly as his eyes trail over you, and he appears to have stalled as he is met with the sight of you. Crude words from his lips are rare, in comparison to his profanity-loving brethren. That the curse is delivered with a voice full of grit and hooded eyes, that you inspired it, has your core clenching around nothing as he looks over every inch of your body in awe and obvious approval.

You move slowly and fluidly towards him, your movements sultry, and Orestes regains his faculties as the need to touch you rather than merely stare at you overtakes him. He takes the jug of oil and tips some into his own hands, rising to stand close enough to you that the tip of his erection presses enthusiastically against your hip. Then, after awaiting a nod from you, he reaches his hands up to rub oil over your breasts, seemingly fascinated by the way your nipples harden beneath his meticulous fingers. He pinches and rolls them and his touch has your core positively molten.

You moan for him, extending your arms out to his shoulders to steady yourself as he puts his hands on you. No-one has touched you like this. Not once in your life have you been touched with such softness.

“You swoon for me, sweetness?”

“I cannot fathom such a divine touch. I think that I must be within a dream for I have your hands upon me.”

Orestes spins you, so that you may steady yourself against the edge of the stone slab, moving to press his hot body against you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“Do not place yourself below me, sweet thing. I intend for us to be equals in our pursuit of pleasure.” He speaks into your neck as his lips drag along your skin, his sprouting stubble grazing you there- the only rough part of him. “Tell me that you desire me, dove.”

“I desire you,” you offer the words to him freely.

“And I you.” he says earnestly, laden with need, his admission sending a shudder all the way down to your core.

Your faces are close now, your fractured breath mingling in the tight space between you, and this heat, oh gods this heat growing between your legs. You cannot help but dip your head as if to kiss him, your forehead resting against his and noses brushing as you whimper and whine with need.

“I cannot exchange breath with you. We must not.” Orestes protests weakly as your lips skim his. Now you understand this regard for your mouth is not simply some Christian notion. You understand that Orestes wishes to save his own breath for Hypatia. Even now.

“She will not love you like this,” you reason, your bluntness a product of your furious need.

Orestes groans and looks perplexed by indecision, even as his hands trail wantonly over your buttocks.

“And yet, I orbit her all the same,” he says resignedly.

“The planets travel the most perfect path possible,” you bargain into his neck. “Yet you insist on travelling the path with most opposition.”

“My heart may be foolish, yet my hands might travel the smoothest path, hmm?”

At that, Orestes’ hands move between your legs, his oiled fingers skimming your clit and your drenched folds. You practically sob into the air. It feels too good. It feels divinely good.

“Will this do, then?” his cheeky smile resurfaces as you buck against his touch, your heat already so sensitive and responsive to him.

“Don’t stop, Orestes. Don’t stop,” you plead and moan, body lurching against him, as you become a trembling mess. You can scarce believe that Orestes’ naked body is held warm against yours, the promise of his erection still pressing against you - still rock hard for you.

“I think there is a way we can both be comforted, dove,” Orestes speaks, his voice overflowing with need. If you wish it, I would have you on top of me as you grind this delicious mess on my sword.”

“Yes. Oh Gods, yes.” Your request is breathy, as if your throat is parched.

Orestes shifts to lay himself out on the table again, taking your hand and guiding you to straddle him. You settle your core over the top of his shaft, your folds pressing up against the length of him. You glide yourself all along the straining mass of him, coating him in your juices; massaging him with your heat alone and shifting your hips in whatever pattern allows you to best caress and engulf him in your warmth and friction. Even without penetration, the sensations are blissful, and you writhe together as each stroke heightens your shared pleasure. Each time you dip your folds wantonly over the head of him, his cock twitches to meet you, as if in attempt to be swallowed entirely by your heat.

Orestes tips his hips up into you, pinning your own hips with his hands, increasing his pressure against your slick as his hardened length slips and slides against you. The way his head skims rhythmically against your clit, the way your folds swallow and caress the tip of him, and the blunt pressure against your entrance have you whimpering for him. You think the pleasure between your thighs must be at the centre of all creation, and you are enthralled by its force as you orbit it.

You loll forward, almost completely limp and unravelled by bliss already. Your hands fall to either side of Orestes’ torso to steady yourself, boxing him in and creating an intimate circle with your arms, your faces close, moans billowing right into each other’s ears, cheeks, necks. Lips hovering close.

“You make me feel so good,” you moan. “Kiss me, Orestes. Please. I beg you. Kiss me just once as if you love me.” your words are breathy and hurried and needy, your coolness entirely undone.

Orestes groans as he continues to grind against you. “I cannot do that, my dove.”

“Then please… please just kiss me?” you beg as you writhe your wetness all over him with increasing pace.

He folds his knees to the rear of you so that he may plant his feet and press himself even more firmly to you. The motion adjusts his angle and he strikes your clit just right, causing you to shiver and deliver a throaty, brazen “fuck” into the air.

At that, Orestes looks at your lips with a growl, and finally caves to his desire. First, he presses a chaste prayer to your lips. It’s as if he tries his utmost to kiss you like he loves you. Perhaps as if he attempts to will it so. However, the truth of it is, he desires you, and as soon as his lips taste yours his mouth returns even hungrier than he began. With his next kiss, your tongues mingle softly, like dissolving honey, before the kiss grows in intensity. With his next, his mouth is opening to devour yours, his tongue probing and tasting the cave of you, your moans stifled as his soft lips crush against you.

“I wish I could hold you inside of me,” you say longingly into his kiss as you approach your peak.  

“I wish it could be so, my sweet. Alas, I cannot release my seed inside you, and nor can I take your innocence. That gift is yours to give to whomever you may marry.”

“Orestes, you sweet fool. I am not innocent. And there is no other I would marry. You may not love me, Orestes, but I orbit you all the same.”

As the sensations intensify, you enjoy the slick, solid mass of him beneath you. You relish edging him closer and closer towards his end. Lost in the throes of pleasure, Orestes clasps you to him so tightly, his arms surrounding you in a perfect circle. You writhe and moan and whimper for each other, your crushing embrace at once both melancholic and urgent, his lips meeting yours again and again in desperation, as if famished. You taste salt and you know not whether it is he who is crying or you, or some combination, but it doesn’t matter in this moment. You would drink his tears down. Drink all of him down.

“I will find my peak in only moments,” you warn. “I will reach it soon.”

“And I too. Come, get beneath me,” Orestes suggests, his typically smooth voice ragged.

He flips you urgently and you settle beneath him, legs spread open, more than ready for him to nestle between them.

“You truly wish to have me inside of you?” he asks, examining your face for any hint of hesitation.

“Yes, Orestes. Yes. Please.”  

He rubs your clit skilfully until you are evidently on the edge of bliss, maintaining a blunt pressure against your entrance with the tip of him. Finally, he dips to plant kisses on your lips, your neck, your chest as he drives his whole length forward, sheathing himself in your warm, surrounding depths. One thrust is all it takes and you are clenching around him, writhing in a display of pleasure, moans directed at the sky in praise of the Gods as your release bursts through you like the birth of a flaming sun.

Orestes mutters strings of soft praise and crude profanities into the air. His breaths become laboured gusts of air as he attempts to stave off his end whilst you tighten so deliciously around him, his eyes screwing shut as he brings himself under control, his body trembling.

“Where, sweet? Where?” he manages to choke out.

“Let me taste you,” you invite, and he thrusts deeply into you once more before pulling out and coming to his knees, taking his shaft delicately in his hand, his needy cock twitching for some contact, some release. The head of him is ruddy and swollen and he looks fit to burst as he gleams with a concoction of oils and your juices.

“Unnggg. I need to find my end. Oh Gods,” Orestes begs, and you transfer your position as quickly as possible to all fours to oblige him, bringing your mouth to his shaft.

The first hot rope of cum spills over your lips and chin at the mere suggestion of filling up your pretty, eager mouth, and the remainder of his seed pumps into you, salty and sweet as your lips and tongue surround him. He moans and stutters as he fills you up with each pulse from his aching balls, grabbing your head as he sinks the length of him down into your throat as deeply as you can take him. Groans and praises tumble from his lips as you suck him dry, his relieved shaft throbbing in your mouth.

You tease Orestes with further kitten licks to his sensitive head, easing him gently down from his high. You hold him there until you are sure you have drained every drop from him; even until he has softened, feeling entirely unwilling to relinquish his delicious cock from your mouth. Once he is freed, you lick the stray salty release from your plump lips as he regains himself, looking down at you with something resembling awe.

“You are beautiful,” he praises, in disbelief.

“As are you,” you respond with a blissed-out smile, your tongue flicking to savour the residual tang of him on your teeth.

You collapse on to the stone slab together whilst you regain your breath, ending up top-to-toe. Orestes insists on tasting you too, nuzzling his head in between your hot thighs to lap at your own sweet release, sending shuddering aftershocks through your body as you feel his eager lips and tongue nestle over your core. When your clit becomes too sensitive you giggle in protest and shift on the slab until you are each stretched out on your side, using your elbows as pillows and looking into one another’s eyes.

You are happy. You are. And yet, a single disobedient tear rolls down your cheek, causing Orestes’ brow to furrow in concern.

“Sweet girl, I am sorry for your pain. How I wish that I could give my love to you, sparrow.”

“Shush, sweet soul. Don’t stir the waters. Simply let them still for a moment,” you counsel softly, an even smile on your face even as your eyes shine with sadness. He returns your smile and reaches out to brush your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I will try, though you have riled all the waters within me to a frenzy, my peak washing over me like a great wave.”

A broader smile blooms on your face then. You have stirred him after all. You snuggle close to him as he lazily traces nonsense shapes on your arms and back with his fingers, and you lie there together in comfortable, quiet contemplation, wanting to savour whatever this had meant to each of you. You remain there, until your heart calls you to fracture the silence.

“I must go,” you whisper reluctantly, shrinking from him as you withdraw, alike to a flower withdrawing its petals from a waning sun.

You push yourself up to a seated position on the stone table, yet Orestes’ hand flicks out to wrap around one of your wrists. “Don’t. Don’t go,” he pleads.

You look at him softly, with infinite fondness. “You and I both know that this afterglow you are feeling is not love. I wished to bask in this false sun for as long as possible, yet I do not wish to be here when it fades, Orestes.”

You look into his eyes and his admiration blazes so brightly for a false sun that you could almost be convinced of it.

“First, tell me- did it comfort you too?”

“It did,” you reassure, truthfully, hopping down from the table and beginning to gather your strewn garments. “Though, it is both a comfort and a torture to know that not only are you sweet as honey, beautiful as a muse, sharp as a scythe, and funny as a curse tablet... you are also skilled at swordsmanship. The Gods truly excelled themselves with you.”

Orestes’ eyes gleam, happy to see your playful nature shining through once more. He swings his own legs to retake his seated position, facing you as you redress. “Hmm. High praise from one usually so mocking. Though you evidently forget that I can now play the aulos. Another superior quality for your ever-lengthening list.” He grins broadly at you, and you find him disarming all over again.

Orestes grabs your wrist and tugs you into him in a swift motion, wrapping a single arm around your waist and looking up at you with new eyes as your laughter lilts down toward him.

“Though, in truth, dove,” he smiles fondly, “I think you brandish a sword better than I. You are all that I am and more, I venture.”

You settle your arms around him again, fingers twisting in the curls at the nape of his neck. “We are more alike than I realised, then,” you say pridefully.

“Yes,” he agrees, “It is so. After all, we were both stupid enough to fall for the wrong person.”

His eyes spark with humour as he delivers his words, but there is a sadness buried beneath which you are determined not to unearth. “And tonight, Orestes, we were smart enough to make the best of it, for once.”

You smooth your face again, trying not dwell on his insistence that you each fell for the wrong person. Hypatia may not be a match for him, but you still cannot accept the notion that he is in any way wrong for you.

Instead, you concentrate on the way Orestes’ eyes glow in admiration as he gazes up at you, a smile lingering still on his lips. He reaches up to your cheek to caress you there, but you snatch his hand playfully in yours before he can fulfil his intention.

“Careful, Orestes, do not fall for me,” you caution chidingly. “I have been told you are cursed. I, for one, want nothing of it.” You flash him a sad yet cheeky smile, before reaching out to caress him on the cheek instead, tenderly flattening your palm to his face.

You are reluctant to end your encounter on a sombre note, and yet there are things which must not remain unspoken.

“If you need me Orestes, I am here. And, it must be said… I love you. You are loved, and you are more than worthy of it, sweet soul. Some with the cheek to call themselves scholars of the stars evidently neglect some of the sky’s greatest wonders. That is their loss. What a dark night, I think, without the brightest star in the sky.” As a final gesture, you smile softly and dip your face to press a shy, chaste kiss to his cheek. Orestes’ eyes flutter closed as your lips brush against him, and he watches you with shining, grateful eyes as you pad out of the room.

You leave him, you hope, a little less overflowing. A little less cracked. He leaves you a little less empty. A little less parched.  

Maybe Orestes will resolve to pray to the Gods that he can love you in return. Maybe one day soon he can. If it is your fate, then so be it.

Though you dare not invite hope in yet, perhaps you need not wander so alone along your path, now that you have spoken your truth. Maybe when the paths of wanderers do not run in perfect circles, all that remains is to create a new model of the planetary system.

For now, you glance back at him as you ready to leave and he is still looking at you in that rare way, even as tears pool on his cheeks. He is looking at you as he looks at her. As the sun sinks towards its dormitory, you feel momentarily like your star is rising.

For now, that will have to be enough, because he has nothing more to give you.

[cherrysung]

pairing: soulmate!jaemin x reader

genre: guardian angel au / fluff / slight angst

warnings: language, sad themes, character death (car crash), suggestive (not explicit, I suck at smut), my shitty writing (I’m so sorry)

summary: the glimmering boy from the accident would often visit you in the depths of your dreams with eager eyes, your imagination the only place where he could allow you to see him. that is, until you finally became an adult.

word count: 10.2k

note: this is my first time writing a long fic, it might seem rushed or confusing but I’m sure I’ll improve with time, so feedback will be greatly appreciated. anyways, I truly hope you enjoy the story from the bottom of my heart! also, thank you @glossyjaems for hyping me up on this!

cherrysung’s navigation

The rain poured violently, hitting the car windows in near agression as you mindlessly watched the drops race down, ‘till they eventually disappeared from your view. The roads were hugely engulfed in a sea of haze, and it was complicated to decipher the direction in which the car was heading towards, amidst all the fog surrounding. You remember a gentle song playing quietly from the radio, and if it weren’t for the furious banging of the weather, you’d be fast asleep. Asleep, in the warm arms of your mother, who held you so dearly. No one expected what was to come. The anxious stirring from your father, the deafening crash, the cries of the woman who now held you tightly with fear, or the pitch black darkness that consumed everybody in an instant.

Four years, you were only four years when you lost your entire family; and you were supposed to leave with them. Softly, the song kept playing, when you caught a gleaming silhouette in the distance. Just like that, consciousness slipped away from you.

Years went by quickly, time left but memories stayed. The helpless screams of your father and your mother’s tears that fell onto your chubby cheeks; you remember them vividly. You thought memories were supposed to be cherished, but yours only managed to haunt you every progressing day of your life. A life that was meant to be taken away from you, a life that was meant to be spent with your loved ones. You lost one option for the price of the other and you weren’t sure what was worse, there was no way an answer from something as intricate as existence could be obtained. All you knew was the shimmering light before blackness tugged at your vision. Tall, lean and majestic; you wished it would’ve been one of the few memories that did stay, but it seemed like it was fading away more and more as the clock ticked by.

Attached to several tubes and beeping machines, you had woken up disoriented that day, completely unaware of your surroundings. So confused, you couldn’t even process or fathom what just had happened; the death of your parents, or the cuts and bruises that stung your delicate, baby skin. A nurse was walking by the room you were in when she noticed the small of your figure sitting up on the hard hospital bed, immediately bursting through the door with shock plastered on her young face.

You were not expected to survive a coma. You were not even meant to survive a deadly car crash. No one was really expecting you to wake up. In the midst of all the chaos that had eventually formed by the surprised nurses and hospital staff, you could only stare through the small-framed window, at the bright spark that shined outside in the empty streets. Only for your eyes to see.

Growing up with your grandparents had its perks. They were very pure beings; always trying the best they could to keep a content smile on your bruised face, always trying to show you the love their own children couldn’t. Their mythical, fantasy tales were your favorite; the ones where everything and everyone was magical, where anything could happen because suddenly animals and plants could talk, and the Earth wasn’t as soulless. Your lovely storytellers successfully distracted you from the harsh truth, that an innocent child like you had to learn at a very young age their family; the woman who birthed you and the man who held you in his arms for the first time, were gone. Just like they had left, the time came where their own parents had to step off the journey of life, too. This time, you were fully alone to face the frightening reality and malicious threats of those who weren’t happy. Fifthteen years old, you were now totally by yourself.

Or so, you thought.

Forming part of your grandparents’ usual anecdotes and short stories, was the tale consisting of soulmates. Soulmate, someone destined to be by your side forever. You knew they loved talking about myths and legends, so believing that something as harsh as life already had prepared an individual to cherish you, seemed impossible. More so, when it took your parents from you in the worst way possible. Naturally, you brushed the thought aside despite your grandmother’s last words, asking you to wait for the letter, one that was soon to come. You didn’t know what she was talking about, and quite frankly, you were too distressed to care; helplessly watching the world take yet again, someone from you.

Every night after the accident that almost took your life, images began forming in your head. What were images turned into short dreams, and soon, they were a common occasion every time you slipped off into slumber. After giving a final goodbye to your grandparents, those visions only seemed to increase. There, you would always meet him. The boy with excited eyes, somehow he always appeared remarkably delighted to see you, although you couldn’t understand why. Who was he? Why was he in your nightly thoughts all the time? You didn’t know, but you didn’t mind either. He was divine, always formally dressed in a white suit; black, lustrous shoes and hair combed back so carefully accompanied by a slight part enough to show some of his forehead. A person so tremendously handsome, you usually wondered how your young mind was even able to create such a heavenly man.

You never failed to meet him in your dreams. Enveloped by all the loneliness you had been left with, you looked forward to see him until the sun decided to rise from within the towering mountains and over the vast horizon; the sultry warmth of a new day bringing you out of the place where only the two of you knew. Life was mostly dull unless you were having your fair share of time with the celestial boy in the depths of your imagination.

Age seventeen came through, gifting you with the fading of majority of the scars that had been left on your skin as a daily reminder of what happened years ago. One of them, though, chose to accompany you forever. It was fine, you assured yourself, no matter how dark it sounded, it was the closest thing to your parents that you had. Rather than despising it, you’d enjoy it.

The town you lived in wasn’t all that special. It was small and far from the bigger cities, home to a low population of friendly people. Everyone knew each other; and everybody knew what happened the winter of 2006, when your parents died. The year your whole world came crashing down; like the angry ocean waves would hit at the random, jagged rocks that stuck from beneath the water. In spite of the tragedy you had to endure, nobody treated you with shameless pity, and instead taught you that yes; life can be threatening, but it can also be marvellous. You realized that living is unexpected; one day you’re breathing, the next one you could be gone. It’s difficult to accept the fact that everybody’s fate is exceptionally different. Sometimes they might leave with pride, sometimes they might leave with fear. Of course you didn’t know what the world had in store for your future, but you certainly didn’t want to keep drowning in your sea of miserable grief.

Sighing, you put an end to your train of thoughts as you plopped down on your bed’s soft mattress. Your grandparents’ wooden house was the same as it was the day they left; cosy, warm and vintage. You would often dream here about what the actual cities looked like, your last time catching the bright, colorful lights being the same day of the accident. Grandma didn’t want to tell you much as she usually avoided describing the occurence in detail, but she did admit you were on your way to visit her and the rest when the early winter storm caught up with the unplanned trip. Maybe, if your father would’ve chosen to spend one last day at your old house, they would be here today.

The endless questions and memories that consumed you everyday were enough to lull you off into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, everything around you looked magical and extraordinary in the sea of green, healthy grass that kissed at your bare feet oh so tenderly. Several flowers that accompanied the slightly flowing ocean of emerald were colorful; blues, pinks, yellows, purples. Every single shade thinkable was present. A sky so heavenly azure, and a small amount of white, fluffy cotton clouds decorating it beautifully. You discovered, you were no longer in reality. You were in your dreams. Far off in the distance, your eyes spotted the same white suit you had grown accustomed to seeing, and your feet immediately headed in the direction of the clean attire. There he was, the same boy who was nothing but absolutely ethereal, sitting on the soft field of tulips and roses under a large oak tree. He didn’t have to search to know you were there; he felt your presence from miles away, even when you were not meeting him in your lovely thoughts. After all, he had always been there with you. You just weren’t aware of it.

Despite the tall grass that occasionally tangled with your feet, you reached him easily, quietly taking a seat next to him on the velvety ground. “Hello.” He simply greeted, still looking off into the horizon as he slowly grazed his hands through the flowers surrounding him. Features so enchanting, his face looked like it had been sculpted and carved by the gods themselves. A defined nose and jawline, narrow eyes that only conveyed pure compassion, with a final touch of the smoothest skin you had ever seen before. He was literally glowing with beauty.

“Hi,” you replied shortly with a small smile, “we meet again.” He turned to glance at you, his eyes surveying lightly over your own features. He thought you were breathtaking.

He slightly nodded his head, the setting sun offering a nice dew to his warm skin. “We do.” A pause took over, and you wondered why he was so quiet today; usually, you were used to him being more talkative, even flirty. Before you could say anything else, he spoke up with a graceful smile. “You’re turning eighteen soon, right?” You could only nod, a huge knot forming in your chest at the thought of spending yet another birthday without the company of your family, you wished they would’ve been able to watch you turn into an adult. “Don’t be sad, just because they’re not with you physically, doesn’t mean they’re also not with you emotionally. If you think about it, they have never left.”

It had become a common feeling to be taken aback by his sudden rightful guessings of your thoughts. You never understood how he was able to tell what you were currently thinking, and honestly, it didn’t seem like you’d ever know, for his answers had always been along the lines of having a strong intuition.

By now, the bright sun had almost completely set behind the horizon, engulfing the vast grasslands with warm hues of oranges, yellows and reds; while the quick approaching night brought with itself a sea of blues, purples and pinks. The colors mixing together created a stunning evening sky, a view so captivating you could misinterpret it for a famous Italian painting. “I guess you’re right,” you agreed with his previous statement, “but I just wish I was able to spend a day meant to be so special with my family. In the flesh, I mean. I’m tired of spending my birthday by myself. Turning eighteen was supposed to feel exciting, but I can’t seem to find eagerness anywhere within my emotions when I know I’ll be on my own again.” Exhaling with slight disappointment, you softly pulled at a honeysuckle beside you and allowed yourself to savor the sweet taste of the nectar that it gingerly left on your tongue. You wondered if there was anything else more sugary than the tasty honey of the tiny flower.

“I understand.” He replied with a slight nod as he watched you grab another honeysuckle. Then, he did something he had never done before, and his hand grasped yours delicately. You were certain this was only a dream, still, you could feel him. You could feel his skin and the warmth that radiated from his hand, along with the creases on his much bigger palm. Somehow, the skin there wasn’t soft like you imagined, in fact, it was sort of rough; either way, they still managed to feel silky as they held your own. “But hey,” his eyes twinkled with happiness as he beamed, “I promise you, you won’t be spending your eighteenth birthday alone this time. I promise, really.”

“I hope you’re right,” you let the boy intertwine his fingers with yours, “I’ve been meeting you in my dreams for the longest time. Things like this don’t happen, so I believe you might be telling the truth.”

His eyebrows furrowed adorably as he shook his head, “I always tell the truth, lying is wrong. Besides, I would never do that to you.”

“Indeed.” You grinned lightly, and only now had you remembered this had been the first time in a while where you had shown genuine merriment. Night had taken over, and now the dark sky was covered in multiple little stars that, although from your perspective they barely sparkled, you were sure they glowed the brightest if close enough. Sometimes, what shines the most is not always the first thing noticed. The boy holding your hand frequently questioned why you couldn’t see that on yourself; why you couldn’t see how dazzling you really were, like the twinkling balls of fire that called themselves stars. Sighing with joy, you kept staring up at the endless heavens, the lively moon being your only source of light. “Hey?” You spoke up again, earning yourself a hum from the handsome boy. He didn’t seem to age, he still looked the same as he did the first time you ever saw him in yours dreams. Now, you realized his features resembled the same as a regular teenager like you, except he was obviously striking. “I’ve been meeting you here for as long as I can remember, but I never got your name.”

He chuckled, thinking you sounded cute. His free hand gently pulled at a fully bloomed rose, its scarlet red shade so bright and vibrant in the scarce night light. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that yet, love.” He shook his head, releasing your hand and instead replacing his own with the beautiful rose. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough, you just have to wait a little bit more. Then, you will get an answer to all your questions. They say patience is key.” Standing up, he carefully pulled you up with him too, pressing a faint kiss to your forehead. “Lovely, it’s time for you to leave.”

“But I don’t want to.” You muttered, not quite looking forward to another lonely day.

The boy laughed lowly as he began walking in the opposite path from where you initially came from. “Dont worry, you see me here everyday, right? I’ll be waiting for you here on your next dream. And the next one, and the one after, and the one after. I will always be waiting. Just do me a favor, will you? Take that rose with you, consider it my early birthday gift. Keep it, and care for it. Also, remember my promises, I won’t ever break them.”

Just like that, he disappeared in the multitude of blooming flowers, as you felt yourself fade away from the world you wished was your reality.

You woke up from your deep slumber, a smile etched across your face as you thought of your little secret, who you always encountered in your dreams wearing the same white suit. Your conscious itself was still adapting to the daylight of a new day and the comforting heat radiating all the way from your window. Hair disheveled, and eyes puffy from sleep, you had not woken up yet completely. As your senses adjusted, strangely enough, you felt something smooth against your arm, only then noticing the red rose resting nicely next to you while its petals softly kissed at your skin. A gasp left your lips instantly, and you quickly scurried off the bed as fast as lighting to stare incredulously at the flower laying on it. You were a hundred percent sure that was not there before drifting off. Yet, as freaked out as you were, the boy’s words filled your mind, and you reluctantly picked up the gorgeous plant to place it in a vase of fresh water.

The brand new day carried on as always, unwanted and repetitive. Many outsiders who traveled from the bigger cities claimed your small town was breathtaking; here, they didn’t have to deal with the awful sounds or smells that the multiple factories over there emitted, they didn’t have to deal with the large streets full of traffic and impatient car horns from people who were desperate to get home. Here, your town was everything but the opposite. Streets were not paved, instead, they were nice dirt paths created by the town’s own people so cars could drive by easily. It was mostly rural; adorned with greenery, flowers, crops and the overall touch of unbothered Mother Nature. A huge pond occupied by different, colorful fish was located in the center of the town, also serving as a usual meeting spot for friends or couples who wanted to have a lovely day out. Lastly, the most special detail; a large river stream ran through, which had been decorated between the passing years with several tiny shops and homely bakeries that had slowly started forming alongside it. Generally, it reminded you of pictures from Venice, Italy that you’d see on the internet.

In spite of how gifting your little town was, it’s not like you could enjoy it when you had no one to explore it with. You had your fair shares of adventures around it when you were young, but as you inevitably grew older, so did the cravings for companionship, for a friend. A friend you didn’t have. Growing up without any parents somehow prevented children at school from befriending you, claiming it was weird to not have a mother or a father. You never blamed them, nor did you resent them; they were merely young kids, who were almost just as clueless as you.

Due to many unpleasant experiences, you began believing this town had nothing else in store for you other than remind you of the unforgettable truth, so you often refrained from going out when it was unneeded. Living alone had also slowly become bearable; either way, you had to learn how to because there was nobody else who would be able to guide you through life. There was no choice but to become independent at an early age.

After taking a warm shower and placing the unexpected rose in a vase, you decided to make yourself some chamomile tea. While waiting for the water to boil, your eyes spotted a rusty note that was messily folded, laying on the kitchen counter. It appeared almost crumpled, like it had been bunched up in a rush. You confusedly stared at it for a short moment, trying to remember whether there had been a note there last night when you cleaned the kitchen isle. A sudden whistle interrupted your puzzled thoughts just as you were about to open up the strange looking letter, bringing you out of your daze as the loud hiss reminded you the boiling, hot water was finally ready. Cursing under your breath, you quickly whipped around in a hurry to turn off the stove, forgetting about the wrinkled paper altogether.

The rest of your day went by unbothered, the night sky catching up quicker than you had presumed. Regardless, it didn’t faze you. Rather than upsetting you, it only caused a huge wave of excitement to travel along your body; you knew what the night meant. You let out a squeal that bounced off the walls as you observed through the window the dark sky that had engulfed the whole town, decorated by the bright moon that had replaced the yellow, warm sun. It was only seven at night when you read the time on the digital clock hung on the thorough, wooden walls. You hurried off to your room, where you quickly readied yourself for sleep.

Not long after, you found yourself barefooted in the same place as always, although this time autumn season had began. Unlike reality, time worked distinctly in your dreams. When it was nighttime in the real world, it was daytime in your thoughts. Yet, you couldn’t understand why the season suddenly changed, you weren’t quite sure this had happened before. Right in front of your eyes, the oak tree you were so used to see standing gracefully with flowing, vibrant leaves, was slowly becoming leafless while the few ones that did manage to stick to the branches jumped between different, several warm and golden tones. The grasslands that were once a blanket of only verdant green with the occasional colorful flowers that would stand out, was now an ocean of faded orange mixed with a faint tint of pinkish red. Underneath the oak tree sat him, but this time he was not dressed in the same white suit from always; he was wearing casual clothes, and his typical perfectly brushed hair was left down and fluffy, covering most of his forehead.

White denim jeans paired with a white denim jacket, and a loose light, grey t-shirt tucked carelessly inside his pants; he seemed to already know what you were wondering, and answered your question before you even got the chance to take a seat on the dried autumn grass. “Everything is different because something important is nearing. No,” he giggled when he noticed you lean forward with a new question ready to be asked, “I can’t tell you what the special occasion is. Chill, you’ll find out in no time.”

Whining, you slightly sulked with an annoyed look plastered on your face, “I’m tired of all these weird clues.”

“Don’t worry, the answers are closer than you think. Quit sulking, drama queen.” He grinned warmly. The scenery appeared ridiculous when compared to his radiant smile, it was a battle he’d win right away effortlessly. A sudden breeze passed by, offering a pleasant warmth that felt sensational as the air slowly became cooler every time the season developed more. Whenever you met up with him, you always had new things to interrogate him for, but just recently your inquiries had gotten much bigger as you found yourself in stranger situations leading towards him. You turned to glance at him, despite his side profile being the only sight you could get from your current view, you knew he still looked unreal as ever. “I noticed you kept the rose.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “how do you know?”

“Can’t answer that either.” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, exhaling with calmness as he rested on his elbows, basking in the warm, soft breezes that blew by every now and then. His chestnut brown hair moved fluidly along with the infrequent winds too, letting his forehead show up for a split second. You thought he seemed so peaceful like this. Truthfully, he always looked peaceful, but today his features were particularly serene as they emitted a feeling of tranquility, even you felt it. He hummed, opening his eyes for a short moment before closing them again, “you forgot to read the note. I’ll get rid of that one and send a new one when you wake up. Make sure to read it, no excuses.”

A small huff of disbelief escaped your lips, as they soon turned into a smile. “Are you sure you’re not a witch? You were the one who put the rose on the bed, right? Because how else would that magically be there? Please answer me before I go insane.” You massaged your temples gently to simmer down all the jumbled emotions that had fallen upon you. “I thought you were just part of my imagination, but I’m doubting that now. Oh my God, what are you? There’s literally no way I can bring a flower out of my dreams-”

“Just part of your imagination, what am I? An imaginary friend? Sorry,” he laughed, “I’m not that. Yeah, I was the one who placed the rose next to you; but no, I won’t answer how.” You could tell he was having fun watching you experience an existential crisis in the middle of your dreams, it entertained him more than he would like to admit. “Today you seem very curious, that’s no good. So, we will be parting ways sooner than we usually do.”

“Wait, no, what-”

With only the snap of his fingers, it was nighttime, like a light switch had been flicked and suddenly the brightness was turned off. Due to the fast approaching winter lurking just around the corner, it was freezing cold, the temperatures so low you stared at the unfazed boy like he was crazy. You immediately began shivering, and he calmly took the time to place his denim jacket over your trembling shoulders. Honestly, the piece of clothing didn’t really provide you with much cover, but the warmth of his body that had stuck to it was enough to decrease the clattering of your teeth and the goosebumps that had formed on your arm the moment the temperatures abruptly dropped. “You can take that with you. For now, we have to go. Goodbye lovely, we’ll see each other soon.”

Your body shot up on bed in shock, anxiously feeling around your shoulders where indeed, a jacket comfortably rested on. His jacket. You felt like crying from all the utter confusion, so many questions swirling in your head that you wanted to desperately ask. Breathing irregular, you stood up with a slight stumble as you made your way towards the bathroom with a failing vision until you were able to grip the small counter, your reflection showing back on the flimsy mirror. There was no tone to your skin, which was accompanied by a light dampness; your throat felt like it was stinging and your nose was extremely runny. Was this a cold? A sharp pain hit at your temples before a grunt left your lips, demanding you to get some rest. Using all the strength you could muster, you went back to bed, falling weakly on the soft mattress.

“You fucker, now I’m sick.” You gritted through you teeth with irritation. As if on cue to your words, another crumpled ball of paper flew onto your forehead, gently bouncing off and onto the bedsheets. You cursed again, rolling your eyes before opening up the letter. It looked old, the delicate paper was covered in several creases and ink stains that were smeared all over the page; inside, was the messiest handwriting you had ever seen before. Squinting, you tried your best to make out the tangled words that were scribbled down.

Before I even start; you got to stop cursing young woman. The Heavens are watching and won’t be happy at you. Now, off to the actual letter. You must still remember your grandmother telling you about it, this was the note she was talking to you about. How are you? I hope you’re dealing alright with that nasty cold, honest, I knew you’d catch one after that weather. It’s alright though, it won’t last longer than three days, enough for you to spend your awaiting birthday without any bothersome sicknesses. How does it feel to be turning eighteen years old in four days time? Maybe you didn’t believe me, or maybe you did, but I’m still keeping promise to my words, and I assure you; your eighteenth birthday won’t be spent alone, neither will be your other birthdays to come. You’ve come so far in life, you have battled so much and yet you’re still overflowing with strength. You definitely deserve answers to all the questions you’ve often wondered about.

Remember all those fairy tales you would hear all the time from your grandparents? The ones you loved so, so much? Many of them were really only that; tales and nothing more, just something to keep you entertained, except for one. No, soulmates are not a lie, or merely another created narration from your lovely storytellers, they’re a real thing. You’ll meet your soulmate soon, I promise. I could tell you who it is, but I’d rather wait and watch you find it out yourself. For the meanwhile, you can look at your wrist the day you turn eighteen, you’ll notice some words engraved on it. They’re meant to be your soulmate’s first words ever said to you; in person, so the flesh and bones. I feel like I gotta make that clear because you’re so dense. When you do finally meet them, the words will fade away. Overall, you’re going to get a gut feeling when you meet the right person, you won’t even need to check your wrist to know. Everybody is destined to meet their soulmate sooner or later, you would know about it more if you ever left the house, lazy. Since you don’t, you’re not really aware of how many people out there have already found their fated lover. Even your folks were destined soulmates. Everybody is.

You certainly are curious. No, don’t be scared, stop thinking I’m a witch, I’m not. Yes, I can read your thoughts and I can feel your emotions. Yeah, even though I wrote this way before you read it. I can already decipher them from days, hours, minutes and seconds before. What’s up, I hereby officially present myself to you as your Guardian Angel. Just as one gets assigned a soulmate, they can also get assigned a Guardian Angel, way before they’re even born; life is weird. Truth be told, your family already knew me. This is why your grandmother asked you to wait for the letter, otherwise she knew your stubborn self wouldn’t have budged. Someone like me can only do much, I don’t really form a part of what The Heavens decide; therefore, I wasn’t aware that you were involved in a car crash along with your parents. As your Guardian Angel, I can only save the one assigned to me, that being you. And, as far as decisions go, it had also already been determined by The Heavens they would be taking your parent’s lives early. I don’t know why, but they must have their own reasons. One thing I can assure you though, is that their last breath was peaceful. All they wanted was for you to be fine, and they knew you’d be.

No one from your family had a Guardian Angel for themselves because it’s actually a rare thing to get one assigned. You were part of the small percent who did attain one. I’m not just a creation from the depths of your dreams, but it was the only place through which I could communicate with you for the meantime. Our situation though... it’s a little complex, or different, but very special since it barely ever happens. Little to no chances, I mean. Again, I’ll leave that for you to figure out. Look out for my visit on the 28th, your birthday. Once you turn eighteen, I’m allowed to see you. Not in your dreams, or thoughts or imagination, just reality. See, right? I promised you. You won’t be spending your birthday alone anymore, and I never break my promises.

I also want you to know, your parents and grandparents; they’re fine, they’re resting well. I really am sorry that I was not able to do anything to save your parents, trust me, if I could have, I would’ve. Thank you, for always thinking so fondly of me and calling me your hero when you were young, even though you didn’t even know what I was. I’m glad you looked up to me. Don’t worry, and don’t cry, remember I can feel when you’re unhappy; I can already tell as I’m writing this letter that you are in tears. Don’t be, I know you frequently worry about your family, if they left happy or sad; or, if they left in peace or not. They’re totally happy in The Heavens, where nobody suffers. You don’t have to be concerned over them anymore, they’re in peace and their wish is for you to be too.

Yes, silly, Guardian Angels can age. Mine was just frozen at twenty until I meet you. I still have a lot of explaining to do but you have to figure out the important part first.

I hope this letter answered all your big questions, it seems like it did. I apologize again, that I couldn’t save your parents. But, do believe me, they’re all fine. Stop crying, it makes me sad too. I can’t wait to finally meet you, I’ve been already waiting more than eighteen years. Anyways, I’ll be ending this here, lovely. I know your grandma said it was only a note but this got longer than I had planned, oops. See you soon,

Na Jaemin, your Guardian Angel.

Your hands shook as the crippled letter fell from your trembling grip, tears running down your face uncontrollably. You wouldn’t say your cries were of anguish, but rather, peacefulness. Peace because now you finally knew your parents were fine, and peace within yourself after that discovery. It was a question you initially thought was impossible to get an answer for. For the longest time, you had felt guilty you were given a second chance while they were not; but, although you still firmly believed they were taken unfairly from you, at least you knew they were okay. Words were not enough to express how you currently felt. So, the world that you thought to be so ugly and malicious actually had things such as soulmates and Guardian Angels? You always doubted they existed, much less were you able to process you were gifted with the two. It never crossed your mind that the boy in your dreams, Na Jaemin, was the reason why you were even alive.

You always told yourself the world had so much to make up for after taking away your loved ones. Little did you know you had been meeting with the most important person in your life for the entirety of it. Suddenly, it was you who had to make up for so much. The question was, how would you do something greater than what Na Jaemin did for you? He was after all, your literal savior.

And you’d be meeting him soon.

November 28th finally arrived, your cold long gone as the time hit twelve o’clock at midnight. Anxiously, you looked down, and time felt like it had slowed. Although the seconds kept counting down just fine, you couldn’t help the shock that ran through your veins as you watched black, cursive words gradually show up on your wrist. ‘Hello, lovely.’ You exhaled with a shaky breath, gliding your finger over the words swiftly; they looked like they had been tattooed on your wrist for a long time now despite their recent appearance. Astonished, you cursed before glancing around your bedroom, unsure of what to do and completely ignoring the angel’s previous scolding for your bad habit of swearing. It all seemed unreal to you, but the constant burn of the pinching you inflicted upon yourself assured you it wasn’t. Your heart rate was beating at rapid speeds, and you began wondering if it would eventually thump out of your chest to escape from all the unstoppable adrenaline rushing chaotically through your entire body.

“Alright, calm down, fuck.” The angel could only watch you in amusement from afar, shaking his head at your raw language.

The midnight winds were tremendously cool as the winter temperatures continued to drop, the heater or the cosy clothing you currently wore were not enough to fully rid you of the icy atmosphere. You wished you’d meet the angel in your dreams, so you could be welcomed by a warm and sultry weather. Unfortunately, you had not gotten to see him after the day you read the long, messy letter he wrote. It was weird to not have the daily visions you had grown so accustomed to.

Somewhere during the very early hours of the morning, you managed to drift off into a deep sleep, unable to meet the angel once again. You woke up to a much more pleasant climate air, and you would’ve been happy about it if it weren’t for the many doubts you awoke with. It had been four days since you had last seen him. The usual scenery you always magically appeared in with the help of your brain didn’t develop in the deepness of your thoughts; you didn’t care about your birthday anymore, you cared for the boy from your dreams. You still had to learn to call him by his actual name, but it was harder than you expected when he had basically been nameless for most of your life. Na Jaemin, you had never heard that name around your town or anywhere else, it was just as unique as him.

“I heard you calling?”

You shrieked, tumbling off the bed and onto the hardwood floor as your chest heaved up and down in fear. Quickly, you stood up on your feet, where you locked wide eyes with the charming smile you always admired, a grin beaming with pearly whites showing through that could light up the whole world. There he stood gracefully, unlike you, wearing the same attire he had been sporting the last time you saw him; of course, minus the denim jacket you occasionally hugged to sleep. Instead of the same brown hair he always had, it was now a light shade of blonde, to the point where it nearly looked silver. Eyes still widened in alarm after his unexpected arrival, you carried on taking in his features and tall figure; lean and majestic, exactly as you had described him the first time. He was absolute breathtaking, and his beauty only seemed more glorious face to face; you were utterly speechless.

An almost quiet giggle went past his lips, a smile still adorning his features as he carefully approached you upon noticing your frozen state. There was a slight glow that outlined his physique, similar to the one you always caught sight of as a child, but not as strong. With gentle movements, his hand softly came up to cup your cheek, tenderly caressing at the skin before pulling you into a warm embrace. You gasped, his swift actions successfully bringing you out of your daze; and ultimately, with shaky hands, you wrapped your arms around his torso tightly as well. He hummed lowly in satisfaction at the feeling of your returned hug, already loving how it felt to finally be held by you.

Hugging him felt oddly nice to you, there was an emotion inside that you couldn’t quite describe, but you knew for sure it was a feeling you had never experienced before. You felt free and no longer alone, like you had known him your entire life; not just because of the dreams where the two of you conversed, it was a feeling more personal than that, like he had always been there with you. Not all your senses worked in your nightly thoughts, and only now were you able to bask in the sweet smell that engulfed him; he smelled like home. Like the tall, grassy grounds he was always sitting on under the same familiar oak tree as he waited for you. Like the roses and tulips that were fully bloomed in all their grandeur by summer time, and like the warm sunrays that never failed to make his skin naturally glow with dewiness. You had never smelled anything in your dreams, because it simply was impossible, but you didn’t have to; you knew right away he was the epitome of the place where you always met up, in all the five senses. The enthralling landscape, the soothing sounds of nature, the sweet taste of honeysuckles, the feeling of the flowing grasses, the earthy scent of threes and flowers; all put together into a human body.

Not only did he feel like home, but his embrace also provided a sensation of comfort and safety that nobody else could emulate. Your heart was beating rapidly, but this time it wasn’t out of shock, it was nervousness. You felt like you had made the biggest discovery ever, yet you were not sure what the find was. Still, everything somehow felt right amidst the thundering thump of your chest that rang loudly in your ears.

“Hello, lovely.” He whispered in your ear, feeling the smile on his face as his lips gently pressed against the side of your head.

Overcome with emotion, a tear ran down your cheek before slightly pulling away so you could properly look up at him. “Thank you, for saving me. Thank you so much... Jaemin. How will I ever repay you?”

“Silly,” he simply chuckled, “you don’t have to repay me with anything, meeting you is enough.”

You nodded as he ran his fingers through your hair, confessing, “I feel very comfortable around you, even though I just met you. Well, in person, I’m still confused.”

“It’s totally normal,” Jaemin replied as he pulled away from his tight embrace, softly patting your back, “technically, I’ve always been here, you just couldn’t see me. Reminds me; happy birthday, lovely.”

Heart fluttering at his words, you began feeling all giddy and fluffy inside despite not understanding the reason why. You could not fathom why he was having such a huge impact on you already. “I have a question.”

“Not surprised.”

“Do you, perhaps, have any wings or a halo?”

Jaemin giggles in amusement at your question, shaking his head. “I don’t, but I used to. We only have wings and halos when we’re in The Heavens, not on Earth. I’m meant to form part of Earth from now on, so I can’t really show you, except for the glow around my body. That, I choose whether I want you to see it or not.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. “Yeah, I’m still a Guardian Angel, your Guardian Angel specifically.”

Your cheeks flushed a faint tint of pink, muttering as you looked down at your feet, “stop reading my thoughts.”

“What? Are you scared I’m going to hear something naughty or weird one day? Don’t worry, I’ve heard plenty of those. Also heard multiple times you think I’m god-worthy handsome. Thanks, by the way. Its okay, it’s normal for me now. Just keep your thoughts in check, where did you learn all those dirty things, young lady?”

“Jaemin!” You screeched in embarrassment, your cheeks only becoming redder than they previously were, his grip tightening around you lovingly.

The boy shook with laughter, a melodious sound to your ears that you wanted to keep hearing for the rest of your life, and if it weren’t for the awful embarrassment you were experiencing, you would’ve surely relished in the contagious cackles more. Being with Jaemin was natural, it didn’t feel awkward at all, you instantly knew you could trust him with anything; besides, meeting him in your dreams for the past fifteen years was enough time to warm up to him.

“Come on,” you grabbed his hand, letting go not long after when a jolt shot through your arm. “What the hell! What was that?”

“You better stop cursing around me,” Jaemin jokingly warned, narrowing his eyes at you, “you have to find that out for yourself. I never thought you’d be this clueless, to be honest.”

“And lastly, this is the basement; tour is finally done! This used to be my grandparent’s house from mom’s side, where I spent my whole childhood in. My dad’s parents lived a little farther away and their house wasn’t roomy enough to take me, but they still visited here constantly; it felt like they all lived together, honestly.” You explained to the tall boy. You had decided to show him around, still rocking your hideous pajamas, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Jaemin hummed as he listened to you, eyes skimming over the wide, empty room; of course, he already knew every single part of your house like the back of his hand. He had been watching you your entire life, chances are he even recognized it better than you. Though, as he gazed at you with loving eyes, you seemed too excited showing him around so much that he chose to remain quiet and carry on pretending he was unfamiliar with everything surrounding him.

Your grandparent’s house was extremely welcoming; as most houses in your town, this was also built solely out of pure wood. It wasn’t exactly a cabin, but rather a small suburban home. Everything inside consisted of mostly vintage items left behind by your folks, the only modern objects around being the ones they had bought for you. As for the backyard, it wasn’t really spacious, but it was well appreciated and cared for since majority of the homes in the town didn’t have one. Your grandmother was always making sure her garden looked appealing at all times; and in memory of her, you would regularly keep it neat in spite of your hatred for gross bugs and itchy plants.

“I used to always come down here when I wanted to play with old stuff, like landline phones or typewriter machines, I thought they were quite fun.” You smiled automatically at the fond memories. “Oh! I also remember accidentally catching Grandpa and Grandma kissing, it was disgusting.”

Jaemin laughed, recalling the time you found your grandparents being way too romantic for your young mind to comprehend, and your startled eyes before running off as soon as you had identified the scene in front.

You sat down on the dusty wooden floors that were in strong needs of some good polishing and sweeping as you called Jaemin over. Complying, he took a seat next to you, creating a feeling of familiarity just like you would usually sit together in your dreams; except this time, the two of you were in a basement desperately screaming for a deep clean. You were certain his white clothes would be totally dirty by the time you left the room. “I forgot to tell you, you were right about the whole soulmate words thing.”

“Did you think it was a lie?” He cocked an eyebrow, paired with a sly smirk.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” You waved your hands in the air fearing he had gotten the wrong idea.

Giggling, he nodded and brought your hands down gently, “I know what you mean. Tell me about it.” He might’ve been a holy being, but he had never experienced love for endless decades. Now that he finally found you, he couldn’t stop the crazy thumping of his heart.

“Okay so, I stayed awake until midnight yesterday - well, today, actually... anyways - besides the point.” Jaemin smiled adoringly at your cute stutters and fumbled ranting. He had learnt years ago that you stumbled over your own words when you were ecstatic about something. Hearing your thoughts in the distance was nearly impossible when he was so close to you, and it was inevitable to catch what your mind was currently thinking. You were talking, but your mind kept saying he looked ethereal right now next to you, going as far as comparing him to the most prepossessing events from Earth itself and claiming he was still prettier. “So, as I was telling you, I stayed awake ‘till midnight and you were right! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed small letters appear on my wrist out of the blue, it was freaky to see it firsthand. Do you want to see?”

A cocky smirk was threatening to show up on Jaemin’s lips sooner or later, whether it be for your thoughts about him or what you were about to find out; yet, he fought the feeling and simply agreed at your request. It felt like euphoria was devouring him whole, but outside, he maintained a serene stance when you raised your wrist up to his eyes. As expected by him but not by you, the words were no longer there. A piercing shriek that hurt his ears left you upon realizing your wrist was not marked with the cursive letters anymore. Jaemin could only internally crack up at the sight of you scrambling away in panic, rushing towards the small window on the wall to get a better look of your arm with the aid of the sunrays. There was, in fact, nothing there.

The angel pondered playfully, humming specially loud so you’d be able to catch the mischief in his tone, “I thought you wanted to show me something? I don’t see anything there.”

Eyes wide like they were about to jump out of their sockets, you turned to look at him with a frightened expression, whining. “What do you know that I don’t?”

With a grunt, Jaemin got up from the floor as he brushed off the dust on his clothes, rolling his eyes at your question. “Silly girl,” he approached, your feet moving backwards the closer he got, eventually stopping when your back hit the wall behind you, “you’re so bad at this game.” He smiled cheekily before flicking your forehead.

“Ow!”

“Lovely, what did I explain it meant when the words faded away? Do you remember what I first said when I arrived?”

Oh. You realized what the current situation was. Jaemin was your fated soulmate, and as always, you did not notice because you were distracted; unsurprisingly, distracted by him. “But you’re not exactly human? How is it possible?”

He shrugged, running a hand through your hair, “Heaven and God are complicated. Angels can have human soulmates if that’s how The Heavens decide it, the only benefit you get, is you get to know when you’ll meet them - unlike humans who have no idea if they’re even gonna be fated to somebody or they’ll leave the world tragically because of their wrongdoings. The downside is that angels can take thousands and thousands of years to meet their soulmate; I was lucky to only have to wait three hundred.”

“Three hundred years!? But how come you’re twenty years old, how did you become an angel? Does me feeling all happy and sappy around you have to do with all this?” You were freaking out, but you didn’t want him to misunderstand.

Jaemin nodded, pulling you down onto the floor with him again, “there are two different types of angels; angels and Guardian Angels. Angels are people that died before their innocence was tainted which is basically all newborns or young children; teenagers and adults can too, just not as often. Guardian Angels are beings created by God himself, so unlike angels, we never existed in Earth first.” His hands were fiddling nervously with the end of his t-shirt, fingers adorned with a few silver rings. “We’re only allowed to meet our soulmate until they turn eighteen, so our age freezes at twenty while we wait. Angels can’t see their soulmate like I did in your dreams, but since I’m your Guardian Angel, I’m required to watch and care for you at all times. So, it’s acceptable to reveal myself to you discretely. And yeah,” he sheepishly giggled, “that’s why you feel all happy and sappy around me. I do too.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Someone dumb like me can only handle so much information, Jaemin.”

He snickered. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You pushed him away playfully, a small smile lingering on your lips before a blush took over your features. You never had a boyfriend previously, and you had no idea what to do from now on. Jaemin looked lovely as ever, the attraction you had for him only heightening as the bond became stronger. His once fully white clothes were now slightly covered in dust, as so was his face. Despite that and his tinted cheeks that you assumed were like that because he intruded your thoughts once again, he was the same handsome boy from your dreams that never failed to make you smile. Now, he’d be by your side for more than your usual six hours of sleep, and you were thrilled, to say the least. Meeting him for real got your heart rushing and doing flips, you didn’t know what that initially meant; but now you were sure it had to be love. It felt strange to feel something as deep as love for someone you met minutes ago. Then again, Jaemin was more than a soulmate; he had basically been with you the entirety of your life, your love went higher than a mere soulmate bond. “So, what do we do now?”

Rosy cheeks, the angel was still not able to look at you after listening to your thoughts. He knew he had to stop doing that, but it wasn’t easy when they sounded so loud and tempting in his ears. “Can I kiss you? I’ve really wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you.”

A series of wild coughs took over you upon hearing Jaemin’s confession, your reaction only making him feel giddier than he already was. “I - sorry,” the attack in your throat gradually slowed down, “I’m just, Ive never had my first kiss before, I’m new to all of this.”

He scurried closer with cheeky eyes, the darkening daylight that managed to show through the tiny window in the room signaled that the sun was beginning to set, the basement now drowned in a vibrant, saturated mandarin shade. Your breath hitched instantly when he cupped your cheeks, his eyes fully sparkling with love and adoration for you, gaze traveling down your features until it landed on your lips. He wet his own unknowingly, slightly parting them as light, irregular puffs of breathes left him. Jaemin leaned in, closing the short gap that was once between the two of you until the same jolt of electricity from before warmly hit you.

His lips tasted sugary sweet, like he had been previously sucking at the nectar from the honeysuckles you loved to have in your dreams. Now, you were certain that there was indeed something sweeter than honesuckles. Not only did he taste sweet, he felt sweet too. His mouth moved against yours slowly, the rhythm at which you two kissed was a little bit sloppy, but neither of you cared about it; hands still gently holding your cheeks while your own found their preferred location, lightly grabbing at his shoulders. Jaemin pulled back, chest heaving with pants as he attempted to catch his breath, leaning in again after whispering lowly against your lips.

“Hadn’t had my first kiss either.”

“Na Jaemin, you’re supposed to be an angel from Heaven!”

The boy ignored your protests, keeping you trapped between his body and the wooden wall as he continued a fiery assault on your neck, lips trailing all the way down to your collarbones where he mercilessly sucked hard reds and purples at the delicate skin.

Months had quickly gone by after finding out the angel was your fated special someone, and time flew peacefully as your feelings for each other grew more and more at rapid lengths, if it was even possible to be any more infatuated than you already were. A lot of remarkable things had happened once Jaemin officially stepped into your life; you weren’t low-spirited anymore like you used to be, coming to terms with yourself that Jaemin was happiness itself, it was impossible to remain miserable with someone as bright as him around. Although your biggest dream had always been to visit the wonderful cities that you knew awaited outside your small town, you decided to stay here; often reminding you of the views you’d always encounter in your imagination whenever you met up with the angel, instead of your parents like you used to believe.

Christmas was the best holiday you had spent, drowning in all the love Jaemin cherished you with while his arms held you tightly to his body as you both cuddled in front of the warm fireplace, under large, fluffy blankets. Or, the softness of his lips that pressed against yours in utter passion after he had shamelessly placed random mistletoes all around the house as an excuse to kiss you all throughout winter. It was little things like that, that made you fall deeper for him. Spring was slowly coming to an end as summer prepared to engulf everybody in the heat of its shining sun and the hot temperatures that gradually became warmer every day. You couldn’t wait for the orangey sunsets that were soon to come so you could take Jaemin out to the small shops located along the river, accompanied by the relaxing sounds of the streaming fresh waters and forgotten 70’s songs that the old ladies from the stores never failed to play.

With time, you found out Jaemin was tremendously clingy and overwhelmingly sappy. For a while, he seemed absolutely pure, the tittle well deserved since he did belong to the vast heavens that he described as divinely glorious. You believed him, for his looks and personality where the exact same. Though, your perception of innocence that you had for him might’ve gone overboard, because even a harmless angel like him could sometimes overflow with a burning fire of love and want.

“Are you even allowed to do things like this?” You whined under his towering frame, refusing to let out any sounds of satisfaction. He was supposed to be a holy and saint being, yet here he was, licking and biting at your skin with no remorse. No matter how hard you tried to keep quiet, the shocks of pleasure that his naughty kisses sent throughout you entire body were inevitable and tough to neglect, when the feeling was so exquisite.

He was panting with need, wasting no time in taking off both your shirts as his hands instantly began roaming around your unconvered, warm skin, pulling you impossibly closer to him, “it’s fine.” His hands slowly moved up towards your flushed face, taking their own sweet time to run over your tummy and all the way up to your chest, which received special extra attention, until he eventually reached your cheeks and brought you into a rough kiss. Jaemin’s lips devoured you like there was no tomorrow, like he was a starved man, occasionally biting gingerly at your lower lip before lightly swiping his tongue across, engaging the wet muscles in a battle he would surely win. “Please, touch me.”

You pulled away shortly with ragged breaths, lips a cherry red and fully swollen from all the endless sucking he had inflicted on them. “Na Jaemin, are you sure this is right? I’ve never done anything dirty yet I swear I feel like I’m corrupting you so bad-”

“Stop swearing, it’s wrong.”

Jaw dropped in disbelief, you glanced up at the shirtless boy who still had you pressed against the wall with no way out, “I - you’re saying that while trying to get into my pants! I’m pretty sure swearing is the least of concerns here.”

“I’m not the one who’s thinking about sex all the time, you expect me to go through my day calmly when you’re thinking such naughty stuff?” Jaemin whined with a pout, running his fingers through his blonde locks in frustration before unexpectedly picking your flustered self up. He hurriedly carried you towards the bedroom, ignoring your loud screams demanding to put you down as he gently threw your body onto the soft mattress. “I’m literally a teenage boy, I have needs and your thoughts don’t help,” he kept complaining, “this is totally normal, it’s fine as long as it is with your soulmate, I promise. Now, please, woman.” The angel proceeded to leave a trail of feathery, wet kisses down your neck again, eyes landing on your bra straps before they locked with your gaze and wordlessly asked for permission.

Nodding slowly, you pulled Jaemin down and locked lips once again; though, this time it felt like all your unsaid emotions were pouring out into the desperate kiss, love being the biggest one swimming in the pools of several, different sentiments. He returned the kiss delicately as your hands slightly tugged at the little hairs that rested on the back of his neck, eliciting tiny moans and groans that rumbled in his hard chest. Breaths of pleasure that you swallowed escaped his mouth, the kiss progressively becoming messier and harsher as you allowed yourselves to get lost in the euphoric feeling of your bodies pressed close together, the warmth the radiated from your bare skin igniting a huge fire of arousal within the two of you.

“I love you. So much.” Jaemin pecked your lips one last time with a sincere smile, hands gliding over your shoulder blades as they unclasped your bra, gently sliding off the straps with eyes that twinkled with nothing but absolute love, lust and devotion. “I’m gonna take you higher than Heaven.”

“Jaemin! Don’t be rude!” Right then and there, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be; in the arms of your lover as he showed you a deeper intimacy than you had ever shared before. Despite all you had gone through, life gifted you with the greatest present, Na Jaemin. You didn’t have to dream anymore to feel at home, he brought it with himself.

A celestial angel, indeed. Life was no longer unbearable for you, it was the best thing ever; and you were ready to live it at its fullest.

[witchynade]

*** As Summer had just learned of Draco's secret from an early morning walk around the Forbidden Forest, she cringed back and cracked a dried branch that was on the ground. In a blink of an eye Draco, in his lycanthrope form, turned to her and faced a gigantic misty forest. Summer had had time to hide behind a huge oak tree and was holding her breath as she pressed both hands to her mouth. She wasn't breathing, thought of nothing for fear that her thoughts would be too loud too. She heard the footsteps of the young werewolf on the dead leaves that covered the ground, each step ringing in her like the buzz of a bell. The steps were slow, heavy, and approaching her with agonizing slowness. She was trying to think about how to find a way to get away but there were only a few options left, she was without a wand, with no weapon at all at hand and, she knew full well that running would be pointless, Draco would be too fast for her to escape. She stared into space, she didn't want to turn her head, she was afraid of seeing the wolf's protruding mouth. 

  Suddenly, she heard sniffles approaching accompanied by groans and groans, "He saw me" she thought, she really hoped he hadn't seen or heard her. The sniffles were ringing louder and then suddenly they stopped; she didn't have to turn her head anymore. She knew he was next to her, watching her, all she had to do now was run.She was running as fast as her body could, but it only took Draco a few seconds to catch up with her. He had grabbed her in his forearms and sunk his fangs into her shoulder, they hurtled down a slope and screamed. Summer struggled as best she could but the fangs in her shoulder kept her from pulling away, her fist hit the muzzle of her attacker who barked in pain. It was when they had finished hurtling down the winding descent that she was able to flee again in the direction of the school. As he continued to bark and hold his muzzle, Summer saw the sun slowly rising and lighting up the tops of the trees. The pain in Draco's arm echoed throughout his spine and went up to the back of his neck in a chilling shiver and prevented him from continuing his fight, the adrenaline that had allowed him to strike his victim began to wear off gradually, his pace turned into a feverish trot. After recovering to his senses, Draco was galloping at full speed in a huge uproar, the sound of his paws sounding like a herd of adult centaurs. Summer, in a last dodge attempt, had just caught her legs in a gnarled root sticking out of the ground. The rabid canine towered over her and with his left front paw crushed the head of the screaming student in terror. His long claws penetrated Summer's cheek, she could feel her warm blood blending with her tears that were running down her face. The pain Draco was exerting into her head grew more and more unbearable, the young woman no longer had the strength to defend herself, “Draco, stop!" She screamed, "HELP!" A green light had responded to her cries of distress just as Draco was about to sink his teeth into her head; instead he had just been thrown into the air and seemed unconscious when he hit the ground. Panting, Summer straightened up, looking around her. In front of her stood Professor Severus Snape, his face impassive. The sun slowly penetrated the forest until it reached them. Draco, still unconscious, was shaking, his body twisting and the coat covering him falling off in clumps. His figure visibly diminished until he returned to his human size. Severus, carrying Draco's scarlet body, ordered Summer to follow him to the hospital wing. *** It wasn't until the middle of the morning that Draco opened his eyes, he was lost, he did not recognize his usual dark dormitory; the place he was in was much brighter, it only took him a few seconds to realize that he was was in the infirmary. It had been his first night to start the cycle and even if Severus had warned him that the slayer potion greatly calmed his behavior he would still have blackouts, he felt there was no change compared to his other nights without treatments. He remembered his dream of the night, or rather his nightmare, which seemed strange to him because he knew full well that he never slept when he was transformed. Between the curtains that enclosed his bed, he saw Hufflepuff students pass, including Rory Kimmick with whom he had already had some trouble. "How are you feeling?" A male voice asked, "You know you scared us extremely! What attacked you? You have what? Rory asked-" "I'm sorry," replied a thin little voice, "Madame Pomfrey says my collarbone and my wrist are broken. " That voice Draco knew all too well; it was the voice of his former girlfriend. A knot formed in his stomach and his throat, he listened attentively to be sure not to make a mistake in her words. "Do you think your wound will leave you with a big scar? I hope your modeling career isn't going to fall apart!" Rory joked. "You're stupid," Summer chuckled, she sounded very tired and hurt, the way her voice sounded didn't sound normal to Draco. He could tell there was something wrong. Madam Pomfrey dismissed all visitors in a strict tone as usual, which left the large room in a heavy silence. Should he go see Summer? After all, he wasn't a visitor, he was in the hospital wing too, but his last interaction with his ex-girlfriend had been eventful. It was not a good time for him, several times he had thought of running away or even worse... The evil lord had given him a mission to assassinate Professor Dumbledore, a mission he could not fail for if he did then he would be killed. Shortly before school started, Fenrir had cursed him in order to punish Lucius Malfoy, his father, because he was not giving any effort to help the evil lord. All Draco wanted was to go away with Summer, but first he had to make sure she was okay. After checking that the way was clear, he tried to walk as quietly as possible to reach the bed opposite. In front of him sat Summer, staring into the void, the left part of her face covered with a thick bandage, behind it he could see her face was swollen. Her arm was wrapped in a sling and her entire collarbone was adorned with bandages that were starting to soak in blood. Summer, who had turned her head towards the young Slytherin, wore an expression indescribable by Draco; a mixture of fear, sadness of grief but also, he hoped, calm as she didn't blame him. He hesitated to go further into his cubicle, he hesitated even to open his mouth. Summer was the one that broke the silence: "Sit down, before Madam Pomfrey comes back." He settled down gently on the edge of the bed, head bowed, embarrassed. "Do you remember what happened this morning?" She asked "No," he whispered, shaking his head, "but I know it was me...," he looked up at her after a pause,"...who did this to you." "I was very lucky, Professor Snape was not far away! Why have you never told me you were…" she whispered now as she glanced around although the curtain around her bed hid them, a werewolf?" "It happened during the holidays." "I blame myself for pushing you away all this time...when you needed me. I got you-" "I would not have continued our relationship." He cut her off. "What? Why is that ? Are you afraid of hurting me?" "I don't have to be afraid anymore, I hurt you, that's a fact. Even with Snape's Wolfsbane potion, I'm still too dangerous for you to be around." She wanted him to hug her, but she knew it would hurt her.

***

Thank you @ramazikaa for the trad <3

Thank you Artbyreidschel for the art trade <3 

[omo-time]

Albedo centric kaebedo omo 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ as promised

Also I took some liberties, less warming options and the walk is longer. Also warming potions exist. And also albedo has a living space attached to his lab<3

Albedo fastens his odd coat buckle with a sigh. “You’re sure you want to escort me?” He asks the taller navy haired man in front of him, who was bundling the last of their supplies into a pack that he would carry up.

“Of course! It’s not that I don’t believe you can fend for yourself, but the mutation stones that’ve been popping up make even hilichurls a frightening foe.” Kaeya responds with a little humour in his voice.

He wasn’t wrong though, mutation stones were a total pain. They enhanced the strength of any enemy around them, making them almost impossible to defeat alone. Thus, Kaeya would not allow Albedo to make the journey up Dragonspine alone. Albedo took no offence in this, he would rather spend time with his dear Cavalry Captain anyway.

As they begun their ascent up the mountain, Albedo took a drink thermos from his pocket and drank some of the warm water that it was holding. Usually cold water was the obvious choice, but it was better for warming up the insides. He puts it back in his pocket and sighs, watching his warm breath condensate briefly in front of him.

Not long after, they approached the large frostbearing tree and immediately spotted the frostarm lawachurl that sat almost beside it. Unlike before, there was a strange and evil red aura that danced around it.

‘This is likely the effect of the mutation stones at work…’ Albedo thought, stopping in his tracks to figure out how to progress.

Kaeya followed suit, except he waved Albedo over in one direction. It dawned on the blond that Kaeya was suggesting they go around, which was a pretty good idea considering they would both likely die if they were spotted by the mutated enemy. Slowly, making sure to stay quiet, they made their way around the area and back to the path that lead further upwards. The pair had only just begun their walk and already ran into problems… this was going to be an interesting trip.

After a bit of time, Albedo found the cold wind was drying his mouth a fair bit. That was one thing that never changed, the stupid dry and cold mouth feel. To remedy that, the alchemist took another big sip of his warm water. As he felt the warmth travel through his system, he found that there was already a budding discomfort in his bladder. He really didn’t drink that much, but considering that he had drank way before preparing he couldn’t be totally surprised.

Continuing up, Albedo kept pace with Kaeya as best as he could. It was more difficult considering his need that had begun to weigh on him, and the fact that there was quite a bit of snow even on the path. However, there was something that did catch his eye. Kaeya’s movements were just a little bit off. Perhaps he was in the same situation, or maybe he was just cold? He didn’t want to pry though, he knew too well that was an embarrassing topic in general.

Once they had continued further along the path, Albedo was already beginning to fair badly. His bladder was actually fairly small, so he knew that if things kept up at this pace he would be full pretty soon. The upside, however, is that it wasn’t weak. It was still an unfavourable situation no matter how you look at it and he couldn’t help but wonder how Kaeya was fairing, the man not showing any other signs of need. Maybe he was just cold after all.

Eventually they had begun to approach a ruin brazier. Albedo watched as Kaeya’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, a decent source of warmth! Let’s go huddle beside it for a moment.” The taller one suggested, and the alchemist followed along. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fair standing still for more than a few seconds, but he would do his best to be as still as possible.

Upon Kaeya giving the mechanism a tap, the stone top spun up a little and an orange glow begun to pulse. He put his arms around Albedo for some extra warmth just like he planned to. However, when the shorter of them wrapped his arms back around Kaeya, pressing their bodies close, he began to tremble obviously. Standing in one spot never helps when desperate.

Kaeya glances down at him and raises an eyebrow. “My, are you really that cold? Maybe we should have brought extra layers…” he thinks out loud.

“Yes, ah..very cold…” the blond almost moans, feeling a pang of need hit him. As a result, one of his legs began to shake back and forth. Kaeya just attributed it all to a cold response, and Albedo was internally grateful. It would be extremely embarrassing if he were to catch on.

After a minute of warming up in front of the brazier, the two continued on side by side. Albedo couldn’t hold back his panting anymore, his lower half was starting to ache with need. ‘I’m here with Kaeya, and there’s no way I could just go in front of him. Unless… I could sneak off with an excuse, then maybe this could work.’

Albedo cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, Kaeya… there’s a plant a little down this way I- ghh.. wanted to pick up for an experiment, can you wait here?” he asked the other, failing to mask the desperation that had begun to seep into his voice.

The navy haired man stood in thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“That’s too dangerous, remember the mutation stones? I can’t let you go alone.” He replies strongly. Albedo swore he almost felt his soul leave his body.

“And drink this, it’ll keep you warmer from the cold stone area that’s ahead.” He continued, handing the blond a bottle with a warm orange liquid. A warming potion.

Drinking another liquid was the last thing he needed right now, but he knew that the cold could shut down his insides completely if he didn’t take it. So, hesitantly, he downed the bottle’s contents. Kaeya drank a bottle of his own as well.

Kaeya accompanied him off the path to where Albedo had spotted this plant, which was really a yellow leaved mint plant. It was nothing special, but what did Kaeya know about alchemy? Maybe it was important. Albedo crouched down slowly as to not jostle his aching bladder, pretending to pick at the leaves with interest. Nearby, Kaeya leaned against a tree with an ankle crossed over the other, looking a little uncomfortable. This was possibly the worst case scenario, no relief and a longer trip. Albedo stands up and pockets the random leaves as he thinks about this.

His thoughts are interrupted when Kaeya pushes him back a little, saying “a hilichurl group has spotted us, we need to get back to the path!” with urgency, clearly implying they were affected by the mutation.

However, the slight push was enough to send a jet of warmth across Albedo’s shorts, in turn causing him to gasp a little and grab himself out of panic to stop the sudden flow.

He thanked the archons that he wore such dark shorts. If he didn’t, he was sure Kaeya would have found out about his predicament. After he was sure his control was steady, he jogged back to the path with Kaeya behind him. As they began their walking pace again, Albedo couldn’t help but wince at the feeling of the now cold damp spot on his shorts. Even worse was it would surely begin to freeze soon with the temperature it was dropping to ahead.

The warming potion was both a blessing and a curse. He was glad he was able to go through the blizzard area without freezing to death, but it also greatly worsened the condition of his bladder. He was now utterly full and practically bursting, begging and pleading with his body internally to just keep holding on, as they were almost there.

His thoughts were interrupted once again by Kaeya’s voice.

“A-Albedo, I need you to stand right here and stay on guard for a moment. Please.” He said with urgency coating his words, taking off not far away almost immediately after.

“Wait, why-“ Albedo started, but was silenced by the sound of liquid hitting the snow and a surprisingly lewd moan of relief, as Kaeya had begun relieving himself behind a wide tree close by.

The sound was agonizing. The alchemist’s lower half practically screamed at him in reaction, and all he could do was rock his legs almost violently and cross and uncross his legs as he tried to block out the sounds of relief that couldn’t quite be his yet. While usually he would try his best to stifle any of his own noises, he couldn’t help but let a few soft desperate moans and groans. They were so close to the lab, he could hold it.

Yet, as the sound of Kaeya’s stream tapered off and the man emerged back to the path, a prominent hissing replaced the splashing sound. Albedo had gone completely still, and was helplessly and uncontrollably wetting himself. The black fabric of his shorts glistened and the alchemist let out a distressed gasp, followed by a moan of relief of his own.

The extreme warmth was such a good contrast against the cold climate, he almost wished he could stay like this forever. The relief was so good, and the heated air around him was so pleasant he forgot it was visible.

After the hissing died down and the beyond pleasant feeling of relief had subsided, realization hit him like a bus. He had just peed himself in front of the cavalry captain, the object of his affections. Upon this thought his cheeks and ears displayed a deep blush, becoming incredibly hot. He tried to take a few steps toward the lab before Kaeya could say anything, but he ended up stumbling as his legs were weakened greatly.

He was caught by the navy haired man, his arms providing him with enough support to stand properly.

“‘M sorry- I…” he managed to mumble an apology into Kaeya’s shoulder, finding that talking after such an embarrassing scene was a lot harder than usual.

“It was an accident, nothing to fret over. Hell, if I didn’t rush off I probably would have had one too.” Kaeya reassured him in a soothing tone of voice.

“Let’s wipe you down a bit before this all freezes to you. I’ll give you a proper washing when we arrive.” He continued.

Keeping an arm out for his boyfriend to use for support, he pulled out a decent sized cloth from the bag he had on his back. He knelt down and wiped off any excess liquid on the alchemist’s lower half with ease. Albedo almost wanted to cry in a mixture of shame but also relief, he was being treated so gently despite what had just happened.

Wrapping the now damp cloth in a larger one, Kaeya put everything back in his backpack and led Albedo to the lab. When they arrived, the blond immediately headed for his living space that was connected to the lab. He began to undress, peeling his long boots and socks off his body with an uncomfortable squelch. He cringed. Then he took off his shorts and boxers, cleaning himself off a bit before putting on a new pair.

Kaeya meanwhile had taken the larger cloth and dipped it in a stored container of warm water, wringing it out a bit before heading into the living space. Albedo sat on his bed, averting his gaze from the cavalry captain as much as possible. Kaeya knelt down once more and wiped off the exposed pale skin, earning a relaxed sigh from the other.

“I’m… I’m sorry you saw me do that…” Albedo apologized softly, looking down at his now cleaner legs. After Kaeya had tossed the cloth into the water to soak, he returned and sat beside the alchemist.

“Like I said before, it was just an accident. They happen to everyone, and it’s nothing to be mortified over. Especially with me.” He says in his soothing voice, laying down on the bed and pulling the other down with him.

“Let’s just relax for a bit before we do anything. I’ll stay here for a few days with you, I don’t have much to do back in the city anyway.” Kaeya suggested. In return, Albedo smiled a little and turned toward the man, cuddling into him.

“I can allow that.” He replies with a little of his own humour in his voice. Maybe things didn’t turn out so bad…