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royalydamned-archive · 2 years ago

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Second Chances

(Michael Demiurgos x Reader) - Part IV

<- Part III Part V ->

Summary: Angel in a human world, just like fish out of the water.

|AN|: "The next part is not gonna take months" lmao Barry shut the fuck up. At least we are moving a bit forward in plot, but I am not promising anything anymore with so many WIPs.

I wanted to include a bit more on here, but I don't know how I'm suddenly on 3.5k words and I don't want the parts to be too long. I do get a bit carried away, it seems like it's short and nothing really happened yet and suddenly we're past the 3k mark. Annoying.

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There was something confusingly comforting in watching you eat. Other times, he would have found it gross, the whole concept of hunger seemed too demeaning for an angel – how your body controlled you, dictated you, with your mind defenceless to its demands.

You, however, held no annoyance in such act. Quite the opposite, it seemed like many humans took great pleasure in eating and sharing it was a gesture of affection. They truly weren't that different to animals.

Slowly you slid you plate towards him across the table, encouraging look in you eyes. "Want some?"

Michael scrunched his nose and shook his head in response. "That's gross."

"You're gross," you scoffed and pulled the plate back to you. "Do you even like anything?"

"Like food?"

"Like in general." He rolled his eyes, but as he thought about it, maybe you were right. Spending so long trying to be better than Lucifer, to prove he could do what he did, and do it even better, he neglected his own life. He built it around his brother, around nothing but recognition. For millenia he tried to be better than others until he lost himself.

"I don't know," Michael admitted, and you could see the shift in his eyes – once again solemn, remembering what once was and how to possibly get it back. "I liked home."

"What was it like?"

"Clean, bright, peaceful...complete opposite of whatever this is," he gestured vaguely outside, rather no looking out of the window into the dirty crowded streets and questionable individuals roaming them.

"I think you get fond of it after some time." A small smile played on your lips as you watched a couple pass by with a small dog in their arms, clearly tired from the heat, carrying it to spare it's paws from the hot concrete. Michael followed your gaze, his eyes going right through the scene that caught your attention, instead focusing on a man loudly screaming into his phone.

"Will never understand your stupid optimism."

"The same way I will never understand your unnecessary negativity." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you only smiled, getting another bite from your food without breaking eye-contact.

"You're eating very slowly," he said after a beat of silence, dodging the topic. It was clearly you got him.

"Trying to enjoy it."

"Why? Food is served to do satisfy a human need and sooth hunger. There is nothing enjoyable about weakness." He was serious, yet from the amused expression your face beared, it seemed like you took it as a joke.

"Hunger is a weakness?" You laughed and popped a fry into your mouth. Sometimes you made him wonder how you kept your high spirits and straight up irritating attitude.

"Clearly." You raised your eyebrows, urging him to explain the reasoning behind his words. Of course he confused your simple human mind. "Anything that can kill you is a weakness, and it's pretty easy to starve to death."

"You look at everything from the wrong angle."

"I look at everything objectively. And that is a fact." Michael watched you as you stayed silent, for a moment thinking he had won the little exchange as you seemed loss of words, but for the short time he had the displeasure of knowing you, he remembered not to underestimate you. Well, not much at least.

After a few second, you leaned closer to him across the small table that was dividing you, disregarding his personal space, and yet, he found it not utterly uncomfortable. Michael didn't trust, not his family, not anyone, let alone a person he met just a few days ago, who could stab him in the back for a few bucks for coffee – in his mind, he kind of expected you to – but as much any closeness and human contact made his skin crawl, he found himself leaning in as well. You were an exception. Against his better judgment, he met you halfway, curiously awaiting whatever thought in that mind of yours.

Michael watched you intently, following your hand as it grabbed a fry off your plate, bringing it to his face. You poked his lips with it, silently urging him to open his mouth and he could do nothing but frown, holding your mischievous gaze with his unreadable one.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, neither of you pulled back into your half of the table.

"Feeding you," you stated the obvious and shrugged your shoulders.

"Why?"

"I want to poison you with human food." A smirk creeped up into your face. You decided to play his game, willing to pretend you were befriending something supernatural, something that just didn't understand or know better.

"Very funny."

"Jesus Michael, just eat the goddamn fry." He just rolled his eyes and took a hesitant bite, knowing you wouldn't let him be unless he complied.

"So? How is it?"

Oily, oversalted and fake, he thought to himself bitterly, but the words didn't make it out and he cursed himself for what he said instead. "Alright, I guess."

"You hate it," you concluded, seeing right past his lie and he only had to comfort himself in the fact he didn't try to be believable. Otherwise he would have fooled you.

"I do," he admitted and a short laugh accompanied it, surprising both you an himself.

"Well, you're so far the only person I know who dislikes fries, but then again, you are not like anyone I've ever known."

"Is that an insult?" With a chuckle, you sat back, leaving Michael still leaning in, almost chasing the closeness from before, yet not realizing he sort of...missed it.

"No, I like how weird you are." He wanted to say something in return, as defense or put of the habit that had grown between the two of you, but decided against it. For a moment he let himself believe that you did like him. Nobody else ever had, and when you admitted he convinced himself you meant it, because he knew how to spot a lie. It filled him with warmth he didn't mind.

After that, he quietly waited for you to finish your meal, strangely enjoying the way you spent your time together, but he was not ready to admit to himself he didn't mind you as much as any other human.

"If you don't like fries, what do you say we go for ice cream?" You asked him after you paid, nudging him with your shoulder as you were leaving.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You've just eaten." Michael saw you open your mouth, sure that another brilliant argument had appereaned in your head, and spoke first, not giving you the chance to react. "And I don't really have any cash."

"How do you pay for the apartment?"

"With my brother's card, he won't miss it."

"Michael!" you exclaimed and grabbed his elbow to stop him from walking away. He turned to you, frowning, like he didn't understand what upset you about it. "You can't steal from your brother!"

"Why not? He stole a lot of things from me." Michael couldn't return home, he had lost his wings, his dignity, his family. He had nothing – no one – and yet, somehow, he was the bad guy again. Like he had always been.

No one, except for you, he thought and quickly shut down the irritating little voice in his head, the one that liked the way you held his hand, the one that believed you when you said you liked him. The voice that wanted to believe he had a friend.

What was this dadforsaken place doing to him after just a couple of days?

"No," you said and shook your head. "I know he must have hurt you, and you probably don't have the best relationship–"

"I hate him," Michael interjected bitterly.

"Well, alright," you looked at the man in front of you, uncertainty in the way the narrowed your eyes, as if studying him. "But isn't that one more reason not to be like him? Be a better man?"

"No." You closed your eyes and sighed at his response. Maybe trying to calm down? Think of a better argument? He couldn't tell, human mannerisms always meant something else and who was he to try and understand?

"So you still want to depend on him?"

"I've never–!" The angel stopped himself. Maybe he had depended on him, in some sense. He needed him to ruin something once again to prove he was better, but that was long gone. Michael no longer had a greater purpose; he was no soldier, no angel, no son. Just another man – human man – pondering over his life, trying to find the reason he was there. Alive. "Just take it."

You watched him fish out the card from his pocket and he angrily trusted it into your hands. The frown on his face deepened when he saw you flash him a bright smile, maybe he hated you for being right. That fit him quite well.

"Don't worry Michael, we'll get you a job." His face turned sour as he heard you say it, but knew that it was inevitable. He couldn't return home and as much as he didn't want to, he had to blend in, get used to the miserable life earth offered.

"Can't wait," Michael answered sarcastically and slowed down his pace a bit, seeing you struggle to keep up. You seemed to notice, flashing him a grateful smile, but stayed quiet, almost knowing he wanted it to go unnoticed.

"Well, I guess we can skip the dessert then. I'll go talk to Liam, he said something about needing someone to replace Steph after she quit." You started rambling about work and Michael didn't hear a thing. All he could think of, was how much he had truly fallen. The humiliation of working, like he had never been a soldier of heaven, like he had never been an archangel at all. Just another cockroach crawling around, in mercy of the wealthier, the more powerful. Submit or die.

"Not sure I follow," he said, absently looking ahead.

"In short, we'll work together. Different shifts, of course, but still. We'll be colleagues." Michael didn't understand the excitement, maybe it was solely human thing. He might even learn to be the same, over time.

The thought almost made him shrug.

"I'd...like," he struggled out and stole a quick glance your way. "to work with you. More than the other girl, that's for sure."

"Oh please, Zoe grows on you."

"Hopefully not."

Michael saw you smirk and something similiar passed through his own features as well. Just for a second. No matter how he tried to hide it, you saw. Without a word, you grabbed his hand, and to his own surprise, he grasped it as soon as he felt the skin touching his, letting you drag him wherever you pleased.

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The pub was much emptier in the middle of the day, even more than late at night during business days. Most tables were empty, one of them was occupied with a single man, his face hidden in his elbow, clearly sleeping while a half drunk beer and a few empty shots laid by him on the table, it's wood drowned in spilled alcohol. He didn't seem to care about how wet his sleeve was from the liquor, just peacefully snored into his hand, which was the only sign that he was alive.

A bit closer to the entrance door, a pair of older men sat, ones Michael remembered from the night before. One of them, Harry if he remembered correctly, was pointing at something in the newspaper, ranting away with an irritated face, while his partner sat quietly, listening to him with a small smile playing on his lips. It made Michael wonder, how can one seem so happy with the other, while the only thing they shared in common seemed to be the bowl of chips in the middle of their table. It must be exhausting, being around someone so different all the time.

"You can sit behind the bar and I'd go find Liam, I'm sure he is somewhere in here." Before he could answer, you had gone somewhere into the back, leaving him standing by the entrance door. Thankfully, neither of the customers seemed to pay him any attention, so he sat down on one of the barstool, waiting for whatever comes next.

Back at home, he used to be convinced he was wasting his talents, that Dad was wasting his talents when he had made him to follow and submit, and not to rule. He was an archangel, a great warrior and smarter than any of his siblings could wish to be, they were the soldiers, they were meant to follow. He had been made to rule. Michael realized now, he might have been a bit less greedy, maybe that way he would still have been home, with his wings still a secure weight on his shoulders.

He was expendable. Not a son, just a figure on his father's chess board, one he could have replaced any time he wanted. And maybe he did want.

A strange pain bloomed in Michael's chest and he clenched his fists, nails digging into the skin of his palms, a poor attempt to distract himself from his thoughts. From the realization, that nobody had probably ever wanted him.

"I really dislike that sour expression on your pretty face." A voice came from next to him and he sighed.

"Hi Zoe."

"Hello handsome." Zoe hopped on the bar, sitting right beside Michael, a glass in one hand and a rag in the other as she quietly polished it while waiting for any reaction from the man next to her. For a while the only sound between them was the squeaking of the wet fabric against the smooth glass.

"I can hear you thinking," the angel said without a single glance at the woman's direction and she just laughed and jumped off the bar to put the glass to its place, almost dropping it at least three times.

"Just don't say it out loud, it'd be inappropriate." Zoe leaned over where he was sitting, inviting herself into his personal space and he straightened his back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. "Am I scaring you?"

"I'm not scared," Michael snapped back, annoyed. "I just don't like people that close to me."

"You're the first person ever who doesn't want me close to them," she winked and stood back, some of her long, dark red braids falling into her face and she brushed them away. "I like that about you."

"Very strange thing to like."

"I like strange things." Zoe shrugged her shoulders. "My cat has no fur, I have a pink fridge and my first tattoo was a dolphin with a cowboy hat and two revolvers."

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Michael interrupted, fearing he would have to sit through a very long and unnecessary story of her tattoo's meaning, and he could only stand so much social interaction in one day.

The woman sighed, her face suddenly serious, and weirdly, he liked it better laughing and obnoxiously loud. Her silence seemed more dangerous. "You have to understand, I wanted to seem friendly, a lot of people open up to me, especially men, and as much as I do like the whole thing you have going on there" she wiggled her index finger in front of his face. "don't blame me for being alert. You have a face of a millionare, but act like an awkward schoolboy."

"The face is, I'm afraid, a personal touch of my parents," he gave her a forced tight smile, obviously lingered with irony, and she rolled her eyes.

"So your parents happened to make the almost perfect Lucifer Morningstar?" Zoe's black eyes narrowed, her long pink nails tapping rhythmically against the wood surface of the bar, and not even knowing how or why, Michael found himself being interrogated by a woman who had gems stuck to her eyelids.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "That happens when people have twins."

"Lucifer is your brother?"

"That's literally the only plausible and logical explanation. What did you expect?" She just shrugged again, like it was no big deal. As careless as his brother and equally devious, she was that kind of person he wanted to avoid. That kind with whom he had lived with for too long.

"Something more exciting. Like identity theft, face reconstruction. Things worthy of a movie." Michael looked past her behind the bar where you had disappeared, hoping you'd come back any second. As much as he wanted to believe you, that he would eventually warm up to the particular friend of yours, none of it was happening and the angel doubted it would be anytime soon.

"Sorry to disappoint then."

Zoe stopped for a moment, just quietly looking at him, and Michael fought the urge to squirm in discomfort. Amanediel used to glare at him the same; for one reason or the other, she was better at it.

"Zoe, dear." The woman's head snapped towards the couple sitting not too far away, where the man whose name Michael didn't know yet waved with a bright smile. "Can we get one more beer, and a soda?"

Zoe showed him thumbs up and pushed herself off her place behind the bar, walking towards the tap handles and passing them without a single glance. Instead, she reached into a fridge and pulled out two cans, delivering them to the already waiting couple, who started engaging her in a conversation as soon as she approached them. She, however, didn't seem to mind and even sat down on one of the free chairs, fighting for a word with Harry as they debated something he had just found in the newspaper.

Not too long after, you finally emerged, behind you a short chubby man trailed, a cigarette in hand and pair of square glasses resting on the top of his head, strands of greying hair tangled into their frame. He scanned Michael up and down, frowning deep in thought, the crease between his eyebrows as deep as a gash, and the angel dodged his intense stare, looking at you in question instead.

"Michael, this is Liam, the owner. Liam, this is Michael he–"

"Wants a job," Liam interrupted, waving you off with his right hand without a single look. Like you were nothing but an annoying bug. As if he was not the same, as mortal, as insignificant. Michael held back a scowl. "Do you have any working experience?"

"No," he answered simply, slightly enjoying the annoyed expression on the short man's face.

"Then why should I hire you?" he snapped and took a long drag out of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Michael's face and he did everything he could not to flinch and cough.

"Your last one quit, didn't she?" Liam's face twisted and beside him, Michael caught a glimpse of your smirk. Almost proud.

"Nobody likes a smart-ass," the short man grumbled and stroked his stubbled chin. "You mean you never worked anywhere?"

"He helped with family business," you piped in quietly. "Travel agency."

"Travel agency," Liam repeated and snorted out an amused laugh, making Michael flinch as he almost sprayed him. He, however, ignored his disgusted face, like he seemed to ignore everyone at any time. "Fuck me."

"I served a long time in the army, didn't have time for career experience," the angel said suddenly, twisted delight spreading in his chest as he watched Liam's face slowly fall.

"It would be good to have some muscle around," he murmed to himself, eyes fallen onto the wooden floor and Michael knew he could no longer bear to hold his gaze. At least some of what he used to be wasn't truly lost. He still had the greatest weapon to use against humanity – their fear. "Where did you serve?"

"How is that relevant?"

"Fair. You're hired. You can start tomorrow at 4pm, but come to my office first, I want to discuss pay. And you," he abruptly turned towards you, his index finger almost poking your eyes out as Liam was closer than he had thought. "Show him the ropes. If you have any issues, figure it out. I don't want to know from you unless something is on fire, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, he threw the butt of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, and with a heavy step and loud breath, wobbled away. You and Michael watched in silence, until you couldn't even see his silhouette, and then turned to stare at each other for a few silent second.

"Do you remember when you called me a massive dick?"

"Vaguely," you responded with a ghost of a smile and Michael's right corner twitched slightly. "He rightfully took that place from you."

Taglist:

@chipster-21 @tea-effect @littlepeanut03 @spideysimpossiblegirl @flippittygibbitts @repostingmyfavs

#michael demiurgos x reader #michael demiurgos x you #michael demiurgos

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theomnicode · 2 years ago

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Chapter 170 inconsistencies and weirdness:

Garou and his absolute evil preaching hypocricy

Garou, I didn't take you for such a massive hypocrite. You're left off the hook here completely while you beat up heroes, cut off a guys's arm, caused massive property damage and almost destroyed the earth with Gamma ray but you also caused entire tectonic shifts. Who knows what that kind of stuff causes to Earth.

This dude needs a prosthetic arm because of you Garou and you're only being investigated for dine and dash? Man. One would think Garou did a whole lot more serious deeds than just dine and dash that he can't exactly apologize for. This cognitive dissonance is unbecoming.

The whole deal is also a reference to when he was in school and getting detention and his parents being called and conveniently word play in japanese kanji reads detention. But Garou's parents apparently did arrive when he was in school but here they do not.

2. Why in the world is there a pentagram?

It's not a sfx or an effect of any kind. It's just a reverse pentagram.

A reversed pentagram, with two points projecting upwards, is a symbol of evil and attracts sinister forces because it overturns the proper order of things and demonstrates the triumph of matter over spirit. It is the goat of lust attacking the heavens with its horns, a sign execrated by initiates."

Why is there a random reverse pentagram? :D

3. Misattribution of memory

Garou remembers nothing about the guy who decked him (does not even assume the identity), nothing about the powers he gained before and after monsterization and nothing about events that happened after Saitama came back in time to stop ominous future but then lists Blast as an opponent that he had fought after turning into a monster and lists them in the wrong order and being sure the guy could give him a good spar. Meanwhile, the does not remember Saitama, who he actually fought for a long duration. He also remembers fighting Bang and Bomb, despite being unconscious the whole time.

4. Bang's secret Informant

Bang should not have knowledge that Tareo was even a hostage in the first place, because Garou rescued him, then had to get him to fend on his own and then King found him.

The only hostage he would know would be Waganma. Even if Garou had told him, it seems strange to refer to Tareo as "hostage kid".

4. Tareo's new shirt

Tareo has had this same shirt for the entirety of the arc. Kiddo wore same shirt for 7 years straight.

Now the shirt design has the same letters, but it's just slightly bit differently designed. Seems extremely redundant when he still wears the same pants and same shoes.

Or a mistake in memory again. Might be a funny reference to that one time Murata drew the letters in wrong order. But that just makes it even more noticeable that it's different now.

5. Vaccineman kids

So why are these kids making a reference to vaccineman? Lord knows this guy ain't anime villain. He's mother earth's apostle. Fact that might be important.

6. Bang's miraculous de-aging

Metal knight was able to de-age you so your back no longer bothers you? While you got radiated so badly you collapsed mere moments later in the worse future? Dang. I want me some of that. He also never promised full-body maintenance, he was only going to provide a de-radiation for all the heroes.

Apparently he couldn't somehow make your facial wounds vanish in a week either huh? But he had a magic cure for age.

Wounds that are also inconsistent with the actual head wounds you got.

I think that head bandage should go on the top right instead of bottom left.

7. Sekingar in general

A very nice prosthetic hand that is doing fine motor functions in a week? That's insane. Human body would require extreme physiotherapy to operate any kind of prosthetics.

Also, you're far too eager to get Garou into the roster of heroes, the known hero hunter and someone who almost destroyed the planet with Gamma ray that you yourself saw. Saitama was dumped to C-rank because he needed to be evaluated on his heroism since he tested so poorly. You were not searching for strong heroes, but heroes with integrity to get the job done and Garou as you know him does not fit the bill, he's practically a villain to your knowledge.

Especially if you think he's as good as Bang.

8. Giant craters littering the ground.

For absolutely no reason. That we've never seen before. Metal Knight is thorough and efficient and he cleaned up after Boros well and he would not leave infastructure on the verge of collapsing when it was built atop giant craters that would destroy the roads.

Thoughts on the why here.

9. Bang does not have a television

Bang immediately knows who Garou is refering to, the body type and even what kind of food the actress apparently enjoys in the show and that it's different from what Garou knows her to be, while never having watched said show in it's newest format, something that gets confirmed by Garou on the next sentence. He doesn't even own a tv, his dojo is empty.

Garou also knows a lot about the Sentai rangers and is ready to go into an explanation to share his hobby, but does not remember the name of his favourite ranger.

10. Identity-less people milling about

Garou only sees faceless shadows when concerning his bullies. Other people walking around him are normal in Garou's view.

Closeup on people walking around them but only having a blank slate does not make sense when Garou's vision about other people is concerned.

11. Saitama's weird shirt design

Those pineapples look just a bit too much like a mix of octopuss and pineapple.

And a Mindbender from WoW. Honestly might be a video game reference because the first thought of mine was Ilios map from Overwatch lol.

Also something we saw in God's mural. Octopuss and pineapple. And a pot too.

12. Santorini island

The island was the site of one of the largest volcanic eruptions in recorded history: the Minoan eruption (sometimes called the Thera eruption), which occurred about 3,600 years ago at the height of the Minoan civilization.[4] The eruption left a large caldera surrounded by volcanic ash deposits hundreds of metres deep.

Feels like a reference to Gaia cannon and the fact that Garou made volcanoes spawn.

13. Saitama wears a hat

I've legit never seen Saitama wear a hat in any official source that is not random side artwork. Especially to protect his bald head from the sun.

He does not need protection from the sun. He IS the sun personified. He thrives in the sun and the more his bald head gleams in the sun, the better.

It's like someone affixed him with a hat, thinking his bald head would need protection from getting sunburnt, who does not actually know Saitama all that well.

Also, where did he get the money to buy new clothes, new gardening tools and why would he use those instead of actual clam rakes if they are looking for clams?

Are they looking for clams or for their apartment stuff or are they gardening in the sand? It seems extremely inefficient to use a small gardening tool to look for random stuff after a week from the sand. Genos can detect all sorts of things from underground like massive life forms, I see no reason why he wouldn't get a metal detector too and other stuff to help out.

That concludes the episode on chapter 170 discovery channel.

#opm #one punch man #opm spoilers #saitama #garou #bang #sekingar #vaccineman #hero association #tareo #opm manga panels #genos

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aestherians · 3 years ago

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Choice or Chance?: Exploring voluntarity and categorization in the otherkin and therian communities

Under the cut is the full script for my Othercon 2021 lecture, in which I examine the way we categorize nonhumans based on the perceived amount of choice they had in their identity and how this practice is detrimental to both questioning people and our community as a whole. At the end, I propose a new way to define otherkind and otherlinkers to hopefully move our community forward.

Reading time: 30-40 minutes.

The focus of this lecture has changed a bit since I started working on it. My earliest idea was to discuss the grey area between otherlinks and kintypes - in fact one of my working titles was Grey Zones and Silver Linings. And I still plan on talking about this, though not in the way you might expect. I originally wanted to argue that those who found themselves in this grey area should be able to choose how they wanted to refer to their identity, but the more research and thinking I did, the more I realized that this would still leave a bunch of people torn and confused and wouldn’t solve any of the greater problems in our community. It also seems like such a water-is-wet statement with how the conversation has developed… and you know me, I’m only happy when I’m starting controversies.

So I went looking for the root of this whole categorization debacle.

The nonhuman community, as we know it, didn’t always exist, and though we often say it has roots in elven communities from the ‘70s, that’s only half the truth. While the Elf Queen’s Daughters and related successors such as the Silver Elves are the earliest known organized nonhuman communities, they’re by far not the only pioneers.

Because nonhuman identifying people have always existed, and our numbers have always been relatively small, some of us ended up grouping together without even being aware of the other groups that existed. And of course, all these independently formed groups ended up with their own cultures and traditions and philosophies.

Mailing lists, like the Elfinkind Digest, were generally open for anyone to join and read. But they also weren’t widely known or easy to stumble upon for folks who didn’t already have an interest in these kinds of spirituality and identification. This resulted in a culture where people’s self-identification was generally respected, and they would only be questioned if they made extraordinary claims.

Compare this with the newsgroup Alt.Horror.Werewolves, which was open for anyone to access on Usenet, and which was originally created as just a place to discuss werewolf media. On AHWw, the therians (or ‘weres’ as it was back then) would frequently have to defend their existence against strangers who just found them by coincidence. This would lead to a culture more focused on appearing respectable, which in turn would lead to grilling of new members and shut-downs of “fluffy” topics.

Other independent groups, such as Alt.Fan.Dragons, which was centered around dragons, or Always Believe, which was centered around unicorns, had their own cultures as well. For example, AFD generally accepted dragons from modern fiction, which would not have been tolerated on AHWw.

The Silver Elves is another semi-independently evolved group of elves, fae and similar beings that still exists to this day. They only represent a fraction of our community, but for today’s discussions I find their writings very illustrative. They’ve written about choice of identity on multiple levels. For starters, they believe a lot of elven spirits have actively chosen to incarnate into human bodies. More provocatively, and more interesting to me, they’ve stated multiple times that simply wanting to be an elf means you are an elf.

This is in contrast to the therian community on AHWw, where there was a big focus on involuntary shifts and theorizing on why some people were born with and animal side. I think it’s reasonable to assume this focus on involuntary experiences is due to the werewolf narrative that the community stemmed from. In werewolf media, a person’s wolfish side is rarely, if ever, a choice, while in new age and spiritual communities, like that of the Silver Elves, there’s a greater emphasis on choice of spirituality and subsequently on choice of identity.

It wouldn’t be right to say that every therian back then shared the same idea; however, the idea that involuntary shifts are a core trait of therianthropy does seem to persist in the AHWw’s userbase. Nearly all introduction posts include a line about involuntary shifts. Another idea that repeats itself is that the therian either had a “sudden awakening” or “just always knew” they were animalistic; contrasted with the Silver Elves’ idea that simply wanting to be an elf is enough for you to be one.

There are two main ideas about origins that seem to persist in all of this: That one is either born nonhuman or becomes nonhuman. Both are equally true. The ‘born-this-way’-narrative is quite a bit more common than the ‘becoming’-narrative, though that’s not to say that the idea of becoming nonhuman is rare, or even all that controversial in most communities - with a few caveats, that is.

The idea that one can become nonhuman tends to rest on the idea that what we become is outside our control. On the more metaphysical side of things there are stories of people being spiritually transformed into an animal after encounters with an animal spirit, or of having a shard of a god put into them. And on the more mundane side, there are stories of imprinting on a species during early development, or of taking on the experiences of a character after being engrossed in a piece of media. Most people I’ve talked to don’t have a problem with these ideas of ‘becoming’ as something outside your control.

What really gets people’s goat is when someone describes specific choices they’ve made on their journey, which ultimately led to their nonhuman identity.

This finally leads to the theme of this lecture: The topic of choice itself and how we categorize others based on the perceived amount of choice or chance there’s been in the development of their identity.

Questions I’ll discuss include: What kind of choices do we have regarding our identities? What the heck does ‘choice’ even mean in this context? And how does the idea of choice (or lack of choice) affect the way our community functions?

There are many kinds of choices that we inarguably do make on our journey of self-discovery. Probably the first universal choice is to undertake the journey and to seek out a nonhuman community. Choices that naturally follow include choice of labeling - whether we want to call ourselves otherkin, therian, fictionkin, nonhuman, and so on - and the choice to accept or reject whatever feelings caused us to seek out a nonhuman community in the first place. In this line of thinking, being otherkin is a choice - you choose to label yourself as otherkin. However, the feelings, on which you base your decision to label yourself, are not a choice. The feelings that pushed you towards the community were already there.

Another choice that follows pretty naturally in this line of thinking is the choice to strengthen whatever connections you already have. This is something I’m intimately familiar with, as I’ve been doing it since I awakened as a bison. Before I even became aware of my species identity, I knew I was nonhuman. I’d been having simultaneous bison and gnoll feelings for a few years, but couldn’t separate them, and had, without much introspection, decided that I must be some weird kind of wolf. I think a lot of us with uncommon theriotypes have gone through a phase like that.

However, one day I experienced a very strong flashing image - basically a flashback - of being physically a bison. The vision was so vivid and tactile, I immediately knew what it meant, and for the next few weeks I ignored every experience that wasn’t quite bison in nature, and just examined the recognizably bovine feelings. This helped strengthen my bison identity, and in total my questioning process only took around 2 months.

Though I’ve settled in my identity as a bison, and I’m comfortable referring to myself as a bison, I never quit reinforcing it. While I didn’t create the original bison-like feelings, I’m very conscious of the fact that I do choose to connect every trait to my bisonhood that I can. Whether I see the traits as a cause of my current bisonhood, or a result of it, things like being stubborn, preferring physical fights over verbal ones, and even liking the taste of those Beanboozled jellybeans that are supposed to taste like grass… all these traits, that any human could have, are things I connect to my identity as a bison.

I’ve experienced some pushback towards this idea from a few therian communities. A very common rebuttal I’ve run into in introduction threads and grilling threads (which, introduction threads should never be grilling threads in my opinion, but that’s another story)… a very common rebuttal to considering these kinds of traits part of your nonhuman identity is: “Isn’t that just a regular human thing?”

I have so many problems with that question, I’m honestly not sure where to even begin. Yes, those traits are experienced by humans all the time. I think some of the only experiences in the community that regular humans don’t experience are, perhaps, species dysphoria and shifting. But if your identity began and ended with having dysphoria and experiencing shifts, it would hardly qualify as an identity. Treating an identity like just the sum of its parts, rather than a whole and complicated construct, is reductive and it doesn’t just hinder discussion, it stifles discussions.

I don’t know, maybe I’m the odd one here, but my whole nonhuman identity can not be encompassed by my horn dysphoria or the fact that I sometimes feel more like a prey animal than an apex predator. My identity is so much more than that. It’s how I view the world and how I view myself in relation to the world. It’s how I react to things, what I like and dislike, and what I want out of my life. When you envision an identity in this way, as a way to describe who you are, rather than a summary of every individual thing you experience, you absolutely will see some overlap with humans, like it or not.

Another reason I dislike the question “Aren’t those just human traits?” is that it’s often asked in communities where the consensus is that you were born nonhuman, and that your identity is somehow more real or ‘valid’ if it can be corroborated by childhood memories.

While looking back at your childhood and seeing how your current identity might have formed or changed throughout the years can help paint a picture of the identity as a whole, that kind of reminiscence should always be secondary to what you are currently experiencing. Your identity is not based on the fact that you played dog when you were a toddler. Pretty much every human child has played dog or been obsessed with cats or wished they were a dragon. It might be related to your current identity, but if those were your primary nonhuman experiences you would hardly consider yourself nonhuman, nor would you find a home in the community.

No, your identity is based on who and what you are right now, and what you’re experiencing this moment. The validity of your identity should not be judged based on the number of times you pretended to be that creature in kindergarten. Your kintype should be determined based on your current experiences. And if your current experiences include things that humans can also go through, that should have no impact on the validity of your identity.

Alright, back on topic: Hopefully, we can agree that there’s no shame in strengthening your connections, reinforcing what traits you already have, and in drawing connections between a nonhuman identity and seemingly human traits. Which is a nice segue into a statement that might ruffle a few feathers:

Linktypes are typically based on preexisting traits that are reinforced to fit a certain narrative or ideal. A copinglink or an otherlink is rarely if ever pulled out of thin air. You just can’t craft an identity from nothing. Yeah, crazy, I know?

This parallels otherkin identities, which, as I mentioned earlier, are based on preexisting experiences and connections that one chooses to give a name and to strengthen.

The process of becoming a linker usually starts with recognizing certain traits that one either wants, or already has but wants to reinforce, by focusing them through a linktype. For example, wanting to become better at handling stress can be difficult to accomplish on its own, but is made easier by thinking about what a specific character or animal would do in a stressful situation.

But you can’t just establish a connection to any given character. There needs to be a resonance between you and the linktype, and if you don’t already have that resonance with the character, it’s impossible for you to craft an identity around them. And in that sense you could easily argue that there is an involuntary aspect to linktypes.

Once the prospective linker has recognized a connection with a character, they will begin the process of reinforcing the identity, which can include anything from writing fanfics in 1st person to wearing clothes reminiscent of the character to asking people to treat you like the character. All things that an otherkin or fictionkind might do when first establishing their identity.

A key trait of linking is that a linktype should fade away once you stop reinforcing it… Linktypes are supposed to go away if you just ignore them and push them away long enough. They’re built to be temporary.

However, a significant number of linkers or former linkers have talked about their linktype becoming an inseparable part of how they view themselves - even the ones who might be able to force their linktype away would at this point become completely different people if they did so.

In other words, their linktype has become an inherent part of who they are as a person. This integrality can appear regardless of how much effort they put into creating the linktype in the first place, and regardless of how nonexistent the linktype was before they created it… What I’m getting at is that some people describe creating an identity from scratch by their own choice, which later becomes an irreversibly ingrained part of them. It’s an experience completely contrary to the idea that we are born nonhuman. I’ll refer to these people as ‘linkers-turned-kin’.

There are a few regular rebuttals I’ve seen to this idea: That linkers-turned-kin just had a late awakening. Or that, perhaps, they felt compelled by their inner true species to seek out the identity. Or even that they were actually born nonhuman, but just didn’t realize until later.

All these rebuttals are disrespectful of the linker-turned-kin’s experiences and intelligence. I won’t even try to hide it: They make me angry. The rebuttals ride on the idea that the born-this-way idea of nonhuman identities is a fact rather than a common belief. I know that for a lot of people the born-this-way narrative rings true. I see you and I am not trying to invalidate your beliefs. Instead, I want you to acknowledge that others may not have the same belief as you. For several people in our community otherkinity is an identity that develops in response to certain traits they have - for some, those traits are inherent, something they’re born with. For others they’re traits that developed later in life, or that were worked towards. And I want to argue that, for some, these traits were expressly chosen.

The reason these arguments against linker-turned-kin make me so angry, aside from the fact that they’re built on the idea that linkers-turned-kin don’t understand their own experiences, and the assumption that your idea of how nonhuman identities work trumps someone’s lived experience… Another reason the arguments make me so angry is that they prescribe more importance to the why than the how of our identity. When you define otherkin by the way our identity formed, you’re basically saying that the cause of otherkinity is more important than the experience of otherkinity.

We can’t talk about this without also exploring the community’s animosity towards psychological beliefs.

Through my years in the community, I feel like I’ve had to handhold some folks through the concept of religious tolerance. I remember a little over 4 years ago someone on tumblr asked me my opinion on fictionkind - it would be another 2 years before I had my own awakening, so my response was basically that I was fine with fictionkind, though I didn’t understand their experiences and the only way it could fit into my own worldview was as a psychological phenomenon. Even after my awakening, the latter still holds true. My fictionkinity is primarily psychological. But yeah, somehow my statement that I didn’t believe fictionkinity was caused by past lives got twisted into me saying that fictionkind were all just roleplayers.

Rereading the whole debacle that ensued, this twisting of my words had little to nothing to do with my own personal beliefs - it instead exposed a widespread antipathy towards psychological otherkin. When I have talked about my current experiences as a gnoll, my shifts and my flashbacks and my hiraeth, people generally accept it without a second thought. But when I mention that I believe it’s caused by various psychological phenomena, I have on multiple occasions been told that it must not be a real identity. Some people have even treated my parallel life as just an elaborate fantasy, rather than something that’s completely real to me. I have, word for word, been told that there’s no way I could identify as a nonhuman, or be another species than a human, without believing I have a nonhuman soul. A direct quote: “To say “I am fae” when [you] don’t believe in fae is illogical.”

What I take from these kinds of responses is that a subset of people within our community take it for granted that whatever beliefs someone has about the origin of their identity are objectively true, rather than understanding that our beliefs about our origins are just that: Beliefs. Whatever conclusion we’ve reached based on our experiences, reincarnation or imprinting or something else entirely, and no matter how much we believe in it, it will always be a belief and never a fact. I’m fully convinced that my bison identity is caused by a past life, and that my gnoll and Ben 10 identities are caused by various psychological phenomena. But if that doesn’t fit into someone else’s worldview, they have all the right in the world to explain it away however they want. I have friends who believe my bison identity must be caused by something psychological, and I have friends who believe my gnoll identity must be caused by something spiritual. That is their prerogative.

It doesn’t matter how people make sense of my nonhumanity, as long as they’re respectful towards my own experiences with my identity and don’t try to impose their beliefs on me. If you have to quietly believe that someone really has a faerie soul in order to accept that they’re really a fae, so be it. As long as you don’t try to deny the reality of their current identity. As long as you don’t try to claim that they aren’t really nonhuman, just because they have the quote-unquote “wrong” beliefs about their origin.

There is another, more recent and more prominent, example of the animosity towards psychological otherkin that comes to mind. I will not mention the term itself for fear of people harassing its creator. For the purpose of this lecture, I’ll refer to the concept as “nonhuman by birth”, which is essentially its meaning. If you know which word I’m talking about, I ask that you please don’t mention it in the chat. If you need to know, you can DM me. Also, don’t misunderstand this as me hating on people with past life or soul beliefs. Remember, my own bison identity is based on a soul from a past life.

So, last year a rather old community member on tumblr coined a term, separate from ‘otherkin’, to refer specifically to those who believe they have a nonhuman soul. Which wouldn’t be a problem in and of itself. After all, terms like animafidem and cerebrumalius have been around for half a decade with no issues. However, “nonhuman by birth” is specifically described in its coining post as a “less bastardized” alternative to the word ‘otherkin’. What this post describes as “less bastardized” is spiritual experiences, and specifically those spiritual experiences that are based on soul transfers and reincarnation. Essentially “nonhuman by birth” defines all other beliefs as bastardizations of what otherkinity is supposed to be. All beliefs, including spiritual beliefs that aren’t based on souls or past lives, psychological beliefs, beliefs of becoming nonhuman, beliefs based on magic, neurological beliefs, and archetypal beliefs… None of these are quote-unquote “true otherkin” according to the “nonhuman by birth” concept.

The word thankfully never gained much traction off tumblr, but I have seen individuals use it, and it always, without fail, makes me feel unwelcome, and unwanted. Not because there’s anything wrong with a strong belief in past lives or souls, but because those who choose to use that label specifically believe themselves to be the only true nonhumans. Because the term itself is not based on a respectful, individual belief, but on what its coiner believes to be an objective fact. Because this subset of our community has an almost-evangelical conviction that all nonhumans have nonhuman souls, and those who don’t have nonhuman souls are not nonhuman.

And like I mentioned earlier: The cause of otherkinity can affect the experience a lot. That’s why we have these discussions in the first place - we come together due to our similarities, and we try to understand each other and ourselves by discussing our differences. And this is exactly why proclaiming any version of nonhumanity as the One True Kind of Nonhumanity is so damaging. It completely stifles any exchange of ideas. It makes it impossible for us to understand our differences, and it leads to more and more narrowly defined subcommunities that all believe themselves to be more real than the others.

To define is to limit. We need some limitations, otherwise a dog is a cat and no words have meaning. But we need to be extremely careful where we want those limits to be, otherwise we end up with a community where psychological otherkin are bastards, and only those who are born with nonhuman souls are really nonhuman.

The next thing I want to discuss is subjective truth… Subjective truth is one of the most important concepts to understand and really internalize if we wanna have fruitful discussions and respectful experience sharing. In short, a subjective truth is something that is not real because it can be proven to exist through scientific measurements but is instead real because a person experiences it as real. If I make the claim that tea tastes better than coffee, for example, you cannot refute that simply because you think coffee tastes better. We have to understand each other’s experiences and accept that we experience the world in different ways. It’s equally true to say that coffee is better than tea and that tea is better than coffee. This is what I was talking about when I said that the “born-this-way”-narrative and the becoming-narrative are equally true.

So, how does subjective truth apply to this discussion?

A phenomenon in the community I’m sure we’re all aware of is kin memories. If you’re somehow not aware of them, in short they are images, episodes, sensory information, and similar experiences that are thought to stem from another life, usually a past life. They have all the qualia of a memory, except they didn’t happen to the body currently recalling them. These experiences, though, are not restricted to those who believe their nonhumanity stems from a past life. They aren’t even restricted to spiritual otherkin. Plenty of folks with psychological beliefs, mixed beliefs, and other beliefs report the exact same experience: Images, episodes, and sensory information that does not originate from this world or from this current life.

For decades there’s been a lexical gap in the community to describe these memories that aren’t memories. Which is where I can’t avoid tooting my own horn a bit. I have an extremely rich and detailed parallel life as a gnoll, from which I can quote-unquote “recall” events, people, traditions, names, and so much more. It’s all integral to my nonhuman identity.

However, because I believe it all stems from some deep unconscious part of my brain, and because it feels like a parallel life, not a past life, I never felt right calling these things memories. So almost two years ago at this point, I undertook the quest to fill that lexical gap. And after looking through dozens of obscure web pages and dictionaries and articles, I found something useful: The word ‘noema’. Noema is a rarely used Greek word that translates to concept, idea, perception, or thought. And I’ve been very happy to see the term catching on in my corner of the community, where it’s often used as a broader alternative to ‘memory’.

In philosophy, a noema is defined as “the perceived as it is perceived.” At first this might sound a bit vague or esoteric, but when looked at through the lens of subjective truth it suddenly starts to make sense. A subjective truth is something that’s real just because a person experiences it as real. A noema is the perceived as it is perceived. So when we’re using noema as a substitute for memory… when we’re discussing memory-like experiences in the community and we explicitly refer to them as noemata, instead of referring to them as memories, the actual cause of the noema is then irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that it’s in one way or another perceived as a memory. When talking about noemata, it’s completely and utterly irrelevant if they’re real in any objective way - the only thing that matters is that the individual experiences the noema as real. Essentially the word ‘noema’ makes the cause irrelevant, so we can instead focus on the experience alone.

And I think the fact that this word has caught on (at least on tumblr) hints that our community might be moving in a positive direction. I at least dream of a community where we care a lot less about our origins, and a lot more about our actual presence in the world.

I had a conversation with a friend a few months ago, about this community-wide worry about the origins of our identity. And just to reiterate, I’m not saying your spiritual beliefs are irrelevant, because they can be really important when forming a whole picture of your identity. I’m more so saying they can be a bit of a distraction. In my opinion, the whole discussion about spirituality vs psychology is a red herring. Most of us didn’t seek out the community because we had certain spiritual beliefs. We sought it out because we felt not-quite-human, and it was only later that we reached any conclusions about why we feel nonhuman.

So, my friend and I talked about the role this discussion of origins plays in our community, and we reached a few interesting conclusions. For starters, it’s really upsetting to some folks to have to earnestly consider the idea that reincarnated souls are no more real or ‘valid’ than psychological imprinting, or any other non-spiritual beliefs for that matter. That’s part of what started the whole ‘nonhuman by birth’ idea I mentioned earlier. And it seems this uncomfortableness stems from a place of insecurity.

At the risk of offending some folks, I’m gonna draw a parallel to the trans community. In the trans community there’s a discussion of origins that parallels the one in the kin community and is likewise an attempt to draw lines between the quote-unquote ‘real’ trans people and the so-called transtrenders - which are supposedly people who pretend to be trans for clout. Those who attempt to draw these lines proclaim that being trans is a medical condition that they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy, and one that’s marked by intense dysphoria and stress. They’ll also regularly state that being trans is only real or ‘valid’ because it has been proven through MRI brain scans that some female-assigned people have supposedly male brains, and vice versa.

(And just to make things clear, those brain scans are not real. It’s malicious pseudoscience spread by people who want to ‘cure’ transness by preventing trans kids from being born.)

But I think this attempt at validating your identity - in this case with science - stems from a dislike of one’s own traits, or more likely from the outside world’s dislike of those traits. When certain trans people try to prove themselves more valid than others in the eyes of the public, it’s not because they just hate those they deem ‘not trans enough’ - it’s because they’re afraid of being rejected by the rest of the world. These people are basically saying: “I didn’t choose to be trans. This is how I was born, so you have to accept it because it’s unchangeable.” It’s a cry for acceptance in an unaccepting world. And all this is not to say that some trans people aren’t born trans; I really think most trans people have a narrative like that. I’m more so trying to get across that, someone else’s narrative of choice should have no impact on your narrative of involuntarity. Both are real ways to experience being trans. And in many ways, having a narrative of choosing to be trans is necessary for the community, because it closes the doors for eugenicists who would try to eliminate quote-unquote “the trans gene”.

Viewing transness as a purely medical phenomenon where you need to meet certain requirements to get a trans diagnosis is a really reductive way to look at identity. Like I mentioned earlier: An identity is not just the sum of its parts, and it cannot be summarized by being forced to feel dysphoria. The fact of the matter is that we don’t know trans people are real because we have brain imaging technology, or even because certain people meet the medical criteria for having gender dysphoria. We know trans people are real because there are real people who identify as trans. We should be able to trust that people are trans when they tell us they are. And I think we need to look at nonhuman identities the same way.

Before I move on to the conclusion, I want to explain why this topic has become so important to me. A couple of months ago, after a good year or two of introspection, I realized I had created a hearttype. Not a kintype, but nonetheless an equally integral part of how I view myself and engage with the world. And changing something so fundamental about myself sent my thoughts racing.

When I was a kid I picked up a fear of spiders. It wasn’t bad enough to give me panic attacks, but it was bad enough that I couldn’t pick up a spider and carry it outside, even though I could do so with other bugs. I was around 10 years old when I decided that this was dumb, and I wanted to change it. So as a tween I quickly started on my own exposure therapy, looking at photos of spiders, reading about them, photographing them in nature, and after several years it had gotten to the point where I barely had a reaction to seeing them. But as I continued on, getting used to the idea of holding them and touching them, something changed in me.

Where I had previously felt fear, I started to feel admiration and love and a sense of familiarity. I wanted to surround myself with these animals, I wanted to work with them, and I started spending a not-insignificant amount of money on terrariums. And now, after more than a decade of rewriting my own thoughts and changing a mild fear into a love so deep it affects my sense of identity itself, I feel confident saying I created a hearttype. It was not an easy process. Like I said, it took more than a decade. Changing your entire mindset like that can’t be done with just a snap of your fingers. But evidently, some people are able to do it.

Though I have to add that, even here, it’s very easy to argue that there was some level of involuntarity. I already had an emotional response to spiders when I was scared of them. I don’t think I could form this kind of relationship with something I’m completely indifferent to, like, I dunno, a Toyota or a Marvel character. You can’t really form a relationship from nothing. And I appreciate this argument, because it really highlights just how confusing the entire concept of choice is, and how it doesn’t make sense to define ourselves by our lack of choice, when we can’t even define what counts as a choice.

But yeah, realizing that I created a hearttype, an identity that at the time was considered involuntary… realizing that I didn’t just play a part in creating this identity, but that I did create it, period. It sent my mind spinning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what else might be possible. If I could create such love in myself, could I also do the opposite and tear down my own hearttype and recreate the phobia? Not something I want to test. But I think I could. And which other identities could be created like this?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the creation process has no impact on the nature of the identity itself, and I ended up posting a really controversial thing on tumblr. In hindsight I understand why some people got so pissed off about it, but I still stand by those thoughts. I’ll read it to you in full: “Theoretically I probably could force myself to not be otherkin. But it would take a decade or more, the way my hearttype creation did, and it would require constant work throughout those years. However, I see no way I wouldbenefit from that work, the way I did when I unintentionally created a hearttype in the process of getting rid of a phobia. It would just rid me of a part of myself that’s intrinsic to how I recognize myself. That’s not something I in any way want - and because I don’t want it, and because the choice would have to happen continuously on a timescale I can barely comprehend, I couldn’t make that choice in practicality.”

A very long and very complicated discussion came out of this post that I’d need a whole separate lecture to recap. But a few important ideas were developed, which I need to mention here. For starters, when discussing shadowwork and the Jungian archetypes, Jasper accidentally coined the term ego alteration. Through that discussion we ended up defining ego alteration as the process by which you proactively alter your conscious mind, your self-perception, and your thought-patterns. It’s not something to be taken lightly, as you’ll essentially be changing your sense of self by it. And it’s also not something everyone has the ability, desire, or drive to do. To integrate something into your sense of self, or to remove something that’s currently a part of your sense of self is serious business, and, like my hearttype creation, is something that should be thought about on a decades long timescale. I don’t have time to get in-depth about it here, but to consciously change your identity and your sense of self is definitely possible for some folks, and it’s nice to have a name for the concept.

Something else that came of that discussion is my own thoughts about how we define otherkin. The most common definition I’ve seen is “to identify, wholly or partially, as something nonhuman on a nonphysical level, by no choice of your own.” … I suggest we drop the last bit.

Okay, it’s a bit more complicated than just deleting a few words. In order to drop the “by no choice of your own” bit, without losing the meaning of otherkinity completely, and letting kin for fun take over, we’d need to rethink that entire definition.

Instead of defining otherkin by the amount of choice we had in the formation of our identity, I suggest we define otherkin by how integral our identities are to us. It was briefly mentioned on in one of the other panels (though I forget which one), but a pretty big source of conflict is that kin for fun just don’t understand the gravity of otherkin identities. If we define otherkinity as something that’s inseparable from who we are as individuals, it would not only make it clear to kin for fun that this is, well, not for fun. It would also get around the problem of people who worry that their identities might be invalid because they’ve made certain choices.

Your otherkinity is inherent, and by that I mean you would be a fundamentally different person if not for your kintype. At its most basic level, your kintype is what you recognize yourself to be. It’s the kind you belong to, rather than, or in tandem with, belonging to humankind. You kintype is an intrinsic part of you, and even if you could get rid of it, it would fundamentally change who you are is a person. If you chose not to be otherkin, you would also choose not to be you. In that sense, I suppose otherkinity is involuntary, in that you yourself can’t choose not to be otherkin, because as soon as you make that choice, you aren’t you. Though you could also argue that it is a choice because you wake up every day and choose to be you. And thus, the topic of choice leaves us running around in circles like it always has.

Being otherkin… being otherkind has never been about being forced to feel species dysphoria. It’s about being of another kind. It’s about knowing and recognizing humankind, and accepting that, in one way or another, that does not describe us.

And all this is not to say that copinglinking shouldn’t be a concept, but we need to rethink that as well. From the very few copinglink writings that exist, one topic I’ve seen several times is the idea of copinglinks becoming inseparable from you. This is not the point of links, and those who do go through a change like that find themselves more at home in the kin community than the link community. I don’t want to impose myself on linkers, but if we want these two words to make sense and have a use, we need to redefine both. I suggest defining copinglinks and otherlinks by their lack of integrality or by their ability to be dropped when necessary.

The line that has been drawn between otherkin and copinglinkers doesn’t help anyone as it is. There are far too many nonhumans who straddle the line, who feel torn between either community, or who only call themselves linkers because they feel pressured to do so. There are far too many nonhumans who don’t feel like they have a community they can call home.

So, I’m gonna propose a new and much more inclusive definition: To be otherkin is to identify as something nonhuman on an inherent or integral level. There you go, clean and simple. No more caveats or nested sentences.

#otherkin #otherkind #fictionkin #fictionkind #alterhuman #othercon #i don't think this is gonna show in the tags so reblogs are very appreciated

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mythicamagic · 3 years ago

Note

Enemies to Lovers - Sesshoumaru is injured - "Lean on me" prompt

AN: Because there’s a lot of prompts to get through I probably should have/could have spent more time on this one due to the heavy subject matter buuut since in the anime Sesshoumaru only gets 11 episodes to recover from the loss of his arm, I don’t feel too guilty XD

Warning: body trauma

---

Inuyasha's wench had found him around an hour ago. Unlike Rin, she'd deliberated approaching for a few moments. Unsurprising. They were still foes after all. Crimson eyes remained burning, glaring listlessly at her face.

She'd seemed to silently decide something, determination steeling her expression. The yellow nekomata he vaguely recalled belonging to the slayer was her sole companion, who growled at him warningly not to try anything. As if he would.

The miko carried a large cumbersome bag, so he assumed she'd been headed somewhere before running into him within the forest.

Kagome cleaned his wound as best she could, before binding it to try and stop the excessive blood loss. She'd then approached with the beast, proceeding to kneel beside his bloody form. Sesshoumaru remained where he was, reclined against a tree and settled at its base.

Kagome winced, arm secured around his waist after having removed his armour.

"I can't just leave you like this. Lean on me. I'll take your weight enough to move you onto Kirara."

Sesshoumaru turned his head, gazing at nothing.

His lips moved, speaking too softly for her to hear.

"What?"

He repeated himself in a tight voice. "What is the point?"

Kagome stiffened against him. Her heart thudded quicker, fear brushing his senses.

Sesshoumaru allowed his hazy red eyes to dull into empty gold, staring right at the woman.

He could survive a missing arm. Had adjusted his fighting style enough to manage.

But the Killing Perfection could not survive the loss of a leg too. His body would save him from blood loss, but his spirit lay broken, irreparable.

Kagome swallowed loudly, resting a hand on his upper thigh. His leg ended below the knee.

"T-this… it's nothing for you," she mumbled quietly. "You're going to be okay. You'll find a way to walk again."

Sesshoumaru chuckled dryly, resting his head back against the trunk. "Why do you care, wench?" he flashed sharp teeth at her. "We are not allies. Leave me."

"I won't," Kagome moved closer, grabbing a handful of his hankimono. "Listen, I might not be your friend and you've tried to kill Inuyasha more than a few times, but…" her hand shook. "But you're the strongest person I've met. If you fall, then what hope do the rest of us have?" she questioned softly. "Despite myself, I admire people like you and Kikyo. Always so crazy strong."

Sesshoumaru scoffed, gripping her hard by the hair and forcing her head down to look at the stump of his right leg. "Do I look strong to you, miko?" he hissed in her ear.

Kagome braced her hands on his available leg, twisting in his grip to look at him.

Sesshoumaru stilled.

Unshed tears lay in her eyes.

"Yes," she muttered with conviction. "So long as you don't give up now."

Sesshoumaru stared. Inky black hair slowly fell limp around his fingers. He settled back against the tree.

Kagome straightened, winding an arm around his waist again. "At least come with me to find shelter. You can't stay like this out in the open."

Sesshoumaru remained dead weight. He did not see the point in trying.

He could not hope to recover from this.

Kagome tugged and heaved at his body, his mass much too big for her to hope to move.

She sighed with frustration, blowing air at her bangs. "I'll tell Inuyasha about this," she grumbled.

Sesshoumaru blinked, sliding his gaze back to her. "I would kill you before you managed to leave."

Kagome smiled a little, patting his shoulder. "That's better. You look a bit more like yourself when you're threatening someone."

He wanted to snap at her. To snarl and bite the soft looking skin of her neck, frighten her enough to leave.

He was tired. A part of him felt content to die after his pride lay in such shattered tiny pieces.

And yet…

And yet a part of him, instinctive, strong and indomitable, refused to lay down and perish. It appreciated her continued efforts.

The thought of him hobbling about so pathetically was almost too much to bear, but Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, realising very wretchedly that this meant he did not in fact wish to die.

"We can do this," Kagome was muttering, trying to angle him enough to lay on Kirara, who pressed in close, offering assistance.

Sesshoumaru stifled a sigh, making a silent choice. He begrudgingly leaned against her, shifting his remaining leg beneath him.

Kagome gasped, "that's it!" she encouraged, helping him into a crouching position before he fell forward onto the beast. Kagome adjusted his leg, ensuring he was steady, before nodding for Kirara to stand.

Sesshoumaru did not pay attention to their surroundings, the forest passing in a blur.

If he'd just been quicker, the bull demon who had humiliated him would have perished sooner. The beast had produced a second weapon out of thin air, axe cleaving through muscle and bone. All he could do was pull back- lest he lose his entire lower half.

He felt no pain. Surprisingly, everything remained numb. His flesh was cold and clammy, and he lay as if outside of his own body.

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, lapsing into unconsciousness.

---

The scent of rain stirred his senses.

Sesshoumaru turned his head, finding himself laying down upon a strange futon that resembled a squashed cocoon. The nekomata lay behind him, keeping him warm.

Sesshoumaru blinked. The miko had found them shelter. He soon located her sitting at the mouth of the cave, looking out at the rain while a fire lay in the centre of the cool space.

When she noticed he’d regained consciousness, Kagome rose and offered some water from her strange water container.

She’d changed clothes, donning more unusual clothing Sesshoumaru was unfamiliar with. Her pants clung to her form distractingly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, hovering close.

He tsked, passing back the water after taking a swig. “Like I have one leg and one arm. How do you think I am feeling, mortal?”

She winced, “shitty.”

“Indeed,” Sesshoumaru lay back down, staring at the cave ceiling soberly.

“Do you want something to eat?” a crunchy noise rustled from her pocket as the woman produced a rectangular bar of some kind.

He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice, eyeing a picture of the food on its strange packaging. “What is it?”

“A peanut butter and chocolate energy bar,” Kagome winced. “Look I don’t know how to hunt-” he scoffed, “-so this is the best I’ve got. Sorry, your Highness.”

Sesshoumaru sneered, “you may keep it. I do not eat human food. Least of all bizarre creations such as that.”

“Fine but it's your loss.”

His expression became blank, noticing her wince and start apologising for the wording. He wasn’t listening anymore though. The initial shock was beginning to wear off, and now he was more than painfully aware of the shooting pains running up and down the remainder of his leg, from stump to upper thigh. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, refusing to show his discomfort.

“...You’ve used a human arm before,” Kagome said carefully, sitting beside him and crossing her legs. “And what looked like a dragon one. By that logic, you could attach a demon leg to yours, right?”

Sesshoumaru slid his gaze to her, silently thankful for the distraction. The coming agony would be something he’d already dealt with due to the loss of his arm. Phantom limb pain was a real bitch.

“Yes,” he managed, before taking a steadying breath. He managed to arrange his features into something smirking and lofty. “Are you implying you will fetch me a new limb, little miko? How very generous.”

Kagome’s eyes turned flat. “I’m not about to go out and lop off some poor demon’s foot just to help you. But...if…” she said slowly, “if I’m attacked- which happens often because of the jewel shards- maybe I’d…”

Sesshoumaru dropped his smug expression, frowning softly.

The rain continued to pour, pelting the ground hard. It was a sobering reminder that if she’d left him to the mercy of the elements, he’d be in a much worse state.

He ran careful attention over her features. “Why?”

Kagome’s deep blue eyes held his probing stare, not a flicker of deceit in them. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, “things can’t go back to normal for you right away- or at least, they shouldn’t. You should take the time to recover. I don’t know how the hell you managed to come after us so quickly after losing your arm. It likely wasn’t healthy for you.”

He arched a brow. Repressing every single fibre of the experience and any feelings about the fate that had befallen his left arm had worked wonders for his recovery. Granted it made sleep difficult at times, but none had ever had the audacity to lecture him about his decisions before.

“But- I also don’t want you to be vulnerable to attacks or starvation,” Kagome kept rambling. “Giving you a leg won’t solve everything but it’ll help- ah, are you burning up?” she noticed a bead of sweat roll down his temple, reaching out automatically.

Sesshoumaru snatched it mid-air, pushing up with a burst of speed and yanking Kagome down, simultaneously rolling atop her. Her back hit the ground, punctuated with a squeak from her startled lips.

Silver hair hung down, creating a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world. Those blue eyes widened, breath hitching. Their lower halves pressed intimately together, stomachs meeting as Sesshoumaru leaned closer, using his hand to brace his weight above her. A fire burned within the back of his throat, ancient, tattered pride stinging. He found that he resented her slightly. Resented her for seeing him so weak. It hadn’t mattered when Rin had found him wounded. A battered child had no relation to him. But this girl, Kagome- was an enemy. She should not have seen him thus.

“Do I seem so very vulnerable to you?” he asked in a hushed voice, mouth inches from hers. The fire crackled, rain pouring. Her breathing sounded a touch quicker, heartbeat loud in his ears. Drumming.

Against all logic, he felt her body relax beneath his. She even smiled a little, “no,” she muttered.

“Is something amusing?”

“I’m just glad you proved me wrong. I’d rather you kept acting like a jerk than look so...defeated like you did earlier,” Kagome gave a nervous giggle, gesturing between them, “uh...if you could let me up now though that would be great.”

She tried to rise, but he let more of his weight sink down upon her soft, warm body. “No, I do not think I will.”

Kagome gasped, drawing a knee up and inadvertently opening her legs, allowing him to fit snugly against her. If he hadn’t lost a limb several hours earlier that same day and wasn’t experiencing agonising, blinding pain, Sesshoumaru had to say, the feeling was enough to make him...consider something previously thought impossible between himself and humans.

As it was, he hissed a breath through grit teeth, the stump licking phantom flames of blazing fire around the wound.

“Sesshoumaru? Sesshoumaru!”

He shuddered, trying to prevent himself from crushing her beneath his weight, arm shaking.

It hurt. It suddenly hurt like hell- and nothing was working. No distraction could take him from the blistering, lonely, maddening sensation that holy fuck his leg was missing. He wanted to do something as meaningless as wriggle his toes and he could not-

Suddenly, her arms were around him. Pleasant fresh scents assaulted his fractured senses, citrusy and clean. Kagome pulled him down while rolling herself, flipping their positions.

“I don’t have anything for the pain,” her voice strained apologetically. She quickly moved off him, but Sesshoumaru wasn’t paying attention anymore. He panted, temples pounding. His body shook, pain shooting through the nerve endings in the remainder of his leg.

Something cold and wet lay over his marked forehead. Cracking the burning suns of pained golden eyes open, he watched Kagome adjust the cold compress, before checking his leg.

“You heal quick, but you need new bandages. M-maybe that’ll help until I can go home for painkillers,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and digging through it.

Sesshoumaru panted softly, seizing the fretting miko’s wrist.

“Your...scent,” he grunted.

“What?”

If he were sober he’d never request something so undignified, but Sesshoumaru kept talking, somewhat delirious now that all sense of shock had worn off. “Come here...again. I want your scent.”

Kagome’s shocked features were lost to him as the Daiyoukai hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

The scent of citrus returned after a moment. Soft, curling locks of dark hair brushed his nose as Kagome gingerly embraced him.

Sesshoumaru wrapped an arm around her shoulders, burying his face into the black fall of citrus-scented strands. He lost himself to instinct, gripping onto the stable, pleasant sensations that took the form of Inuyasha’s wench. She let out a tense breath but soon relaxed against him, verbally assuring Kirara when the nekomata growled.

For the second time that day, Sesshoumaru unwillingly lost the battle for consciousness.

----

She was gone by the time he awoke in the morning, but the nekomata remained. She growled and hissed softly whenever he looked at the beast for longer than necessary. Kagome left a note, explaining that she’d be back soon.

Sesshoumaru had little to do except wait. The pain had become a continuous throb, which was easier to deal with but equally as irritating, exhausting him.

When Kagome returned several hours later, she produced wrapped pieces of cooked chicken from her bag, cheerfully explaining that she’d returned home. Sesshoumaru turned his nose up slightly at the food.

“I would have preferred the bird...raw.”

“Wait like freshly dead?”

“Alive, favourably.”

Kagome gaped, leaving the lunchbox with him. “That's terrible!”

Sesshoumaru stared at her flatly, opening his mouth and drawing out his tongue, transforming his features into something more monstrous and canine while placing the food into his mouth and eating it in one quick snap of his jaws. “Demon,” he muttered pointedly.

She rolled her eyes and let him finish his meal in peace.

---

They fell into an odd routine of planned visits for several days, talking about the strange things she brought back from home. He came to learn she was from the Future, of all places. They discussed its advanced technologies while she bandaged his leg.

He suspected the miko felt some sense of responsibility for him now. The thought set his teeth on edge, mildly humiliated.

When he brought up the subject of his vassal, ward and steed, Kagome shrugged and told him they’d been accepted into Inuyasha’s group for the time being. They worried about his continued absence and Inuyasha complained about having to share a space with Jaken, but bared with it. Not one person knew about his situation except Kagome, for which he was thankful.

By the end of five days though, Sesshoumaru needed to move. He began by pulling himself along the ground via his hand and knee, which proved awkward but not impossible. Next came standing, which- after many failed attempts- he finally managed to do, gripping onto the cave wall.

Walking was impossible, of course. And by the time Sesshoumaru realised the very sobering truth that he’d have to hop everywhere the rest of his life or walk with the use of a cane or crutch unless he could grab a demon leg- he wondered why he’d bothered moving at all.

“You’re standing!”

Dulled golden eyes slid to the miko, who stood at the mouth of the cave. In her arms was a large sack faintly marred with blood, and he could tell from the wrinkle of her nose exactly what it was. Surprise slammed into his gut.

“Miko-”

Kagome set the bundle down, hurrying over and steadying him when he tipped too much to one side. “Are you alright? You should be resting-”

“Give me the leg, miko.”

Kagome fell silent, eyeing his stump. He’d stopped needing bandages two days ago. She didn’t protest, merely looking at him carefully. “Are you sure?”

Sesshoumaru leaned against her, allowing her to help ease him down into a sitting position. He briefly touched her cheek, gliding a thumb there and watching it redden. His heart thudded with gladness. “I am sure.”

She nodded, soon bringing the bloodied sack over. She explained that he’d gotten lucky, as while the first two demons they’d faced in a group of three had been too large and bulky to fit his build, the third had been smaller. Inuyasha had been extremely disturbed and suspicious when she’d asked him to hack their leg off once all three were dead.

“It’s not been easy, avoiding his questions, you know. He’s tried to follow me here more than once. I managed to convince him that this leg was for my weird Grandpa.”

Sesshoumaru blinked, finding himself watching her instead of studying the leg as it was revealed to him. The miko had been astronomically helpful and considerate in all the ways one could to a demon lord. His chest felt strange. Warm, upon realising the extent of her actions for his sake.

“Well, do you like it?”

Sesshoumaru jolted, focusing on the red-scaled leg laying before him. From its scent, he knew it to be from a lizard demon. Not his first choice, but this was no time to be picky. Sesshoumaru grabbed it and pressed the severed end to his stump after aligning it. He didn’t so much as flinch as muscle and bone wove together, the process over in seconds. Kagome gaped with amazement.

When he moved to stand, she quickly assisted, pulling him to his feet. Sesshoumaru took a step and staggered, looking downwards.

Ah.

Kagome’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh. Oh no...it's too short isn’t it?”

The height was off by a few inches.

He made to reply- before stiffening, scenting salt. “Why are you crying about it, foolish woman?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she waved it off, some tears escaping down her cheeks before she roughly brushed them away. “I just wanted it to be perfect but now you’re kind of...tilted.”

Despite the situation, a smile tugged at his mouth. A noise bubbled up from the back of his throat, escaping as a quiet laugh.

Kagome froze, tears clinging to her lashes.

“It is fine, miko. More than...fine.”

Sesshoumaru held onto the wall for support, feeling the bite of putting weight onto the leg, his stump flaring. It would take time for his body to adjust. Despite this, his warrior heart filled with purpose again, powers working to heal him. Just having the ability to walk after having it stolen away renewed his spirits.

Kagome watched him with a smile, occasionally offering aid but largely keeping her hands off. He could sense various soft emotions rolling off her in waves. Admiration, relief and something else. Something he could not name. It remained untouched and unnamed long after he left the cave behind one afternoon.

He had no writing utensils to leave a note, instead carefully tearing out a segment of his sleeve, leaving the red and white flower symbol of his family crest for her to find.

---

Kagome panted hard, catching her breath and folding down into a crouch, gripping her bow tight.

“Are you alright, Kagome?” Rin asked, closely followed by Shippo as they approached from Ah-Un, having kept away from the random attack on the village. Thankfully the hoard of boar demons had finally been dealt with, but Kagome’s nerves were shot to hell after racing around so much, trying to protect villagers.

“I-I’m fine, guys, thanks,” she smiled, looking between them both. The orphans had bonded quickly, and she felt a surge of warmth, happy they had a companion their age to talk with. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen Sesshoumaru since his disappearance, and while she loved having Rin around, it did make her worry. Sesshoumaru always returned to his group. Where had he run off too?

Maybe he went to find a better leg, she thought, taking the children’s hands and walking towards Miroku- who was helping up an old man from where he’d fallen. Perhaps he needed time to get used to walking on what’s essentially a prosthetic.

For humans- such a thing took up to one year. Demons really are something else.

Kagome’s lips curved, picturing the burning, determined gaze of the Daiyoukai.

Or rather, Sesshoumaru is something else.

“Kagome, look out!” Miroku yelled.

Jerking, Kagome sensed a lone boar youkai barrelling towards her through the forest, knocking trees aside. It was quicker than anticipated- and despite Kagome grabbing the children and trying to run out of its way, it charged straight for her, grunting, throwing its head wildly.

People were screaming her name, but they were too far away. Kagome twisted her body, pushing the kids aside and in order for her to take the brunt of the hit-

Red light exploded to life, consuming the boar demon before it could reach them. Hide and blood were caught up in the attack, leaving Kagome mercifully free from the boar's flying carnage.

She panted, shaking a little and gazing at the steaming remains of the demon. A pale figure floated to the ground, landing elegantly.

“Lord Sesshoumaru!” Rin cried happily.

“Lord Sesshoumaru?!” Jaken’s distant yell could be heard.

Kagome straightened, heart doing a funny thing in her chest. She immediately looked at his leg- finding him clad in white hakama pants and black boots. The same as always.

Blue eyes widened. He appeared completely unchanged. Somehow, he must’ve found an inhuman demon and took their leg so that he could masquerade as his usual self.

His tiny group circled around him joyously, while Kagome’s friends gathered together a little ways away. Inuyasha’s ears pinned back to his head with displeasure.

Jaken hopped up and down. “Where have you BEEN, mi lord!”

“Nowhere."

“Tch, bastard,” grumbling, Inuyasha raised his voice a touch. “Hey- you could at least thank us for babysitting your damn group while you were probably out doing power-hungry shit.”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze slid over the Hanyou dismissively, stopping on Kagome. Her breathing hitched.

“I am not here to thank you, Inuyasha.”

Kagome remained frozen as a shadow fell over her face, his head of silver hair blocking out the sun. Golden eyes replaced the burning circle in the sky, blazing and intent. Slit pupils pinned her in place.

She was vaguely aware of her friends exclaiming in surprise and alarm, thinking he meant to harm her. The sound of Inuyasha drawing his sword was enough to make her mutter ‘sit boy’ absentmindedly, paying no attention to his subsequent impact with the ground.

Sesshoumaru raised a hand, resting pale knuckles against her cheek in a slow drag down to her jaw, skin cool, clashing against her warmth. White lashes lowered, becoming half-mast.

“You’re okay?” she breathed.

“Hn, I merely needed some time,” Sesshoumaru’s low rumble melted her insides.

She cleared her throat, cheeks tinging red because of his proximity, his dark youki brushing her senses, his touch- his everything. Reaching into her pocket, she produced the segment of his clothing, the pattern of his clan. “Did you want this back-?”

“Keep it,” he closed her fingers over it, catching her eye. “You have my loyalty for what you have done for this one, miko. Keep it,” he said softer.

Kagome nodded slowly, opening her mouth to ask more-

Firm lips slanted over her own. Stiffening, she became deaf to her friend’s even louder exclamations of surprise, Miroku quietly voicing his awe, impressed.

The miko inhaled sharply through her nose, feeling Sesshoumaru’s mouth move, brushing against her own in several lingering kisses. Blushing, it took a moment for Kagome to get over her stupefaction. But then she pressed a little closer, kissing him back perhaps a little nonsensically. But it felt right. Her toes curled at the feel of him.

A low groan rumbled in his throat and his lips softened against hers, mouth parting to brush his sinuous tongue against hers.

Kagome shivered and wondered if he could hear how her heart hammered in her chest. His palm felt steady upon her back, arm encircling her waist. When they finally pulled away, their lips lingered close.

“What...what was that?” she breathed, cheeks flushed.

Sesshoumaru’s lips quirked, “that was this Sesshoumaru conveying my deep sense of gratitude, miko.”

“Funny way of thanking someone, but I’ll take it,” Kagome’s eyes glittered. She could think about the consequences of such an action later. For now, she was content to hold his gaze and keep his secret safe- for however long the prideful Daiyoukai needed.

#sesskag #sesshoumaru x kagome #sesshoumaru #kagome higurashi #sesskag fanfiction #enemies to lovers vibes

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jingyismom · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men.

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock.

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze.

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes.

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right.

#my fic #mdzsnet #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed fanfic #imported from twitter and unedited #just thought i'd share here because the concept of lwj experiencing harassment during sunshot is...too real now that i've thought of it #idk this isn't a complete thing with a plot it's just #something that could have happened #easily i think #maybe some day i'll formalize this and use it for the lead up to yllz smut?

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plaidbooks · 3 years ago

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Dark Secrets: Secrets Exposed

A/N: Here’s chapter two of vampire!Sonny, and boy oh boy is it a doozy. I have another one planned, but it won’t be for the bingo. Also, the reason this is jumping around so much is because it’s an arc; Karen and I can come back at any time and fill in gaps with short chapters/drabbles.

Anyways, this covers the Monster square in @adarafaelbarba moodboard bingo!

Tags: smut, rough p in v sex, blood (is it blood play if he drinks it?), biting kink, marking/bruising skin, squirting

Words: 3105

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

Three months. They were the longest three months of your life. Sonny never contacted you, and you worried about him every day. Was he compromised? Hurt? Dead? You had no way of knowing, and it kept you up at night. He had to be okay, right? You’d feel if he was hurt, you knew it in your heart.

You were also upset with yourself; the last conversation you had with him was…hard. Why didn’t you just wait a day, tell him how much you loved him instead? And now, what if it was too late to tell him?

There was a knock at your door, and you braced yourself for the worst. But when you opened it to find Sonny standing there, a sheepish smile on his face, you felt such relief that you cried out before launching against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much! I’m so happy you’re okay,” you exclaimed, pulling him to you in a deep kiss.

He kissed you back just as fiercely, walking you backwards into your place. “I’ve missed you,” he muttered against your lips before kissing you again.

You wrapped a leg around his waist, scratching at his back, and he groaned. You needed him, now more than ever. You wanted him so desperately. But still, he hesitated.

“W—wait a moment, doll,” he said, panting. You gently released him, looking up into his face. His eyes were blown with lust, a mirror to your own. “We need to talk.”

You gave him a sultry smile, leaning against him. “It can wait,” you replied before kissing his neck.

Sonny groaned again, melting under your mouth as you continued to kiss and suck his neck. “N—no; stop, please.” You stopped your assault, leaning back to look at him. “It can’t wait, I’m sorry, doll.”

You moved to sit on your couch, and Sonny stood in front of you, determined to stay slightly away from you. “What is it, Sonny?”

“First of all, what I’m about to tell you is illegal; we’ll have to fill out all the paperwork later. Second, I’m going to talk, and I want you to listen; it’s a lot of information to get through,” he said.

You weren’t sure what to make of his demeanor “Is everything okay? You’re scaring me, babe.”

“It will be, just…just listen.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I lied about the UC; I wasn’t undercover the past three months.”

“What?!” you yelled in confusion; why did he lie? What was he hiding?”

“Please, let me explain; I spent the past three months in a cabin upstate, alone. I…I wanted to sit and really think about our relationship, about what I feel for you. And I—I love you. I love you so much more than I could ever say. You’re the one I want to spend eternity with. I’ve—I’ve never felt like this with anyone before; sure, I’ve had past lovers over the years, but nothing compared to you. I love you, everything about you, your spirit, your intellect, all of it,” he concluded.

You blinked at him. Was he…proposing? After lying about where he was? “Why lie, Sonny? I would’ve understood if you needed some time.”

“Because I—I wanted to make sure I was alone; I’m not done.” He took yet another deep breath, his piercing blue eyes locking to yours. “I wanted to make sure I could tell you this, without the fear of a…scene.” You rose an eyebrow, and he softly said, “I’m not human, doll. I’m a vampire.”

You blinked at him. “A vampire? Like Dracula or—”

“Oh, Dracula is a bunch of crap; a fictional story written by a human. I’m a real vampire; I have fangs, drink blood to survive, live forever unless I’m killed—”

“I don’t see how this is different than Dracula yet,” you replied, stifling a chuckle.

Sonny’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “I’m being serious, here! It’s also highly illegal for me to tell you all of this, since you’re a human.”

“Uh huh. A vampire, you say…” you trailed off, thinking. It did make a lot of sense, with how he didn’t eat or drink often, and why he tended to stay out of the sun. But he still went out and about in daylight, and besides, monsters weren’t real.

He rolled his eyes, then opened his mouth. Your eyes widened as his incisors seemed to grow an extra inch, becoming fangs.

“H—how’d you do that?” you whispered in shock.

Slowly, they retracted to normal size again. “I need them to puncture skin to get to the veins,” he explained.

“You really are a vampire, aren’t you?” you asked, voice hushed.

He nodded. “I am; all those manuscripts I’ve ‘found’? I was around when they were written; that’s why I know history so well, doll. It’s also why I haven’t wanted to move in. I didn’t want you to see that I don’t really eat, at least not human food…. It’s also why we haven’t had sex.”

“Because we’d make some sort of abomination if I got pregnant?” you joked.

Sonny’s eyes widened. “What? No, I can’t have biological kids. But I—I can’t get, um…hard, not unless I feed…. Need the blood and all….”

“Oh…oh! So, it’s not me?” Somehow, this was a relief.

He chuckled in disbelief. “No, it’s not you. I told you, I’ve wanted to have sex with you. I just didn’t think I could go ‘let me feed really quick then come back’.”

You laughed, and he looked at you like you’ve gone crazy. “Well, if that’s all, come here.” You patted the couch next to you, and he seemed skeptical, like this was somehow a trick.

Sonny came around the table to sit on the couch next to you, but he still left space between you, as if touching you would hurt you in some way. “You’re taking this surprisingly well,” he muttered.

You shifted to face him, and you reached out for his hand. He didn’t pull away when you took one of his hands between both of yours. “Dominick, I love you, no matter what you are, human or vampire, or whatever. I only love you.”

“But—but I’m a monster—”

“No, you’re not. You’re my sweet, loving boyfriend. I know you, Dom; I know your morals, your heart. We can talk about what all this means for us tomorrow. Right now, I want you,” you replied.

His eyes widened, and you were sure he’d be blushing if he could—could vampires blush? Gently, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. He seemed stunned, frozen in shock, and you pulled away. His eyes searched your face for a moment before he was on you, lips colliding with yours almost painfully.

The kiss quickly deepened, his tongue easily forcing its way into your mouth. He pushed you down on the couch, kissing you for so long, you thought your lungs would surely shrivel up. Then he was picking you up, carrying you as if your weighed nothing, heading for your bedroom.

Sonny gently laid you on the bed before he ripped—literally tore—his shirt off himself. He climbed over your body, his lips coming back to yours. You scratched at his back, grinding against his thigh as his lips dominated yours.

His mouth trailed down your jaw, nipping as he went. “Pl—please tell me you’ve fed recently. I n—need you, Dominick,” you whined.

“I did, but not enough for this—I never thought this would go so well,” he replied, his voice husky. He pressed a kiss to your neck before leaning back to look at you. His normally blue eyes were a deep red, and it somehow made him more attractive. “If you want, I can go down on you, then go feed really quick and come back. It’ll be a few hours though; I have to leave the city to find animals.”

You moaned in frustration before a thought struck you. “Feed from me.”

“What?!” Sonny asked in shock.

You smiled softly at him. “Use me, Dominick. Drink from me.”

His eyes were almost completely black with his arousal, the red reduced to a bright ring on the outside of his pupils, and he swallowed hard. “I—I don’t think that’s safe, doll.”

“I trust you, it’ll be fine. Please, babe; I need you inside me, I want you, please.”

His breathing was coming in sharper as his arousal was taking over his rational mind. “And if I can’t stop? If I hurt you?”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. Because I love you, and you love me; I don’t believe you’ll hurt me. It’s okay, Dom.” To make your point, you propped yourself on an elbow, sweeping your hair off one side of your neck before laying back down.

Sonny didn’t notice that he leaned closer to you, only realized when his nose made contact with your throat. He sniffed at you, smelling your sweet blood just under your skin, and his mouth watered.

“That’s it, Dominick. Bite me, drink your fill,” you cooed.

“St—stop tempting me,” he groaned, voice full of arousal. He pressed kisses to your throat before he moved to nuzzle the crook of your neck. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, and you sighed at the feeling.

“It’s fine; I give you permission. I trust you with my life,” you breathed.

Slowly, you reached up to grip his biceps, his arms caging your body. He sucked and kissed your neck, and you felt his lips move as his fangs grew. “Do you even know how hard it’s been to simply kiss your neck, when all I’ve wanted was to taste you?” he growled, his breath hot on your skin.

“Now’s your chance. Do it; drink.”

He grazed his teeth over your skin as he searched for your vein. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered before he sunk his fangs into you. You gasped in pain as he easily broke skin, your grip on his arms bruising a normal human. His fangs retracted, and he sucked at the incisions, drinking your blood. The magic in his saliva had you seeing stars; it was a mix of euphoria, pleasure, and pain all wrapped into one.

Sonny groaned the moment your blood touched his tongue. He had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. He could easily drink until your body was empty of blood…which is why he made sure to pay close attention to you, your heartbeat. But god, he could never get enough of you, your taste. He barely felt the blood entering his system; he was too distracted with the taste and with your heart. When your grip on his arms started to loosen, he used a great amount of restraint to detach from your neck.

He was panting as he leaned back, licking the blood from his lips. It was only then that he noticed how hard his cock was from just that small amount from you. It was true that he had fed recently, that he didn’t need much more, but he didn’t think that little would be enough.

You gave him a soft smile before you sat up, kissing him deeply. You could taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you needed him, now. Sonny pushed you back down, then stood just long enough to undress the both of you before he was back on top of you.

“Are you sure—”

“Fuck me, Dominick, please,” you begged. He didn’t need to be told twice before he pushed into you fully. You moaned loudly at the feel of him inside you; his cock was long, curving to brush up against your g-spot perfectly.

“Ready for me, doll?” he asked softly, feeling your walls expand around him.

You gripped his shoulder, light-headed, though from the feel of him or the loss of blood, you weren’t quite sure. “I’ve been ready for you since the moment I met you, my love.”

His expression softened, and he kissed you deeply before he started to move. You could tell he was holding back, afraid to hurt you; he set a slow pace, thrusting deep into you. Your hands traveled down his back to cup his ass, pulling him deeper into you, and he grunted at the feeling.

“You—you feel so amazing. I love you, I love you so much,” he whispered before trailing his lips down to your throat. He sucked marks into you, and you gasped in pleasure; you had told him about your biting kink, something that you now found hilarious.

“S-same; feels so g—good. Fuck, Dom, move faster, please. You’re not going to hurt me,” you moaned.

He kissed your throat once more before he made his way to the two holes on the side of your neck, a drop of blood slowly dripping down your skin. His tongue flicked out, lapping at your blood, and the pace of his hips went up. He dipped his head down to the crook of your neck, kissing your injury, and you moaned again.

“D—Dominick—fuuuuck!—harder, please!” you gasped, trying to match his pace.

With a great force of will, he pulled his mouth from your neck, instead brushing your hair from the other side. He pressed his lips to your skin, kissing and sucking more marks into you.

You dragged one of your hands from behind him, wedging it between your bodies. You quickly found your clit, rubbing yourself as he fucked you into the mattress. Sonny opened his mouth, biting that side of your neck—without his fangs—and it was enough to send you over the edge. You cried out as you came, liquid gushing from you as pleasure washed through your body.

He propped himself up, looking at the mess you made, then smirked. Taking one of your legs, he threw it over his shoulder, sinking even deeper into you. You screamed his name in pleasure as he pounded into you.

“You got another one in ya, doll. Give it to me,” he growled. You brought your hand back to your clit, but he slapped it away, using his own fingers to rub you viciously. You squirmed as he assaulted your overstimulated clit, crying out at the feeling. You grabbed his wrist, but his arm was like stone; you couldn’t pull him away no matter what you did. You screamed as your orgasm crashed through you like a wave. But still, he didn’t stop.

“One more, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me again, I know you can,” Sonny cooed, his hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers were still playing with your clit, and you shuddered at the feeling. His hips hit yours so hard, you were slowly being pushed up the bed until his free hand gripped your hip, bring you down to meet him.

“Dom—Dominick—! Too much—gonna c—cum!” you warned. He doubled his efforts and you gasped as he pulled another orgasm from you. The hand that was rubbing you moved to your hips, and he jackhammered into you, chasing his release. His fingers gripped you hard enough to leave bruises, and you sure you wouldn’t be walking anytime soon.

He leaned down over you, the sound of skin slapping deafening in the room. And then he was groaning your name, his cock twitching as he exploded into you, filling you with his release. He kept thrusting, milking his balls into you, making you whimper. Then he collapsed on top of you, kissing your neck.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart. That was fantastic,” he muttered. It took him a moment, but he seemed to remember in that moment that you were human, and he climbed off you. “Holy shit, I’m sorry, are you okay? Was that too much?”

You chuckled, your body aching. But it was a good sore. “Fine, fine. Just a little tired—”

“Right, I’m sorry. It’s—it’s been a while. Here, let me clean you.” He stood, scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. His hands were gentle as he washed you carefully, but you noticed his eyes going back to your neck often. Eventually, he had enough.

“I—I have to bandage that bite; the smell of your blood is intoxicating,” he explained before hurrying to your first aid kit.

While he was gone, you assessed the damage in the mirror. Your neck and throat looked like one huge bruise with how many marks he made. But the two puncture wounds on the side of your neck stood out like a sore thumb. All of this did nothing but turn you on more; you loved being bitten and marked by your partners.

“Was I your first?—human, that is. Uh, human blood?” you asked awkwardly.

Sonny came back quick enough with gauze and tape, and he set about cleaning and disinfecting the wound. “Um, no, you’re not. Definitely first time I’ve had fresh human blood in maybe a century. But you just…you taste like nothing I’ve ever had before. It’s, like I said, intoxicating. I swear I could drain you in an instant if I had a little less control.”

“Good thing you have control, then,” you said, chuckling softly.

He finished bandaging you and looked into your eyes. His were a brighter blue than you’d ever seen before, the red completely gone. “I had control this time, and even then, I should’ve been in full control. I shouldn’t have even bit you, should never have tasted your blood.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s really not. Now, any time I’m hungry, I’m going to be thinking of you and how good you are. Which just means I’ll have to leave for my feedings earlier than before, to not wait until I’m so hungry,” he explained.

You rose a hand to cup his face, your thumb running over his soft skin. “I love you, Dominick, and I trust you. Now that I know what you are, you can do what you need to survive, without worrying about lying to me.”

He melted against you hand, closing his eyes briefly. “You’re right. Now that you know, I feel so much closer to you than before.”

“And tomorrow, we talk; I want to know everything about you, about your life and your world.”

He smiled softly. “Deal. Plus, we must start working on the paperwork; monsters are not allowed to reveal themselves to the human world. There’s a lot of hoops to jump through—”

“Tomorrow. Right now, I just want you to hold me as we sleep, okay?” you asked, hopeful.

His smile grew and he helped you stand. “I will hold you for as long as you want or need.”

#sonny carisi x reader #fanfic #my writing #dark secrets #monster!au #adarafaelbarbaseptemberbingo #tw blood

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verai-marcel · 4 years ago

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Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go.

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

--------------------

Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang.

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look.

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!"

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated.

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own.

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any.

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing.

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain.

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried.

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee.

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site.

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish.

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back.

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile.

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it.

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror.

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals.

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you.

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation?

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again.

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin.

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful.

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name.

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed.

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming.

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…”

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring.

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease.

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola.

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly.

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit.

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"All for you," you whispered.

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded.

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it.

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again.

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm.

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside.

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you.

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours.

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts.

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath.

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils.

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing.

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit.

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted.

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him.

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close.

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible.

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue.

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry.

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it.

He gasped and coughed.

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage.

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands.

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system.

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you."

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world.

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back.

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him.

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—"

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?"

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?"

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

--------------------

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore!

#rdrbigbang2021 #arthur x F!reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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mrs-galaxy-m · 3 years ago

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Love to Hate (Bkdk)

Long, / long/ time ago. There were spirits in the forms of animals. They roamed the world but found it difficult once the human population started growing so they transformed into humans But the people hated it, they hated /them/ So they went back into the forest, still in human form, and started clans and tribes depending on their species “Don't mess this up” A man whispered as he pushed izuku to the front of the house “These bunnies only did this for protection, they should've been foxes since they lie so much. Sly little shits'' a wolf hybrid whispered. Izuku looked up at Bakugou before quickly averting his eyes to the floor. The wolf hums as he starts walking upstairs, izuku quickly following after They both stood at the top of the stairs as the people cheered for their marriage. For the union of the clans

/ Izuku was stiff as bakugou slides the door close “Don't need to be nervous” Bakugo starts undressing , izuku saying nothing as bakugou pushed izuku to the bed “You're so pale...like your hair. I've never seen a white bunny before” Bakugo smiled, its like he was proud he managed to find something rare As the wolf brought his lips to izuku’s neck the bunny slides a knife that was hidden on one of his leggins He places it closer to bakugou “I didn't know my wife would kill me so fast” Bakugo spoke and izuku started panicking He kicked bakugou that sent the male flying a few feet away. It seems having bunny legs finally kicked in Izuku transformed into a small bunny and started to hop away. His small body made it easy to hide on the trees that surrounded the house but bakugou isn't the head of the house for nothing His surprise face turned into a grin and chased after the bunny Chasing after what's supposed to be your wife after he tried to kill you is something you don't do everyday The wolf easily jumped over tree stumps and managed to catch up to the bunny fairly quickly. He grabbed the bunny and griped it against the ground “You should transform back unless you want me to choke you to death” Bakugo said as he squeezed the bunnies neck Dying? That doesn't seem so bad Always being called a monster for his red eyes and white fur He didn't have something to live for and the only reason he got sent here was to either die by bakugo’s hand or to serve as a way to unite the clans Izuku closes his eyes which catches bakugou by surprise Everything starts to fade Everything turns dark // “They sent in a male as a gift. Thats a reason for war” Denki said as his ears twitched “The reason they sent that bunny was to /prevent/ war. They really don't think of their actions'' Kirishima crossed his arms “Who the fuck said were going to war?” Bakugo growled as he opened his door, carrying a passed out izuku with marks around his neck “I'm quite happy with my bride” “But..” Denki tried to rebuttal but a glare by bakugou made the hybrid look straight to the floor “He can shift. You heard that? That's something only our ancestors used to do.” “Wait..you're serious?” Mina asked and stood up from her seat “Saw it with my own two eyes. Transformed into a small bunny and ran” “No way…” kirishima mumbled “Mina, call the doctors to my room. He and I had a fight, nothing that should happen again” Bakugo ordered and started walking back to his room //

Bakugo came back with a food tray as izuku finally woke up and stared at his chains on his hands “Why…why am I alive?” Izuku asked as bakugou placed the tray on the bed so izuku could grab it “No reason” bakugou lied “My tribe doesn't care about me, they only wanted to poke you wolves” Izuku stared at the food with no intention to eat “Everyday I would plan for this day. That I would plan of cutting your throat that–” “Why are you telling me this?” bakugou went back to a small table and started pouring water into a cup “Because I don't care! I dont care about my life enough to care about hiding my secret thats..thats why im begging you to kill me” Bakugo laughs “I dont give a shit about what you want. You caught my attention so you're not dying on me” Izuku grips the bed sheets until his hands start to shake

Izuku felt something cold against his cheek “Once you start behaving then I’ll let you walk around, but ill still put someone on you, once you become small who knows when you'll hide” Izuku pushes the water away making bakugou chuckle “The first time we spoke today you tried to kill me and you showed me you can transform into a bunny. I'm guessing you know how important that makes you be” Izuku chuckles dryly “Important?” “It doesn't matter now. What matters is that you're married to me and that means we'll have plenty of time to be alone. So let's try to get to know each other right?” Bakugo poured himself a drink of wine Izuku’s eyes widened All of his life he’s been told to end it all, or that his purpose is to die for others “Fine.” izuku starts “A thing you should know about me is..i'm vegan” Izuku pushed the meat away -- TBC

Chapter 2 on tumblr -> here Chapter 2 on Twitter -> here Follow me on twitter, im really active there unlike here [Pinned message with all of my threads]

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romanticchemacademic · 4 years ago

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Dear future health professionals and stem professors,

We need a revolution of thought. Only through a renaissance of pure and genuine passion towards medicine and other sciences will we have competent doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, and teachers. We live in a world where people pursue noble professions for the sake of social and economic advancement. However, we lack individuals who love the process of learning and their career.

I recollect quite a marvelous excerpt written by one of the world’s greatest scientific minds, Albert Einstein. In his book, The World As I see It he writes:

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst for truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing today. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought.

I believe that one of the faults lies within education institutions. Educators rely on testing, textbooks, and detached memorized lectures. Lectures lack passion and another essential factor: the real practice. The theory is important but the practice is necessary to understand the theory. But without passion, nobody will learn to love the material being taught. Ibn Sina is known for being one of the greatest physicians and teachers of Islamic medicine. I am not completely sure whether what I am about to mention is true. But I read that when he lectured theory to the medical students at the Madrassa (University) he would show them how it worked. Besides medical history and theory. He also taught physics, astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics. However, he is also famed for being an excellent teacher duly because he would take his students to test out the theories and practice what they have been taught. If they were learning medical theory, they were taken to the hospital to observe patients and their cases. If they were learning astronomy, they would all gather in the evening to look up at the heavens to look at the constellations. Lastly, his passion for his vocation was the final touch. Educators without the drive cannot teach. Learning is about understanding oneself, others, and the world. Learning evolves our minds and our spirits by making us get in harmony with the universe. I believe this ties in with Aristotle’s famous saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Though my interpretation may be a wee bit off, I translate it as thus; we can gather all textbook knowledge as possible but if we do not put into practice the knowledge learned, what is the point? I yearn and I pine to experience all that I have learned. I want to see why the theory makes sense in reality. I want to conduct experiments. So much potential is being wasted. Biology is the study of life. However, when I took the course, it was so cold to a point that it did not even feel like I was studying the human body but something alien instead. There is also such a rush to memorize material within a couple of weeks because of exams that the material ceases to be interesting and becomes more of an arduous chore instead. Our sense of time-shifted completely after the industrial revolution. Perhaps this is a reason why we feel the need to rush through everything and not take our time to study profoundly.

We need another Scientific Revolution, curious minds thirsting for the acquisition of knowledge and unanswered questions. However, I believe that the leading force behind this is a necessity. I would like to mention an example to illustrate what I mean from a novel I read a while ago called, The Physician by Noah Gordon. A boy from Medieval Europe lost his mother from an unknown disease leaving him orphaned. He then grew up with the necessity to learn what the disease was and how to prevent other similar deaths, so that others do not suffer what he has suffered. He then worked with Barbers (people who performed medical procedures in Medieval Europe). But the medical knowledge these professionals had was not enough to answer his question. Thus, he traveled to Persia where there was a quite renowned and exclusive medical school. He did not have the economic means or previous schooling to attend but he impressed the headmaster with his passion and knowledge. Thus, the headmaster admitted him into the Madrassa. The European boy then invested all his time doing research, dissections and treating patients until he finally found out what ailment caused his mother’s death, side sickness (appendicitis). He figured out a way to treat this illness, removal of the appendix. From his initial necessity which was the driving force for him to pursue a medical career, he became a famous physician and felt that all his suffering and odyssey were worthwhile. The sense of necessity leads to the feeling of passion. It was his love for his mother that made him follow such a journey full of obstacles. I am beginning to apply that to my own life. I want to figure out my necessity which will be the driving force to power through university and medical school without ever feeling burnt out. I want to feel fulfilled. I believe this is what all pre-medical students and teachers should think about. What is your necessity? We are going to be dealing with human life, someone’s mother, father, friend, sister, uncle, lover, husband, or child...It is not something to be taken lightly. I know so many doctors lacking empathy because they went into the medical field with just the intention of being acknowledged as “Doctors” and getting rich. But I feel that even the most apathetic healthcare workers can become great empathetic professionals the moment they realize that something was triggered deep inside them, perhaps a loved one having an unknown disease. This would lead the apathetic doctor to do mass amounts of research to try to find a cure. This feeling becomes a necessity. A necessity to not lose the loved one. A necessity to save lives. Thus, finding passion, purpose, and becoming a better person. Though each person is different, we all share a selfish feeling. Most of the time we do not truly care about other peoples’ suffering until it happens to us. Once we are affected by something, we drive all our time and attention to find a solution or a way to deal with a problem. We become consumed and completely obsessed by it. I regard this as passion. I do not think passion subsides, it lingers on inside us. It is a fire that never burns out. I remember my high school teacher writing in my yearbook:

Remember a few things, BE PATIENT. You are eager and you will accomplish so much. But take your time, you are always rushing. Life is a journey, it is not about the destination. Be picky. You love everything with enthusiasm but enthusiasm can burn out. Find a fire inside yourself that burns for a long time.

-V

We cannot rush our personal legend. I believe it comes to us. It is Maktub (it’s written). But we also have to do something. Imagine you are on a stranded island but you have a machete, a fishing rod, coconuts, a cave for shelter, wood for a fire, an ocean full of fish. Everything required for survival is there, but you simply have to cut open the coconut with the machete, go fishing for food, fire to cook, and warmth. The fish isn’t going to swim right into your hands and the fire will not light itself. We must use our resources and do our bit. The Universe has a lot going on, we must help out a bit.

If you ever think about quitting, try to remember what made you start your odyssey in the first place. I do not know what my necessity is yet but that is okay. I believe it will come to me eventually. So for now, I simply love to romanticize academia. I like to imagine the: earthy tones of the universities archways, cobblestone paths, laboratories with clean Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, pristine white lab coats, bunsen burner flames changing colors as different salts are added, Bromothymol Blue pen stains, elegant calculations inside a worn leather-bound notebook, formulas scrawled over the blackboard, forgotten cold Irish breakfast tea on the desk, academics discussing theories, applause from a successful experiment, gray rainy days spent inside the lab, Whitman, Hemingway, et Sir Arthur Conon Doyle being read during break, intellectual conversations with professors, chemistry reports being written, molecular models built, volumes of ancient words, fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace, trying to understand, looking at the constellations on a clear night in the astronomy tower, reciting poetry, Tchaikovsky playing whilst completing a long lab report on Lê Chatelier’s theory of Equilibrium, curious minds, sleepless evenings in the library, beautiful anatomical illustrations...Just imagining these things motivate and inspire me to continue my path. Though it may seem superficial, it awakens something inside me. I yearn and I pine to become a Chemistry Romantic.

I want to conclude this letter by saying that pupils and educators keep ideals alive and can change them accordingly as well. We have the power to become excellent professionals or simply exist and do nothing for the human race. But if you plan on becoming a physician or educator, you must find the trigger which brings your passion to life, your necessity. Once you find that, you are guaranteed greatness and fulfillment. However, do not rush. Perfection takes time. A couple of obstacles should not hinder you from persevering. Many will tell you to give up but do not. That is the Universe testing you. Do your best until you master the topic. Once you know better, you are then able to do better.

Regards,

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

#stem dark academia #dark academia #academia #stem #philosophy #academic universitylife #unilife #chemistry #medicine

66 notes · View notes

orange-waterfalls · 4 years ago

Text

Vampire!Reader x Markiplier Egos

ty anon for the request

A/N: YES. IT'S BEEN A WHILE. HAPPY FUCKING HALLOWEEN. I absolutely remembered today is the 1 year anniversary of ahwm absolutely this is not a coincidence what are you talking about ahahahahha. I've been busy w/ school and drawing and general depression and anxiety with the current situation but I'm getting back into it! Vampire reader. That's pretty much it. Rated T, a bit of cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of fangs. A slightly suggestive phrase but that's just Illinois like there has to be at least one with him it's the law. ALSO. NEW RULE? IF I'M DOING LIKE HCS OR SMTHN I WILL DO 6 AT A TIME. I CANNOT BE WRITING 14 DIFFERENT EGOS AT ONCE I JUST CAN'T I'M SORRY. anyways enjoy!

Vampire!Reader x Egos Headcanons

General

Not much PDA

Not much going out in general

You have to cover your whole body when you do, unless it’s nighttime

You spend much of your time inside or in the forest

You’re basically nocturnal

You do drink blood, and you don’t need a lot of it

You drink human blood only if they give permission

You don’t kill people

You know or know of some other supernatural creatures that exist

You are friends with a werewolf. One specifically. You know the one.

Darkiplier

You both are edgy as all hell it’s perfect!

Politely asks you not to bite him

a) because he’s not human and b) because it’ll hurt

You both are very calm and well-spoken. So. not much happens.

However, you are both, in fact, dumb bitches, so things are still entertaining

“My darling, would you like some garli-mmm nevermind...”

You go out with him sometimes on romantic moonlit walks

You don’t have to wear as much then

You make him get a pet, a black cat specifically

He loves it

You named it Darko, Dark for short, and he hates the name

Like he hates the name a lot

It is irrational how much he hates the fucking name

He calls it DA

He never explains why

When you want blood he’ll trap a deer or something

You go into the forest and drink a little of its blood

He’s surprised

“What am I, a werewolf?”

He’ll ask you about supernatural creatures, and how to defend against them

You’re pretty sure he’s an eldritch entity so you aren’t sure why he’s asking YOU

He won’t ask how you became a vampire, that seems personal

He never gets startled when you turn into a bat

He can hear your lil wingbeats from a mile away

Sometimes you’ll sleep as a bat and he just smiles at you hanging from the fan

Fine with you not interacting with others, like he does much of that…

Just likes hanging out in your fucking giant victorian mansion with you

Wilford

We all know that his type is, in fact, edgy bitch

Therefore, you are perfect

Dark clothes? Check

Edgy backstory? Probably

Kinda scary? Oh absolutely

And he loves you for that!

He doesn’t want to be a vampire, but he fuckin loves your teeth

He’ll ask you to bare them and then he’ll do a happy wiggle afterwards

He loves dancing with you, slow or fast

It’s always romantic

He’s basically a god so like. Anything you ask for he’s gotchu

You said you were hungry and he fucking kidnapped someone

You said you were hungry, that was on you

You then explain that you don’t need a whole FUCKING PERSON

He then steals some blood bags from the hospital

“Oh, calm down! They have enough!”

Likes taking you out, so you go on night walks a lot.

You’re not used to social interaction, so he makes sure to steer you away from people

Unless you want to talk to them, then he starts up a conversation and lets you take over

You don’t understand people, and neither does he! It’s great.

Likes when you turn into a bat

He doesn’t know why, it just makes him happy

You made him adopt a black cat

He named it Colonel Whiskers

Loves you and your castle and your weird ass little quirks

Actor

Bite him.

BITE. HIM.

LET HIM BE IMMORTAL

You refuse for the sole reason that he is a dick.

You do get along because you both are, in fact, pretentious

You wear those silk robes around the house, and he gets mad at you

HE is the sexy mysterious one, COME ON!

At least you won’t have an edgier backstory than him…

Likes slow dancing with you

Very much enjoys your Aesthetic

Believes that he too belongs in a Victorian era castle isolated from the world

Loves the dark romance

Is a Fancy Boy

Was fully prepared to murder someone for you to drink their blood

Surprised when you said it wasn’t necessary???

Buys a horse or smthn

Asks about supernatural beings and which are immortal

He asks that a lot

He worries you sometimes.

Hates it when you turn into a bat

You’re small and you fly around and you’re fucking GROSS

He doesn’t. He doesn’t like animals very much. Besides dogs I mean.

Buys you clothes because you’ve been wearing the same shit for fucking EVER

Don’t worry, they’re all black, dark purple, or dark red

Sometimes you decide to go on a walk and he tags along

Possessive bitch

Thinks you’ll leave him if you talk to other people

He scares them or leads you away

Was fine with a black wolfdog you brought home after searching for food

Names it Phoenix, and you call it Nix for short

Is deeply in love with you, but will never say or show it

Yancy

He thinks you’re wonderful!

Originally a bit mean to you

He thought YOU thought you were better than him

He saw the fangs and backed off

He asked about them and you answered, so you got along

Asked if he could be a vampire

You asked if he wanted to be immortal. He declined.

Suggested you drink his blood when you were hungry

You said it wasn’t necessary, but he pushed

Stared at you the whole time

“what’s your issue” “this is very… intimate.”

On that note: has an issue with intimacy

You’re very cold naturally, so you’d want to cuddle

He awkwardly shifts away

Once he gets more comfortable, he might cuddle with you

Loves the silk robes you own, they’re so fucking COMFY

AND THE SILK SHEETS?? Heaven

Absolutely loves all the fancy shit you have

You teach him how to waltz and he teaches you how to tap dance

You have a very equal give and take relationship with everything, it’s great

Neither of you like social interaction

You will if you HAVE to but mostly keep to yourselves

You love Yancy's prison buddies

They love you too

Asked if you knew mothman

You couldn’t tell if he was joking

He absolutely Was Not joking

He sings to you sometimes

It echoes through the place and the Aesthetic man

Hates it when you turn into a bat

Bad. No. Stop. Scary.

A small animal flying at him is a no go

Alternatively: get him a pet dog and he will love you forever

He names it Elvis. Yeah you know why.

Overall loves you and your aesthetic, and you could tell even before you got together

Illinois

Excited but doesn't show it

He's met PLENTY of supernatural creatures

Ghosts, gods, there was a thing with that werewolf one time…

(He has the scars to prove it)

But a vampire? That's new

He doesn’t live at your place because he travels a lot

He still stays there sometimes between adventures

Uncomfortable with how clean it is

You are. An immortal being. And you take the time to clean. What the fuck.

“Would YOU wanna spend eternity in a dusty ass mansion?”

His flirts are often about your fangs

You threatened to bite him and he said “promise?”

Said you could drink his blood, but you said no

“I don’t know what the fuck you got in that bloodstream”

Doesn’t do walks but takes you on adventures

If it’s a cave. And you turn into a bat.

ONLY if you turn into a bat

Sidenote: he fucking adores when you turn into a bat

He just thinks they’re neat

Uncomfortable with how soft everything you own is

NOTHING is soft in nature

Except. Like a lot of things. But don’t tell him he’ll get mad

Doesn’t really want a pet bc he’ll never be home to deal with it

He’ll be fine if you get one though

He wants to name it Nathan Drake he doesn’t care what it is

NERD(see: Uncharted)

Will never EVER wear a fucking suit

He will DIE before he wears a suit fuck you

Dislikes anything remotely fancy

Talks about the creatures he’s met

you get Bard Vibes if ya know what i mean wink wink nudge nudge he's a whore is what I'm saying here

You hang out normally mostly

He refuses to acknowledge his feelings for you

Not after the mermaid incident.

He eventually will, i promise

Magnum

He’s a pirate, he doesn’t care

He’s seen sirens, ancient spirits, probably Davey Jones at some point

A vampire? Low on the list of dangerous creatures

He has a whole ship made outta wood he’s not that worried

You don't really sail with him often

When you do, you're seen as a threat to anyone and everyone

He loves that about you

Warned you not to bite him or he'd stake you

You promised not to and that was enough for him

You get along with the crew fairly well

However do NOT turn into a bat around them

They will not hesitate to shoot

"UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT, MAN YOUR BATTLESTATIONS!

You can maybe do it around Magnum and only Magnum

Doesn't like your house

He belongs to the sea

But can and will steal your sheets for himself

A pirate can have a little silk, as a treat

Offered his crew's blood to drink after a while

You declined because you don't know what the fuck kinda diseases they have

Doesn't really want a pet. He can't tell them what to do.

You bought an axolotl and he loves it a lot

Its name is Delta but he has deemed it Magnum Jr

Can't really. Fit. In any suits you have

He has to go out and get one personally tailored if he wants it

Likes dancing with you

Slow dancing. To Danny Boy.

He can't dance but that's ok he tries

You talk about land creatures and he talks about ocean creatures

So far he despises werewolves and skinwalkers

He likes spending as much time with you possible

He doesn't much like the idea of a relationship bc of his uh line of work

But he loves you

300 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 4 years ago

Text

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea. Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t. Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din. Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune. 3800 words.

***

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows. Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children. Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan. Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter. The girl took off eagerly to join the others. Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight. “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him. My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.” She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones. He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head. He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away. “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what? I see the way you watch out for him. You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly. “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down. Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else? The less said about it, the better. “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips. “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands. “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly. “Huh.” He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them. Despite himself, he was impressed.

“Good for you. Just don’t -- no! Drop it!” He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky. The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing. “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din. He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet. “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child. “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin. Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?” She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said. He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited. “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived. Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear. Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life. The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe. The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood. This one had seen suffering. It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child. She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet. And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn. She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded. No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them. He was a resourceful man. She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear. The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear. They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented. “I’m staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path. His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep. The truth could not be hidden. A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly. “A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not. He was not ready. Not yet. Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk. “You have earned your Signet.” Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him. “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable. “I will wear it with honor.”

There were certain truths she had long known. The best warriors did not harden their hearts. Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste. Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world. It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready. She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape. She knew she would not fall this day.

Beneath her helmet, she smiled. For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market. Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches. Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed. He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid. He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap. She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered. As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready. I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando! Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him. Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms. The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said. “Thanks for watching the kid. He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor. Sticky fingers.” And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time. Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed. “I don’t believe it.” Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was. I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din. The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed. “I know, I know. You didn’t mean it.” He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf. “Always a pleasure. It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands. “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys. Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks… It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still. The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one. He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said. “But dads aren’t just a blood thing. I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all. You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly. “Do anything for him.” The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “I would die for him. This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion. “And again, you’re not his dad? I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her. “Thanks again for watching him. We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him. “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away. Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting. It was nearly time. Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away. He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock. He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world. He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy. He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands. They trembled.

This is what I came to do. This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s time to say goodbye.” He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest. The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum. He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee. He looked at him. Really looked, though his vision blurred. I have… I have to remember.

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green. He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate. He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip. Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him. Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive. He would never forget them.

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered. “You’ll learn how to use your powers. You’ll get even stronger. You’ll see.” You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body. Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch. He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment. The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant. She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally. “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak. He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm. He had to try again, for the kid’s sake. “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke. Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi. He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms. You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before. He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble? Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. This wasn’t the Crest. This was Slave I. This was Boba Fett. Fennec Shand was down below. And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone. Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered. He’d been stolen, been lost. Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back. His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars. Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head. He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett. “I hope it works. For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started. They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests. “I’m… grateful for the help. Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know. Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead. He didn’t care about that. But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer. “I didn’t know.”

There; the man should take it as a compliment. Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.” Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful. There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out. “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out. “I saw it. That’s not nothing.”

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically. “Any Mandalorian would have done the same. The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed. “You can keep your Creed.” The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege. Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke. “You were a father to him. That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound. It hurt his throat. “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold. He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies. He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face. “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time. Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears. Knew that she’d put two and two together. Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded. She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale. She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the pity in her face. He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly. “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said. “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently. “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe. Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed. Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters. And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said. He took a drink of his ale. He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.” Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side. He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak. “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder. And sympathy etched in every line of her face. He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked. “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t. They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara. She finished her drink. “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale. “Really. You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze. She’d never used his name before. Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display. “Stop.”

Cara flushed. “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser. I saw what you did to them. It wasn’t…” Her mouth twisted. “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me. You know that. But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat. “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface. “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go. This isn’t you, Mando. And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed. It pressed. It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking. He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled. He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he? Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed. “I know it’s wrong. I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder. She waited, her eyes soft.

He bowed his head, shaking. “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands. “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him. Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late. It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all. The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked. “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him. In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #noromo mando #din djarin + grogu #cara dune #boba fett #ahsoka tano #peli motto #the armorer #omera #my mando fic #ugh this is toooooo sad whyyyy

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