#wheres the expressions! the body language! the moment! the way they differently carry themselves!

[martyrbat]

my secret confession is i think a lot of current art in comics is pretty but sometimes way too glossy and lifeless... it kinda feels like a sticker sheet where they just swap out generic stock poses that they have on hand for that character rather than the art being reflective of the actual story and moment the character is currently in

[mrs-india-international-queen]

The Significance of the Talent Round in the Mrs India Pageant: How to Stand Out

The Mrs India beauty pageant is more than just a contest of looks; it is a celebration of grace, intelligence, and individuality. One of the key segments that allow contestants to shine is the talent round. This segment is a platform where Mrs India contestants can showcase their unique skills, creativity, and personality, making it a defining moment in the competition. But how do you ensure you stand out during this crucial part of the pageant? Let us dive into why the Mrs India talent round is significant and explore tips to help you shine.

Visit Our official website for more info www.miiq.site

Why Mrs India Talent Round Matters

The talent round is an opportunity for contestants to express themselves beyond their external beauty. It allows judges and the audience to see a different side of you—your passion, creativity, and the skills that make you unique. Here is why it is so important:

Showcases Individuality: This round gives you the freedom to showcase what makes you, whether it is singing, dancing, yoga, or even performing a traditional cultural act, the talent round is your time to shine and express your individuality.

Demonstrates Confidence and Stage Presence: Performing in front of a crowd requires courage and confidence. The way you handle yourself on stage, engage with the audience, and carry out your act demonstrates your stage presence, which is a crucial aspect of any beauty pageant.

Creates a Lasting Impression: Judges remember contestants who stand out during the talent round. If you can deliver a memorable and impressive performance, it can give you an edge over others.

Opportunity to reach maximum audience: you have an opportunity to make your talent reach Maximum people by showcasing it on the global platform

How to Stand Out in Mrs India Talent Round

Now that we understand the importance of the talent round, let us look at how you can make your performance unforgettable:

Choose a Talent That Reflects Your True Passion

The key to a powerful performance is authenticity. When you choose a talent that you are genuinely passionate about, it shows. Whether you love to sing, dance, yoga, play an instrument, or perform a traditional cultural act, pick something that resonates with you. This will not only make your performance more enjoyable but also help you connect with the audience on a deeper level.

Tip: If you have multiple talents, think about which one allows you to express yourself best or aligns with your personal story. A talent that tells a story can be incredibly impactful.

Commitment to Consistent Practice

There is no shortcut to a flawless performance— consistent practice is essential. Dedicate time to refining your skills, practicing your routine, and working on your stage presence. The more you practice, the more confident you will feel on stage, and that confidence will shine through during your performance.

Tip: Record yourself while practicing or perform in front of friends and family to get feedback. This will help you improve and make adjustments before the big day.

Engage with the Audience

The talent round is as much about connecting with the audience as it is about displaying your skills. Make eye contact, smile, and use your body language to express emotion. The more you can engage with the audience, the more they will be drawn into your performance.

Tip: Consider what message you want to convey through your performance. Whether it is joy, passion, or nostalgia, let your emotions flow and connect with the audience on an emotional level.

Choose the Right Outfit and Props

Your choice of outfit and props can enhance your performance, so choose them wisely. Your attire should complement your act and reflect its theme, without overshadowing your performance. Similarly, if you are using props, ensure they add value and are easy to manage on stage.

Tip: Practice using your props and performing in your outfit beforehand to avoid any last-minute issues. A well-coordinated performance can make a big difference.

Conclusion

The Mrs India talent round is a chance to let your skills, creativity, and personality shine on stage. It is an opportunity to show the judges and audience what makes you unique and why you deserve to be the next Mrs India International Queen. By choosing a talent that reflects your passion, practising diligently, adding a creative twist, engaging with the audience, and selecting the right outfit and props, you can deliver a performance that leaves a lasting impression. Remember, this is your moment to express yourself, showcase your talent and stand out—so give it your all and enjoy every second on stage.

[bisluthq]

I love what anon said about their friend and gender but I want to add that gender is stereotypes. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because there are a lot of characters I like or relate to that people are convinced must be non-binary/trans/gender fluid/etc. but I don’t necessarily see it that way. Thinking about it more I think we’re all correct and I’ll explain why.

The first example that comes to mind is Jo March, specifically in Greta’s version. She has a line where she says “I can’t get over my disappointment over being a girl”. But she says that because she wants to go to war or not wear a corset. She wears men’s clothing and she acts a lot less “ladylike” than her sisters. But nothing she does is something that would be seen as masculine by today’s standards. Hence why I can certainly see her as a genderfluid/non binary character back then but I don’t think she would be today.

This is something I think about often because the moment a female character in a period film does anything a bit masculine there’s always a conversation about their gender and to me, they’re always doing things that women do now (like wear pants or have a job) but back then it was things men did.

If we’re talking about being a man or a woman biologically, that doesn’t really change throughout history. Men have dicks, women have vaginas and their bodies are made to be able to carry children. But gender is ever changing. A man who likes make up and dresses and heels right now might feel inclined to go by “they/them” pronouns because they might feel like “he/him” and what that represents doesn’t go with who they feel they are. But if they had been a king in the 1600s (I think?) men wore make up and heels and they might have never questioned their gender. And if we go back to like Ancient Rome I think everyone wore dresses.

This is not in any way trying to undermine people’s pronouns and I know in a lot of cases it goes deeper than what I have used as examples. But gender is a social construct and it has taken different meanings throughout history, so it makes sense that the same person would identify with different genders depending on what point in history they’re thrown in. I don’t get the sense that Jo March would question her gender nowadays, but I see how she could’ve/would’ve in the 19th century.

All in all, I do think gender is a based off stereotypes and that’s why it has changed so much throughout history. That’s also why I think the approach anon’s friend took was great

gender absolutely is a social construct AND trans and gender fluid people have existed for all of history. They/them pronouns (and funkier variations like ze/zir/etc) are a new thing in the English language but that doesn’t mean people haven’t resented being limited to he/she before recently and it’s great people can express themselves better. Also I’m VERY cis as I’ve said and I’m not in either medicine or like formal gender studies so this is coming from a place of allyship and critical theory and having QTS as a PSHE teacher BUT I do think where your argument lacks depth is using the term “biologically” men are men and women are women. Firstly because scientifically speaking that’s just not true. Not everyone is born “boy” or “girl”. That’s not true. Secondly because gender related body dysmorphia is… very much a thing where people quite literally feel like they’re in the wrong body and that’s fixed with gender confirmation surgery and quite clearly (to me) that’s not the same as “I just want to wear different clothes to what society expects from me” like… that’s a whole other thing. I don’t have enough knowledge to know how gender confirmation surgery interplays with non binary people - I’m sure some people want the former and identify as they/them still or fluid in some way - but yea idk I don’t feel we should say “okay men are men and women are women” EVER because that’s just not true. And also it erases people who aren’t born as one of those two things. And those people very much exist.

[first-impressions-gaming]

Firewatch

Developed & Published by Campo Santo

Release Date 2016 (differs from platform to platform) Tested on Xbox Series X

MSRP 19,99 USD

One does not come across games like Firewatch that often any more, in this live-service-focused oversaturated game market especially. That’s where a game shines for me, reaches to me, makes me feel like a part of the story. Firewatch excels at speaking to me and goes beyond my expectations because I initially thought that this was a survival game, where I’d seek and search for resources to survive in this mountainous area, but I soon learnt that I was mistaken. My initial intention was to play the game for 2 hours or so, yet I ended up finishing the game seeing that the game runs around 4 hours, I just needed to play and see where the story goes and how it wraps up.

Without spoiling the entire plot, the game introduces us to Henry (the protagonist) and Julia, in their 20s in 1979, Boulder, Colorado, USA. The text-based introduction is a nice and useful device which summarizes the past and key moments in Henry’s life up to this point (which is 1989). With the help of a soothing background soundtrack, this opening lays the foundation of Henry’s past and what has driven him to take a job as a fire lookout in Wyoming without unnecessary additional information or lengthy text, keeping everything precise and straightforward.

We learn that Henry and Julia becomes a couple, with various happenings in their life, Julia ends up with early-dementia, Henry feels estranged in his own life since even his wife, Julia, does not remember or recognize him any more due to her condition, which gets more severe each day, Henry needs to get out of this situation and finds himself in Wyoming as a fire lookout, one of the escapist vocations out there as you can imagine, even Delilah, who is another fire lookout in Wyoming, emphasizes this when she asks Henry that what made him took this job, meaning that nobody just comes here naturally and dreams of this job, everybody must have a reason.

After the short opening we find ourselves in Wyoming finally. Our only acquaintance is Delilah, she is another fire lookout and Henry’s supervisor to some extent, she gives Henry instructions and directions that he needs to follow basically. Our way of communication is walkie-talkie. Henry and Delilah never see each other in person, which extremely makes everything even more...mysterious dare I say! I want to digress here a little bit, voice-acting in video games can be double-edged sword, if either voice-acting or script fails to impress the player, the whole thing can be boring. Firewatch is successful in this case, both the wonderful voice-acting of Henry and Delilah and the script are masterpiece.

Voice-acting of Delilah and Henry is heartfelt and sincere, nothing cringy. The lack of body language and facial expressions are made up for superior to-the-point dialogue and acting. Voice of Delilah acts as a guide and an inner voice for Henry. Delilah fills in as a company to Henry that Julia left empty, and they find themselves attracted to each other with each passing day. Not exactly ‘lovers’ but more like enjoying each other’s company in this solitary environment. Delilah is also in contact with other fire lookouts but Henry is not. She is the only person he communicates with during the whole time.

Now let’s talk about game mechanics, the game presents us Two Forks region in Wyoming, with full of trees, forest and a canyon. We, as Henry, travel to mountainous areas, lakes, canyons and such. It’s a semi open-world. You cannot just go as you please, the game, as Delilah our guide, directs us where to go, what to do. The game does not have missions or quests, each day we wake up and it is another ‘day’. Sometimes there’s a fire, or some mischievous people that we should look for and warn them, or...a conspiracy theory that Henry gotta investigate! (No, I am not gonna spoil the plot for you!)

Henry carries a map, a compass and some gadgets on him when he is travelling, mechanics are kept to minimum, and I am glad of that. The game knows what it is, and what it wants to achieve. Why bother this story-rich linear story with bullshit side-quests? Who’d like that? Nobody, if you ask me. Even with a 4-hour playtime, you will care for Henry, Delilah and Julia. You cannot help yourself asking ‘what will Henry do, and where will Delilah go, and how is Julia?’ as the game ends.

[iyumeu]

i can be your angle or yuor demon

summary: [takes place right after the angelic demons event] in front of you stands an angel and a demon. which would you choose?

characters featured: lucifer, mammon, leviathan (aka older brother trio)

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

It had been a few days since the party that had taken place in the celestial realm. Your demonic housemates were now back to their normal, devilish selves but you notice that they seemed a little... odd. Subdued, even.

Today was no different; the brothers had been quiet during dinner, either picking at their food or simply straight up not attending dinner. You had gone to bed feeling off-kilter and worried. That was it, you decided, it was time to stage an intervention. You were going to confront your demonic housemates tomorrow and they weren't going to be able to do anything about it!

With determination in your heart, you closed your eyes... and then immediately found yourself in a strange white room with...

Lucifer

After the party

> He had immediately thrown himself back into a mountain of paperwork.

> You knew that Lucifer was the embodiment of overworking but even this was too much. He hadn't been present for dinner since all of you had returned to the Devildom and if it weren't for the incredibly rare times you caught him out in the hallway, you would have come to the conclusion that he simply decided to start living in his study room

> Alas, even when he was outside he was short-tempered, snapping at anyone who was around him and was generally just a little more forceful than usual.

> There was a moment where you brushed past him in the hallway and he had grabbed your wrist, tugging you towards him. You had jumped and whirled around, startled at the sudden action, and you weren't quite sure what your expression had been like but you knew that it prompted Lucifer to immediately let go of your wrist as if he had been burnt. He then retreated back into his office, slamming the door shut without even saying a word to you.

> He had kept his distance after that and the two of you hadn't spoken to each other since.

In the white space

Two Lucifers stood before you, one clad in his angelic costume while the other wearing his demonic form.

> They seemed to be talking to one another, the Lucifer you were familiar with getting more and more agitated by the second while the Lucifer dressed in angelic garb was crossing his arms, looking at the demonic Lucifer with a placid expression on his face.

> When you step closer to them, they turn to look at you in tandem.

> "MC."

> It's strange how your name can be spoken in such different ways. Lucifer spoke your name in his usual commanding tone while the angel said it with such gentleness and cheer it gave you goosebumps.

> "Luci... fer?"

> "Yes?"

> The both of them answered together once again. It was seriously freaking you out. Were they both really Lucifer? Or was one of them a clone?

> You quickly made your way closer to them.

> Once you were closer you could see that Lucifer looked tenser than usual.

> "Where are we?" You couldn't help but glance at angel Lucifer too when you asked that question. From the corner of your eye, you see Lucifer's hand clench into a fist.

> "It doesn't matter where we are," Lucifer replied brusquely. You hadn't seen him this upset before, not even when he tried to kill you for harboring Luke in the House of Lamentation.

> "Is this how he talks to you all the time?" Instead of answering you, angel Lucifer asked you another question. It was a question that confused you. What did that have to do with anything?

> "Um... not really? He's just a little bit frustrated," you reply, eyeing the angel Lucifer warily. Something about him made you feel... something. It was a negative something. You didn't like him one bit.

> "I see." Angel Lucifer reaches out towards you. Before you can flinch back, Lucifer's hand was already painfully gripping your shoulder, tugging you to his side in an almost violent manner.

> "You are not to touch them," he said. Angel Lucifer's gaze slowly slid from you to him and you were able to see it frost over in real time.

> "Neither are you," he said, "if you're going to be so forceful. Look at them, they're hurt."

> Lucifer turned to look at you. You were frozen in the middle of rubbing at your shoulder and his eyes darkened.

> He stepped away from you.

> "You believe that everyone around you will bend to your whim," the angel said. "And if you don't, you force them to. You carry out your actions uncaring about the way it affects others and how they may think... Tell me," the angel was looking at you now, "how does it feel to live with someone so full of themselves?"

> Beside you, you can tell that Lucifer has stopped breathing. His red gaze was boring a hole through you, his wings twitching as he fought the urge to block your view of his angelic doppelganger.

> You lick your lips, gathering your thoughts. The angel too your silence as agreement and a smile spread across his face.

> "Don't you see, demon? They're afraid of you. Your overbearing, domineering treatment of them has rendered them too afraid to dare speak up in your presence."

> Lucifer flinched at the angel's words. You suddenly had a very vivid fantasy of pouncing forward and violently ripping handfuls of feathers out of the angel's wings.

> "They'll be much happier with me, don't you think?" the angel asked. You glanced at Lucifer and was absolutely shocked to see him considering the angel's words.

> "No!" The word was out of your mouth before you could even think.

> The angel raised an eyebrow. "No?"

> "No." You dug in your heels, glaring at this... oversized avian who dared to don the face of your beloved demon. Who dared to make him doubt himself like that. "No, I'm not scared of him. No, I do dare to speak up. No, I absolutely would not be happier with you!"

> You turned to Lucifer, not wanting to look at that... thing for even a second longer. He was staring at you, a rare look of surprise on his face. You stepped towards him, poking a finger at his chest.

> "You!" you started, "You may be absolutely full of yourself, but you do care! You care for Diavolo! You're always taking care of him even when it comes at the cost of your own health! You care for your brothers! You protected them when all of you first entered the Devildom and you protect them even now, even if you try to hide it. You care for me! You give me food when you notice I've been staying up late to study and you constantly ensure that my time at R.A.D. is safe and enjoyable! Do you think I don't notice this? Do you think no one notices this? Why are you believing that thing's lies?!"

> With every jab of your finger, Lucifer's eyes grow wider.

> "And you!" You whirled around to glare at the angel. "You're sitting there running your mouth when you're the one who's acting so full of yourself! I'm sick of your holier than thou attitude! Lucifer is caring, he is thoughtful, and he is so much more than what you accuse him of!” You pause for a moment to take a breath. The angel is examining you like you were a particularly interesting specimen slotted under a microscope. You’ve reached your limit. It was time to resort to violence.

> You were stopped before your feet left the ground by a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It was soon followed by a curtain of dark feathers, blocking the angel from your sight, and you from his.

> “That’s enough,” Lucifer said. His voice was filled with the same confidence and pride that you know and love. “That thing is not worth your time.” A pause and then, softly, almost inaudibly, “Thank you.”

> And then,

> You wake up.

After the dream

> You were happy to see that Lucifer was no longer locking himself up his office again.

> He was also, strangely, a little more affectionate to you?

> He was also around a lot more often; not hovering per se, but just... there. A comforting presence, him by your side.

> His texts to you are more often now too.

> You start receiving gifts from him, packaged and pretty hanging on your doorknob, charmed with a powerful spell that curses everyone but you if they touch it. He still pretends he doesn't send them but you know and he knows you know.

> One day, over a dinner at the Ristorante Six, he'll finally tell you, in words, that he wants you to stay by his side; but until then, you enjoy his non-verbal affirmations of love.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Mammon

After the party

> He became a shut in on par with Leviathan.

> However you notice that he has a lot of akuzon deliveries brought to his door, definitely more than what he could afford.

> When you try to talk to him he only shouts at you from behind his door. When you try to enter, you almost get squashed by the amount of piled up akuzon boxes and haphazardly piled up items.

> You knew Mammon was inside but you couldn't see him at all. You'd genuinely think that he got suffocated under the mess of his purchases if he hadn't been talking to you through the mess.

> But he still refused to come out to see you and you didn't know how to navigate his room, so you decided to leave him be for now.

In the white space

> There were two Mammons in front of you, one dressed in his angelic costume and the other in his demonic form. They seemed to be discussing something but you paid them no mind.

> Mammon had been your reliable protector since the start of your time in the Devildom and hence you had grown to associate safety with his presence.

> That was why you literally all but teleported to his side when you caught sight of him.

> However, the words coming out of the angel made you freeze in your tracks.

> "Shameless, greedy scum," the angel said. Mammon's body language finally registered in your head. Slightly hunched over, head turned to a side, wings curling in on himself, fists clenched and shaking... You hadn't seen him this bad before.

> "You know that they're too good for you, but you can't let them go. You'd rather chain them to you forever rather than allow them happiness. Your greed truly knows no bounds, even for someone you lo—"

> You skitter to a stop between the two. It was unnerving how much he looked like Mammon. Apart from the attire, the only difference you could tell was his eyes; Mammon's eyes were open and expressive while the angel's eyes did not give away his emotions at all. Controlled, you would call them.

> "MC," the angel greeted you with a smile.

> "MC, what're you doing here?!" In contrast to the angel, Mammon seemed aghast to see you here.

> "You want their attention and affection but you are reluctant to give yours," the angel said. "Greedy, greedy, greedy. The Avatar of Greed, do you really think you're worthy enough to stand by their side?"

> Oh, the angel was talking about you.

> Well if you weren't already angry before, you were now.

> You turn to look at Mammon only to see him shaking slightly. He refused to meet your eyes.

> "You actually hate it, don't you?" the angel said. The angel was looking at you now. "How unreliable he is. How selfish he is, always putting his own desires and needs above others. A nightmare to live with, much less be with."

> With every word out of the angel's mouth, you see Mammon flinch. You reach out to soothe him but he flinches away from you. He looked like he regretted it the moment he did it, but he had no chance to apologize before the stupid angel was opening their mouth to yap on.

> "How can anyone love something like him, much less you?" the angel asked and. Boy.

> You whirled around and threw a punch at the angel's face. It barely injured the angel and left you with a hurting fist, but the shock on the angel's face was worth it.

> "I love him," you declared loudly. "And so do his brothers."

> Mammon was staring at you with wide eyes and an open mouth.

> "And the things you've said? Utter horseshit. Mammon is one of most selfless demons I know." No one as powerful as him would allow himself to be a punching bag for his entire family without retaliation, no one but him. Mammon was the demon with the highest control, with the softest heart, and it showed with the interactions he had with his brothers... and you.

> He rarely said anything affectionate towards you, and the times he did were often rushed and unintelligible, but he didn't have to. Not when his love and affection shone through with every action he made.

> He was always giving love, only rarely ever receiving, And he never complained about it.

> And so hearing this angel spout such bullshit about Mammon, and Mammon believing it, really made you experience something.

> That something was an attempt to beat up the angel in front of you.

> You were quickly pulled off the angel, Mammon holding you tightly and firmly in his arms and you tried to continue with your punches and kicks.

> "That's enough." It was a rare occasion that his voice was so serious and it immediately calmed you down. Mammon shifted you to a more comfortable hold but did not let you go. "Ya ain't gonna hurt me with those dumb words," he told the angel, puffing out his chest. "I'm the great Mammon! I ain't gonna listen to your bullshit!"

> Warmth blossomed in your heart as you hear Mammon regain his confidence.

> "And MC is mine! No one's worthy of them but that doesn't mean I won't—"

> You wake up.

After the dream

> Mammon finally exited his room and the first person he went to was you.

> He swooped you up in a big hug, abruptly waking you from your slumber.

> He started becoming more honest and less shy as well, no longer putting on airs. His affection for you was as clear as day. It's a work in progress but Mammon is still able to convey his affection even if he ends up screaming it with a red face.

> You notice that he's been taking up more responsibility lately, even getting a steady part time job. He uses the money to take you out on nice dates and buy you nice gifts.

> Also has become even clingier, but it's not like you're going to complain. ⭒☆━━━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Leviathan

After the party

> Leviathan had been making some headway in getting more comfortable in his own skin, cutting down on insults to himself. This party set him back a thousand years.

> Every word out of his mouth was self-derogatory and full of hate.

> He refused to answer your texts.

> He never left his room, even for mealtimes.

> In fact he didn't eat at all? Which was concerning. You even tried to bribe him with Ruri-chan, but all it resulted was a crash and a faint sob.

> It was after that that you decided to leave him be for a while.

In the white space

> There was nothing in the white space except a pond and Leviathan in his angel costume.

> Recalling Leviathan's reaction to you before, you carefully approached him and called out his name. To your surprise, he turned to look at you with a smile on his face.

> You were delighted at first but the delight quickly drained away when you recognized the bright but bland smile on his face, along with his calm, placid eyes.

> It was the Leviathan from the party looking at you now, not the Leviathan you were missing.

> "MC!" he said cheerily. "I'm so glad you're here!"

> "...hello." He didn't seem to noticed that you were being subdued, quickly stepping forward to grab your hands. You tried to suppress your flinch, fearing that Leviathan was actually in there somewhere. You scanned his body for the brainwash bangle but did not find it. Worry started to gnaw at your heart. How were you going to break this curse if you couldn't find its anchor?

> "I missed you," angel Leviathan continued. "Sorry for avoiding you, I was just throwing a temper tantrum. I won't be doing that again. As I've said before, I'll be giving up on anime, manga, and the like to forge closer connections with my brothers... and of course with you."

> You step back. The angel follows.

> "I was weak before, a no-good shut-in loser who'd rather lose himself in the 2D world rather than face reality." Unlike before, the words were spoken without an ounce of shame or even emotion. It was like angel Leviathan was stating facts rather than belittling himself. Somehow, that bothered you more.

> "You're not weak," you spoke. "You're not any of those at all. You've been putting in a lot of effort lately, and besides being interested in anime isn't a weakness. You're passionate about what you like and unafraid of showing it. Isn't that a strength?"

> Angel Leviathan shrugged, brushing your words aside. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him.

> "I suppose," he said. "Either way, don't you prefer me like this? Outspoken, confident, unafraid? I can tell you how I feel. I love you, MC. Don't you love me?"

> There was something wrong. A nagging feeling in your heart had been present ever since you entered this strange place and right now it merely grew stronger.

> "Not like this," you said, pulling your hand away from his. "There's something wrong with you right now, Levi, you're not in your right mind."

> "I'm in my right mind. In fact, I can safely say that I've never been better. Say you love me, MC."

> Leviathan would never push you like this. He had always respected your boundaries, knowing how unpleasant it was like to have his own constantly prodded and pushed.

> "You're not Levi," you realized. Immediately you looked around, quickly moving away from angel Leviathan. "Where is he? What have you done to him?"

> Angel Leviathan looked so confused for a moment that you almost believed him. But then his expression turned to derision and your blood ran cold.

> "Why do you care about that disgusting otaku anyway? Aren't I better? Why don't you choose me?"

> The angel must have been out of his fucking mind if he thought that you were going to choose him after all this.

> You took another step back and—

> You plunge into the lake, the breath knocked out of you by the impact. Just as you started to panic, your eyes catch sight of something that made you freeze.

> There was Leviathan, the Leviathan you knew and loved, in his demon form staring back at you with wide eyes.

> What the fuck.

> Had he been here the entire time?!

> Instead of you, now Leviathan was the one panicking. He grabbed you and swam quickly to the surface, bringing you out of the lake. You gasped for air once you breached the surface, Leviathan's arm supporting you and keeping you upright.

> "Levi!" you said once you caught your breath. "Where were you? Why didn't you come up?"

> Leviathan was not looking at you. Once he had placed you back onto the shore, he suck back down into the water until only his eyes and the top of his head were visible. You put the pieces together.

> "...were you hiding?"

> "Of course that coward was hiding." Oh god. The angel was still not done. Now that you knew for a fact that he wasn't Leviathan, you felt an incandescent rage start boiling within you. You tamp it down. For now. "He didn't want to face the idea that you might choose me over him."

> Choosing again. It seemed important.

> "It's okay if you choose him instead," Leviathan was clearly lying through his teeth. "If... If it makes you happy. Who would want to be with a loser otaku like me who can't even tell the person he loves that he wants to hold their hand? Much less that he loves them?"

> Your heart was breaking and you pushed yourself into the water again. Leviathan yelped in surprise and quickly swam forward to catch you. You took the opportunity to put your hands on either side of his face.

> "Levi, there's no way I'd choose anyone over you," you told him. "You are my Lord of the Shadows and no one else can take your place."

> You feel Leviathan's cheeks heat up under your palms.

> "Do you mean it?" It was said in a whisper but you managed to catch it. You nod and a brilliant smile spread across his face.

> He looked up at the angel and maneuvered you around so that he was in between you and the angel. His tail had found its way to you and it was now curling around you in a possessive manner you had long grown familiar with.

> "MC is m... MC is my Henry! Not yours!" Leviathan declared. His tail squeezed a little tighter but you still felt no discomfort. "And I am their Lord of the Shadows. I'll protect them, so there's no way you'll ever get your hands on them!"

> You tried to cheer Leviathan on but then,

> You wake up.

After the dream

> Leviathan sent you a message to meet him in his room and you went there immediately. There, he apologized for ignoring you, saying that he hadn't been feeling well but was better now.

> The tip of his tail was subconsciously curled around your ankle but you didn't point it out to him, not wanting him to be self-conscious.

> After that you notice that Leviathan was a lot more open with his words. He still stuttered and turned red, but he was trying. Even if he ended up running away afterwards sometimes.

> Soon, he even grew brave enough to ask you to h*ld his h*nd! Once the first barrier had been breached, however, the two of you started holding hands all the time.

> If his hands were busy with gaming, expect his tail to seek you out.

> One day, he'll muster up the courage to tell you how he feels. But until then, you're happy to wait. ⭒☆━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━☆⭒

[alluringjae]

it’s a royal order - jjh

⤑ summary: one of your royal campaigns became a success, and your bodyguard jaehyun was there to see it all happen. it’s only fair to celebrate, right?

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 2k

⤑ genre: fluff, suggestive (dirty talk, jaehyun got a daddy kink, superiority complex!!), implied smut | bodyguard!jaehyun, princess!reader, slight enemies to lovers!au, modern royal!au (where south korea remains under monarchial power)

⤑ warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, family problems and therapy, explicit language

⤑ playlist: lows by pink sweat$ | céline by gallant | i put a spell on you by iza | nasty by ariana grande | dance for you by beyonce | body by sinead harnett

⤑ author’s note: this is definitely less emotional than all i do is wait! i got this idea from a show i really enjoyed before it got cancelled named the royals. specifically, i really liked the story of eleanor and jasper, which is the whole princess x bodyguard dynamic. the pining and tension, ugh! if you know this show or not, it doesn’t matter. anyways, thank you for the 30+ followers and 200 notes on aidiw! enjoy!

i need holy water because of this piece.

⤑ credits to jeongjaehyuns for the gif above uwu

⤑  leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my utmost support for the Anti-School Violence campaign for all students to have a safer and more meaningful learning environment.” You proudly announced to the board of officials alongside other influential individuals in Korean society.

Being the only princess in the current royal line may have its pressures, but holding a strong, direct impact for a brighter future for the people motivated you to take advantage of your platform for the better. As the image of pure innocence and revamped women empowerment, you aimed to accomplish all the things your mother wished she could before her untimely death alongside your personal aspirations.

Expressing genuine joy with the campaign, with a tinge of desire to annoy the old-fashioned and closeminded officials, your prying eyes were more enamored by a certain man in the back clapping by the ballroom doors. You can’t help but act flustered whenever he witnessed you in a state of success and satisfaction.

This man went by the name Jeong Jaehyun, your trusted bodyguard since you were in your early twenties. 3 years later, he still stuck by your side and helped you endure all the darkness as a royal.

Back then, you went through a rebellious phase that was ruining the image of your family. Clubbing almost every night, drugs, skipping school, you even managed to get all assigned bodyguards to quit! The media ate up all your tricks, turning them into scandals. That was the plan, of course. You desired your own freedom from all the royal obligations because you didn’t ask to be born into that lifestyle. To all of your peers who wished to be in your footsteps, you would’ve impulsively passed your title to them. There’s so much deception that lies behind the glitz and glam of it all.

This unexpected change in your former untainted attitude came to the point that your father, the king himself, stepped in and personally assigned one of his men to get you in check. He figured that appointing a guard nearest your age may lessen the tension and mend you back together.

In the start, you absolutely despised him. There was no way to fool him when you were up to no good. He easily found your alcohol and drug stash which he disposed of on the spot and stood by your bedroom door every night so you wouldn’t sneak out past curfew (which your father also strictly implemented).

One big turning point in your relationship was when he rushed you to the royal hospital when you drank a cocktail that went unnoticeably spiked. To think that this was a typical social gathering with other royals and officials, you’re a constant target to many. You didn’t wake up for a few days, and the entire time, Jaehyun willingly stood by your bedside and outside your hospital room.

Since that and more instances your father insisted you get involved in royal affairs, you softened up. As cliché as it was, the more time spent with him, the more you knew about him and vice versa. He was the one that got you to fully open up about your grief towards your late mother, encouraging you to seek help. Turns out you weren’t as different as you thought despite your differing ranks in society when he also had a void for a missing parent. In his case, it was his father, who ditched his family for his mistress. Silently, you helped each other recover from your traumas alongside therapy. From dreading his presence, you started treating him more casually. Your father’s tactic of assigning a bodyguard around your age admittedly worked.

Oh, how time flies.

This campaign was the last thing on your weekend agenda, so you had the entire late afternoon and evening to yourself. Bowing one last time to the audience, you stepped down from the platform and accepted the soft hand of your bodyguard, who quickly made his way to you despite the flashing cameras. It was something he got used to as it is part of the job.

Once he successfully ushered you out of the ballroom, his hand still held yours. Nothing new, except this event was quite public and you didn’t want anyone to get any wrong ideas. Strolling down one of the many hallways in the palace became a pastime for the both of you, where no one can catch you. It was a safe haven within the destructive life of the Park kingdom.

“You did phenomenal as I expected, your highness.” Jaehyun complimented, recalling your panic the night before as the stage fright hit strong when you were reciting your speech to him over and over again.

“We are in private, Jaehyun. Must you really use those formalities with me?” You taunted, bobbing your head sideways mockingly. With him could you felt like a normal young adult, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Jaehyun loved being frisky with you, catching you get irked up. And he was up to do it again.

“Hmm last time we strolled these halls, Yuta caught us making out after a successful meeting with the Prime Minister.”

You gasped at his statement, conscious of whoever may be in the vicinity. But before you could refute, your hand that was interlocked with his were mightily slammed against the white wall. You lost your breath for a moment, his warm body closely on yours. His free hand freely roamed up and down your covered waist. His lips were dangerously near your neck, where you’re sensitive. Your hips naturally grinded against him to release the pent-up tension.

“Something tells me you want to do it again, princess?” Now he’s just using your title as a pet name, but you couldn’t complain. It just hits differently when the situation was set up like this.

“I deserve it, don’t I? Got a lot of those hell-driven officials on my side for this round.” You raised both your brows cockily, licking your lips.

“Hell yeah, you do.” Finally, he rids of the tension and plants open kisses on your bare neck. Your throaty moans were uncontrollable, and you could care less.

“My princess,”

Kiss.

“So intelligent,”

Kiss.

“So benevolent,”

Kiss.

“So helpful,”

Kiss.

“But,” He changed his pace and direction, swollen lips near your ear.

“But?” You question naïvely. He scoffed, smirking at your antics of playing dumb.

“But a total slut for her bodyguard.” He dominantly planted his lips against yours, one of his veiny hands gripping on your waist and the other by the arch of your butt. He was hungry, needy even. Due to your shared schedules, it’s been a constant struggle to have proper alone time from the snooping eyes of Korean society. After all, it wasn’t in the norm for a princess to fall deep for her bodyguard. Nor were you sure you would be accepted by anyone. Yuta, the bodyguard of your oldest brother, the crowned prince Jinyoung, finding the both of you at that time was a total shock but didn’t care either.

All that mattered was that your feelings towards each other are real and strong. Accepted or not, you had each other.

All this lust put you in a daze, wanting much more than another smooch fest in the hallway. Tugging on his belt, he squeezed your butt tightly. You emitted a moan, which allowed his tongue access. No way could you keep your hands to yourself, touching his upper body and the flexing of his abdominal muscles from his button-up. You felt his now hard member poking through.

Analyzing your area, you were on the other side of the palace. Farther to your bedroom where numerous rendezvouses were made, one kink you’ve considered in the past amplified your mind. Considering this area was also the king’s side, and he was abroad for royal affairs, this was your chance.

“I have an idea, my love. You up for it?” You rose a brow at your lover, challenging him. Not one to overpower this man in bed, but always suggesting a way on how to spice it up.

“And what exactly does your feral brain want to do with me, princess?” His finger lifted your chin so you meet eye to eye. You can just see the fire still burning, and oh how you were ready to intensify it.

“The main ballroom, where my father and late mother’s throne rest, are a few doors away.” Your fingers signal him to lower his stance as his tall height was difficult to reach. With a sneaky smirk,

“Let me ride you in the king’s throne, my love.” Your lips brushed over his and sucked his bottom lip, tugging him by his belt. He groaned, squeezing your butt. “It’s a royal order.”  

“Nasty, your highness. Insanely nasty, you are.” His hands hoisted your waist, boosting you up in his arms. You gasped with profanities, ravenously cut off by his lips again. His nails digging deep in your bare thighs, your legs naturally linked themselves around his torso while your arms passionately intertwined his broad neck.

In between kisses, he carried you to the said main ballroom. One of your wildest imaginations, just a second away. This room remained to be the only place without any guards stationed technological advancements or updated interior designs to preserve its traditional beauty. Dated as far as the 19th century, only special events were held and the highest of the high were allowed inside. Spacious, surrounded by gold linings majestic paintings of angels from above with a huge crystal chandelier right above the center. Right ahead, the original thrones that your ancestors, grandparents, and parents sat on when they were throned in its pure glory.

Pushing your lover on the king’s throne, the gold sun-like rays plastered behind the headrest, he cockily leaned back and manspread his legs for comfort. He rubbed his hands before patting his thigh, waiting for your submission. But you weren’t going to give in just yet.

Not when you prepared a mini-show just for him underneath your designer silk dress.

Jaehyun’s solemn eyes marveled over your gorgeous figure as you stripped down one strap after the other. Due to its silk fabric, it effortlessly dropped down to your figure to reveal a new set of black lace lingerie from your previous trip to Paris. Ages ago, Jaehyun unhesitatingly ripped your favorite ones during his birthday, so you decided to get a mature version of it. A version where your bra lifted your breasts more and undies hiked up to your waist to elongate your legs. Only for the eyes of yourself and the man in front of you, establishing that you were a powerful woman who can be absolutely anyone she can be. Princess, a normal young adult, or his slut, it’s up to you how you see yourself.

Jaehyun mumbled all the profanities he could think of at the moment. Looking like a divine angel when the sun from outside shuns behind you, his slacks tightening so much more than a while ago.

“All this for me?” He ogled shamelessly, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and untying his necktie. “What did I do to deserve such regal treatment?”

You sneered at his comment, stepping out your dress in your heels and stationing right in front of his luring lap. “You’ve always been there for me, thick and thin. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Lowering yourself to straddle him, his breath hissed when your damp core collided with his crotch. Distracted and caught in your trap, “I don’t think you answered my question, my love.”

Rather than a verbal response, he roughly pulled you back in for a kiss. His hands scattered to explore from your back down to your waist. Your hands messily ran through his hair, tugging on some when your body got too sensitive to his wild touches. The thrilling sounds of the two of you drowning in your fiery romance bounced throughout the ballroom, not minding if anyone passed by the hallways outside. It was a private room after all, and whatever happens here, stays here.

Rolling on his crotch while his lips trailed down to your collarbones, the quick snap of your bra wires echoed. The tight lift lessened as Jaehyun’s fingers dropped the straps, unveiling your bare chest covered in his marks.

“Enough playing, princess. Let daddy have some real fun with you.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Barrage

For @whumptober2021 day 3:  taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

CW: War whump, WWI, dehumanization, vampire whumpee, degrading language, negative/panic stimming due to sensory overload, casual ableism (it’s not intended as such, but effectively is), period-appropriate xenophobia, implied future loss of limb, brief religious talk at end

1918, the Western Front of World War One

-

If he’s screaming, he can’t hear himself over the sounds of the artillery.

Shells fly through the air with the only warning a high whistle before they burst apart in blasts that shake the trenches like an infant with a rattle, knocking free dirt from the sides of the trenches.

It drifts down to land on his shoulders, settling over the hands he has over his head. His palms press against his ears and it does nothing, absolutely nothing. There are tears in his eyes, fear bleeding pink into mud that simply turns darker, seeing no difference between vampiric saltwater and blood. 

Not that there is much of a difference, really. 

His mouth is wide open against the ground, throat taut, lungs tight with the expulsion of air but the vibration of sound in his throat is so overwhelmed by the rumbling of the earth and the barrage slamming into the ground around him that he can’t feel if he’s making any sounds or not.

If he had a beating heart it would be pounding, but it lays still in his chest, locked in the final heartbeat he’d had more than a decade before. 

That he is already dead never quite undoes the visceral horror of sounds too loud for a human mind to understand, destruction too total and complete. The part of him that is still human shrieks at him to run, but there isn’t anywhere to go.

The barrage is everywhere, it’s in everything. The trees blast apart above their heads, branches and fragments of bark and leaves rain down into the trench. 

The other men hunker down, trying not to look directly up, each of them with eyes closed or staring off into space, flinching now and then, hands trembling so hard their rifles rattle. There’s no point in moving - the shells will find them if they so much as pop up over the bags. All they can do is wait, and wait, and hear the sounds without knowing which come from their own side and which from the enemy.

In a moment like this, the human body knows only terror, and there is nowhere to run to escape it.

Finally, the sounds start to die off. A final whistle, a single explosion, and then everything falls silent.

Not that the vampire boy can tell, not at first.

His ears keep ringing, painful noise that is inside him and not without. He slowly pulls his hands off from his ears and pushes up to his knees, shuddering, rocking back and forth in an attempt to soothe his nerves. He can feel, now, the vibration in his throat. He can’t hear himself but he must be humming, low and tuneless, trying to drown out the panic. 

Once the shells have finished, the gunfire begins.

“Here they come! Steady aim, boys, the Krauts are on us!”

The sound of the soldier’s voice seems tinny and small, so distant, trapped behind the ringing in Tristan’s ears. He screams himself, into the mud beneath him. Someone races past, stopping briefly to pat his head. If they speak, he can’t hear them over the shrieking noise inside his mind.

Short reports break through the air like thrown knives, the soldiers in the trenches alongside him popping briefly up from behind their protective shield of sandbags to fire on the German infantry who come out of the shell-smoke like a swell of horrible phantoms. 

They fall, they cry out, they hit the ground.

Sometimes the Americans let out a cry themselves, someone is fired upon and falls. Someone else yells in fierce victory. Someone shouts a curse. 

He hears a man shout, “I won’t die today!” and hopes it’s true.

Tristan loses time, shivering compulsively and curling into himself, humming and rocking until the ringing finally starts to die down. Longer, still, as long as the rifles continue to fire. He hears a wild, high-pitched cry, and glances up to see a German with a bayonet through him drop to his knees and then fall into the trench, landing less than three feet away.

The man’s probably dead before he hits, but Tristan still screams and pushes back, scrambling until his back hits the wall. His knees are damp from the mud he’s curled up in and he doesn’t care, he’s never cared. All that matters is finding some small hint of peace.

It seems like an eternity before even the gunfire starts to go quiet.

There’s a voice that calls, but he can’t care enough to let the sounds filter into understandable words. He smacks his hands into the mud, again and again, pushing himself forward and back, finally leaning down to knock his head into the ground, over and over. Each contact with solidity is a soothing rush, slowly working its way down his spine and through his muscles, reminding him that the noise is gone, the noise is over.

The voice calls again.

There’s no more guns firing, no more shells. The world settles into an awful heavy silence that is nearly worse than the sounds. They’re in the middle of a forest more vast than any Tristan has ever seen before, and there are no birds, because there are no more trees for the birds to live in.

Only the doughboys and the enemy, everyone the walking dead. They’re as dead as Tristan is, their bodies just haven’t figured it out yet. And they won’t get back up when they fall.

The vampire keeps knocking his head into the ground. It helps to stop his thoughts from spinning and swirling in a mad spiral inside.

It doesn’t help enough.

He’s brought back to himself by a kick, a fellow soldier’s boot knocking hard into his hip and sending him onto his side. He grunts and looks up, squinting. The German soldier’s corpse is gone - they’ve moved it while he was locked within himself, within his terror. The sky above them has a sickly glow beneath heavy clouds brought on by smoke from the fires and explosion. 

The soft sound of distant wounded calling for help filters into his understanding. 

The soldier that kicked him, Kirk, gives him a grin. The man’s face is streaked with mud, dark with it, and only his teeth and his eyes show white. “Hey, medic. Didn’t you hear the officers?”

Tristan looks up at him, and slowly shakes his head. His ears ring, a little, but all their ears ring. They’re all shouting just to be heard.

“Huh. Well, trench got blown apart off to the east. It’s your time to do what you do best, fangs. Go sniff out the ones we can save.” Kirk grins. “Like a fucking dog.”

The vampire closes his eyes, shuddering, looking away, shaking his head more in denial than in real refusal. It feels like the shells are still breaking apart inside him, shuddering rumbles inside his nerves now, not up in the sky. His whole body shakes. “I, I, I c-c-can’t, can’t, I-... I c-can’t go, go up there, c-can’t-”

“Doesn’t matter what you wanna do or not, bloodfuck. You think any of us would be here if anyone important gave a damn about our feelings? Gotta earn your bloodbags, don’t you? Get up there with the dogs where you fucking belong. ”

The other soldiers laugh as Kirk kicks him again. Their laughter isn’t even mean, exactly, but carries an edge of hysteria. It’s a release of tension after the barrage for them, after the gunfire, after the loss or three or four of their own, listening to how Kirk talks to him. It makes them all feel better, reminds them they’re still alive by reminding them that the vampire isn’t.

And, for whatever it is worth, it seems they’ve held the line.

To Tristan’s mind, a bit of land doesn’t seem worth what they are being asked to suffer.

He uncurls himself slowly, his bones aching in protest of his movements, his body begging him not to show himself above the bags, to be potentially seen by a German sniper just waiting for the American soldiers to pop up thinking it’s all over and make excellent little targets.

The vampire reaches out with a trembling hand to pick up his helmet where it’s been discarded beside him, stuffing his hair up underneath as he pulls it on. He tries to buckle it, but he keeps dropping the straps. His fingers won’t close, they’ll only shake. 

Kirk finally huffs a sigh and leans forward, grabbing him by one arm and yanking him over, taking the straps in hand and doing the buckle himself, jerking it too tight until the vampire whimpers at the pinch. “You’re fucking useless, bloodsucker. Go on. Serve your fucking country, like the rest of us. We’ll see you later. Hey. We made it, huh? This time we keep breathing. Well, we keep breathing, anyways. You keep… uh, whatever it is you do.”

The vampire nods, slowly, eyes searching Kirk’s for some hint of something other than his hatred. 

For the first time since they were shipped out, Kirk’s expression does soften. 

Just a little bit. 

“Come on, bloodfuck.” He says the insulting name almost like an endearment. “Don’t look like that. You’ll be all right,” He says, voice low, giving the vampire’s chin a playful little shake. “It’s just the artillery, just a little scrap. They brought out their big guns, and look at us, we still got our limbs, ain’t we? You still got those chompers. Hell, none of us wet ourselves this time, so we’re doing a sight better than last time.”

The other soldiers chuckle, a little. Someone mumbles, “That was once.”

“Oh, hush it, Fallows, nobody looks down on you for it, everybody’s a bit crackers the first time they get shelled.”

“Yeah, Fallows, we’ve all been there.”

“Listen, after my first time it took me three weeks to go to the latrine without a buddy just in case, you’re all right.”

The soldier who must be Fallows shifts, but he half-smiles, a little, comforted by the camaraderie around him. Tristan’s heart hurts, wishing he could be part of it, not kept apart by the curse in his blood. 

A different soldier - Tristan thinks the man’s name is Davies - pulls out a canteen of what is probably supposed to be water and almost certainly isn’t. The American army doesn’t imbibe, officially, but Tristan’s never seen an officer who didn’t look the other way after a battle if his men needed liquid courage to make it to the next one. 

“I, I, I’m scared,” The vampire whispers. A tear trickles down the cleared path along the dirt in his face, following the trails of those he’s cried before. Kirk looks at him and rubs his thumb over the vampire’s high cheekbone, smearing dirt back over. Like trying to fill in a dried riverbank. “I’m, um, sc-scared of the sounds, Kirk.”

“So’re the rest of us. Fritz never does it halfway, does he? I get you. We’re still here, for now.” Kirk pats the side of the vampire’s face, almost gently, and then pushes him backwards with a sudden resurgence of his usual careless violence. “Now go find the crump-hole Fritz made of the others and pull out the wounded.”

He has to do this. It’s his job, and it’s the only reason he hasn’t been staked out like the ones who refused to go willingly. The vampire swallows, nodding slowly, and turns away. He has to jog down the narrow line of the trench, past rows of soldiers who watch him with dulled eyes that stare far, far past him. Twice he pops his head up, just for a second, to get a better look at where he should go. 

Ahead of him, the No Man’s Land stretches. It’s a hellscape, cratered and with any hint of greenery long gone. A morass of mud and the still-standing stump of the occasional tree. There are dead men out there, he can smell them. Some new dead, mostly old, the ones that aren’t worth pulling back behind the lines, not yet. Some wounded men who call for water, for help, but who mostly call for their mothers.

Tristan would call for his, too, if he thought it would help.

There’s dead Germans out there, he can see their uniforms on the prone, still bodies. Some of their wounded cry mama, mutti, mutterchen. A few cry papa, vaterchen. Tristan has seen enough dead - some by his own hand, though he never wanted to kill anyone, William didn’t tell him how not to and he had to find that out on his own - to know that nearly everyone, at the end, thinks finally of who they love most.

Someone cries, in a broken voice, “Cady, help me,” and Tristan closes his eyes against the pleading in the sound. 

Seems like more Germans than Americans, this time, and he might see some French, too. It’s hard to tell, with the smoke is still rolling over the land.

He hopes they don’t try to gas each other again. It doesn’t affect the vampires, but he’s seen too many men die choking on their own lungs already, he’s ready to never see such a thing ever again. 

He sighs, gets back down into the trench, and keeps moving.

The ranks thin out, and he finds himself utterly alone for the last few hundred yards.

There’s a brief burst of gunfire that has him shaking again, flinching and stumbling into a depression underneath the top, where a soldier might sleep at night. The vampire stays there, curled up tight staring in fear, until the gunfire subsides.

Once it fades, he hears the barking.

Ambulance dogs.

“Medics! We have wounded!” A man’s voice cries, rough-edged. “We need help!” Ahead of him, the trench collapses in on itself, blown apart by shells. A soldier’s rifle lays in the mud, bayonet glinting faintly. Next to it, a photograph, a young man and woman standing next to each other, dotted with dirt. The woman has a slight smile on her face, and the young man’s arms are around her waist. They look happy.  

The vampire’s throat closes as he looks at it. She’s very pretty, he thinks. She’ll be very sad when she hears that her soldier isn’t coming home. He wishes he had any photographs of his parents. 

If he must be damned to never see them again, even in Eternity, it seems doubly unfair that he can’t even find an image of them to remember them by. He’s sure there were photos taken at the island where they were processed, but those photos weren’t for them. They were kept by the men and women who barked orders at the young Tristan and his parents as they went through the line. 

“We have living wounded!” The man calls again, much closer, and the vampire jolts back into motion. He picks up the photograph and tucks it into one of the pouches at his waist, next to a small vial of plain alcohol he uses to wash out wounds.

He can see the dogs up top as they dig, paws burying themselves with incredible speed in loosened mud as their handlers move next to them, encouraging them. Every dog wears a big white square patch with a cross on each side, marking them as ambulance dogs. The vampire has a patch on his left arm like that, marked with a cross for medic - and a V to make sure he is always known for what he is by anyone who sees him. 

As if the fangs don’t give him away. As if the way his eyes look in the darkness isn’t a clue all its own. 

There’s a high-pitched bark and a shout of triumph, and the vampire looks up and sees a man so covered in dirt he seems less human than golem being helped to his feet. He’s miraculously uninjured except for having been half-buried in mud. 

“Let’s go, soldier,” The dog’s handler says, and then moves quickly away. The soldier follows him, shuffling more than walking, staring around in amazement that he’s still alive.

The Germans could fire again at any moment, of course, and the vampire finds himself frozen, staring up into the yellow-tinged dark sky. There’s a low rumble, a whistle and boom, and he flinches before he realizes the sound is so distant that it must mean shelling much further down the line than he is.

That doesn’t mean what they’re doing is safe.

He’s still staring up at the sky, waiting for the barrage to begin again, when something closes tight around his wrist and he jolts to the side with a cry of shock and fear.

It’s a hand.

A hand, reaching out from the mud. Dirt is ground into every knuckle, under the torn fingernails, into the callouses worn into the pads of his fingers. The hand grasps wildly, blindly, trying to find anything to hold onto.

There’s a living man buried under the mud.

The vampire has to work his throat to find his voice, and when he does he cries out, “We, we, we have living wounded! Living wounded! B-buried, buried, help! I need help!”

There’s a flurry of movement as the vampire lurches forward, gripping onto the hand and digging with his other, trying to give the man who must be in there some reassurance that he is felt, seen, found.

Trying to give him some air before whatever he’s got runs out. 

One of the other medics hops down and lands roughly on their feet next to him. It’s another vampire, one that Tristan has never seen before. They’re older-seeming, with straggly long dark-blond hair barely held back in a plait down their back. The vampires aren’t usually allowed to speak to one another for fear that they’d plan some sort of mutiny, and so the other medic is silent other than a soft grunt, digging into the dirt with their bare hands with inhuman rapidity, uncaring for the possibility of injuries because they simply cannot hurt their muscles any longer.

Tristan feels the hand he’s holding squeeze and he gives two squeezes in return. We’ve got you, just hold on, hold your breath, just a little longer.

Eventually the frantic work of the other medic reveals dirtied blond hair, helmet-less, marked with mud and blood in equal measure from a cut they can see as the man’s forehead is revealed. Then his eyes open wide and very blue, he gasps in air.

“Pl-please,” He manages, his voice a rasp. “Please, help me-”

Tristan exhales an unnecessary breath in relief, and smiles. “Hold, hold, hold on, hold on, we’ve got you, soldier.”

The man sees his fangs but he’s too full of the rush of adrenaline at the prospect that he has been saved from suffocation to be scared of them. Instead he starts to cry, weeping and holding onto Tristan with a bone-crushing grip. 

The other medic hisses as they dig in and find a dead soldier on top of the living one. This one has the telltale slightly-open eyes of someone long gone, body still warm. There’s an awful caved-in look to one side of his head that Tristan refuses to allow himself to see. “Must have protected him that way,” The vampire notes, coldly informative, uncaring. “Dead took the brunt of the blows. One lucky man, one unlucky one. Flip of a coin, living or dying.” They sound like they don’t care at all.

Tristan wonders how long they’ve been a medic. If they maybe felt more at the beginning.

The smell of blood moves through the air like a bubbling stew, making Tristan’s mouth water. He holds back as best he can, pulling to help dislodge the survivor from the dirt his compatriots have died in. 

Some of them still haven’t yet - the vampires can scent the difference between dead and living, and there are more soldiers still breathing under the rubble. He can smell that some are so wounded they won’t last long. Others, though, they’ll get out in time.

Tristan doesn’t look at the slack expression of the dead soldier whose body kept this one alive as he is revealed. The survivor comes free - first his shoulders, then his arms come up to grip tightly around Tristan’s waist. His torso is revealed, his hips…

It’s only when they finally get him fully freed, laying on the ground, that Tristan realizes one of his legs is… wrong. Bent wrong, nearly blasted off. He swallows at the sight.

“We, we, we need a stretcher,” Tristan says, frowning. The soldier groans, as if only now beginning to feel the pain of the shattered bones from his thigh down to his foot. “He, he, he can’t walk. He’s gonna lose the, um, the the the leg.”

“God, no,” The soldier pleads to no one in particular. “Please, no, not my leg…”

“Hush. Better that than your eyes or your face, mouthbreather.” The other vampire launches themself at the side of the trench, clambering back up - only for there to be a sudden burst of new gunfire, and Tristan stares up in panic as the vampire’s body jolts as three bullets pass through them.

They stumble backwards, briefly, then bare their fangs in the direction the gunfire came from and hold up their hands with middle fingers raised high above their head. They give a loud, half-mad trill of laughter.

“Have at it, Huns, I’m already dead!” 

Then they turn on their heels, moving at a rapid jog towards the medical tents nearby. There are bullet holes in the back of their uniform, new fresh ones alongside several that have already been patched up from earlier hits.

“Please, I have to-... have to go home,” The survivor of the bombardment says in a whisper, and Tristan turns back to him, nodding slowly. The man’s face is pinched with agony, but… but he’s familiar. “I can’t die here, fangs. I can’t.”

“Don’t, um, don’t don’t don’t worry… you’ll go home, you will.” He doesn’t know that, not really, but it’s what every soldier wants to hear, and the doughboy beside him lets out a breath of relief and smiles, a little, trusting him. Tristan hitches in a breath, and digs into his belt-bag, pulling the photograph out. It’s the same young man as the subject of the photo, his sweetheart next to him. Maybe she’ll see him again after all.

He holds it out. He sees the soldier blink, struggling to focus.

Tristan clears his throat. “I, I, I… um, I found this.”

The soldier grabs it with his free hand and gives a hysterical, relieved laugh, pulling it to his lips and giving it a kiss. “Marta,” he breathes. “Oh… thank you, fangs. Thanks for finding it.” he looks up at Tristan with a bright smile, teeth seeming terribly white in his dirt-coated face.

They are so rarely kind to him, the soldiers. 

The vampire closes his eyes against a new rush of tears. He whispers, “Look, look, look at the, the, the photo for just a moment for me,” and lifts the soldier’s wrist to his mouth. The soldier knows the score - he doesn’t even go tense. He's probably been bitten a few times before.

When the vampire sinks his teeth in, it’s as gentle as possible. He takes little blood, only pushes venom into the wounds until the soldier’s body goes limp and relaxed, his eyes still locked on the photo of the woman he wishes badly to go home to.

“Tell, tell, tell me, um, about… about, about Marta,” The vampire says, glancing up. He can hear further shouting. The other vampire’s voice, which  means help is on the way. “While we wait for the stretcher.”

The soldier’s eyes drift shut.

“She’s… she’s nineteen. Preacher’s daughter, her ma and two sisters died from the flu this year. She’s got four little brothers who made it, though. We were married just before I was sent to basic training, last fall… Hey.” The soldier looks right at him, meets his eyes. “What’s your name, fangs?”

No one ever asks him that.

He blinks once, twice, three times. “What?”

“Your name. What can I call you?”

“Uh, Tristan, um, Medical, um, Un-dead Medical Private Tristan Higgs.”

“Huh. I’m Dennis. Just… I don’t care for all the titles we get. Just say Dennis. Tired of bein’ called by what I am and not who.”

He nearly laughs. He knows the feeling. “Nice, um, nice to meet you, Den, Dennis.” 

“You, too, Tristan. You’re Irish, right?”

Tristan nods, a little, his smile widening slightly. “Was. Been in New York since, ah, before the turning of the, um, the the century.”

“Were you a vampire when you came here?”

Tristan swallows, looking away. “No.”

“Oh.” Dennis falls silent, for a moment, then squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring on bad memories.”

“That’s, um, that’s all right.” Tristan settles onto the muddy ground, with the body of the soldier who didn’t make it visible in the dug-out part of the cave-in, and listens. The other soldier, he thinks, likely would have his own people waiting for him, who now must be told the terrible news - but this man, Dennis, he’ll go home to his Marta, one-legged but alive. 

Dennis never lets go of his hand. 

Whenever his face starts to show his pain again, Tristan lifts the man’s wrist back to his mouth, fills him with venom again, and asks him more questions about home.  

Dennis thanks him for it, every time. 

He says Tristan reminds him of his own brother, who’s still back home working the dairy farm he grew up on. “He’s always been better with the cows than people, anyway. He’d hate all this racket,” Dennis murmurs.

“I, I, I hate it, too.” Tristan smiles, just a little. “I’d say you, um, you get used to it, but…”

“You don’t,” Dennis says, heavily.

“Right. You… no, um, you don’t.”

Tristan hopes Dennis gets to go home to his pretty Marta, his brother and the cows, and never come back to this hell the rest of them are trapped in until its bitter end. He hopes, deeper than that and in a secret place within himself, that he will redeem some of the damnation of what he was turned into by doing as much good as he can while he’s here.

He can’t go home.

Home is people, not a place, and his are long, long gone.

But maybe if he suffers for the good of the living, he’ll be seen as redeemed enough by God and His angels to be allowed to see his mother and father again.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @pretty-face-breaker @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[delimeful]

not always what they seem (3)

warnings: remus pov so lots of brief mentions of gore/violence, some NSFW comments/innuendos/saucy jokes, dissection mention, miscommunication, minor injuries

the song remus so graciously performs for everyone is "a gorey demise"! :)

-

Remus kicked his legs absently as his alien carried him through the giant halls of... wherever the hell they were. A spaceship? Some sort of research facility? Maybe probing was still on the table.

He was pretty sure at this point that this was real, if only because if it was one of his night terrors, there would have been at least 35% more death and gore by now. Maybe 40%.

And it wasn’t like there hadn’t already been prime opportunities at basically every moment, with how small and crushable they were in comparison to each of the aliens! If the three of them were the protagonists, by slasher movie standards, two of them would have to be grotesquely killed by the end. He wondered absently which of his fellow abductees would make a better Final Survivor.

His attention immediately switched tracks as they reached a stopping point, and Logan settled their hand down on a giant, metallic table. Remus rolled off onto the surface and sprang up to his feet, rubbing his hands together maniacally. “So, what’s first?”

The alien’s big fluffy ears twitched, but they didn’t do more than glance down at Remus before tapping at a smooth blue surface and pulling up extensive diagrams. Well, if the alien wasn’t going to bring the experiments to him, he’d bring himself to the experiments!

He trotted across the table and skipped onto the blue surface, ignoring the windows and symbols that flickered into existence behind every step. If they didn’t want him walking all over the alien version of a touchscreen, they should have kidnapped him with shoes! Or broken his legs, like very literal theatre fans.

Logan didn’t lift a hand to stop him though, their head tilted curiously like a feral cat seeing something small and breakable to maul. Remus dialed the probability of it being a night terror up a few percentages, and then turned to look at the diagrams anyhow.

Ah, yes, pictures. The universal language.

He had no idea what most of the creatures depicted were or what the labels attached read, but the drawings themselves were clear enough: bodies posed neutrally, no clothes, and some parts of them exposed to show muscle, bone, and organ.

“Hm,” Remus hummed, consideringly. “These are either dissection diagrams or some really gory pornography... Either way, I’m so down.”

He flashed the alien a double thumbs up, and flopped down on top of a diagram. Logan reached over and messed with the touchscreen for a moment, and then reached even further and returned with a long, narrow utensil, black and pointed at one end.

They set the point of it directly next to his torso without even bothering to press the rest of him down, and Remus wondered if the alien expected him not to thrash around while he was being dissected. Maybe aliens had technology that deadened nerves as they cut through them! He’d always wondered how long he’d be able to survive a vivisection.

Logan moved the utensil, and Remus’s body twitched in adrenaline-fueled anticipation despite feeling exactly nothing. He craned his neck to see what was going on, and blinked.

A line stretched across the touchscreen where the utensil had slid across it, shadowing the curve of his ribcage over what looked hilariously similar to graph paper.

The alien was tracing him.

“Oh, come on!”

---

Logan’s tail swayed in curiosity as Remus began to make louder versions of those little noises that made up the aliens’ language, accentuated with a hand gesture. The motion made it harder to get an accurate outline, but the main point was to get basic measurements anyhow, so Logan didn’t try to stifle the little creature’s movements.

He absolutely didn’t want to disrupt the odd casualness with which this one treated him, so different from Virgil’s earlier twitchy terror and even D’s careful consideration of their every movement. While quite rowdy in nature, Remus seemed the most unconcerned with the situation, only showing aggression when one of the others had been grabbed without warning.

The tiny aliens were certainly a puzzle. D had given Remus’s name for them, perhaps indicating a social hierarchy, but Remus was also the largest between the three of them and had been completely unfazed by any teeth baring or tackling from the other two.

He prodded the tiny alien lightly as he finished and saved the measurement, and when that garnered no response, he curled fingers under them and lifted them up securely. Remus ragdolled petulantly, seeming oddly mopey. Perhaps the measurements had bored them?

Hopefully, the maze would provide a little more enrichment. Logan had made the deeper areas quite tricky, after all.

---

Patton was very delicate with how he handled D.

He’d tried to be careful with Remus, too, but they’d seemed pretty intent on trying to bite off little chunks of his suit, and attempt to scale dangerous items, and generally make Patton feel a little wonderment at the fact that the tiny creature had managed to survive long enough to make it to them.

With D, it was much easier, because the alien moved slower than the other two, with a purposeful grace. It seemed Patton didn’t have to worry about D throwing themself off any available high surface just to see if Patton would manage to catch them in time, at least.

He carefully shifted his hand to his research desk, and D adjusted the cuffs of their borrowed overlayer before stepping off of his hand.

Despite D’s languid movements, something about their body language seemed much more mindful than Remus. The pause as they took in the landscape and the ambient writing scrolls scattered across the table before deigning to turn and look at Patton, it felt almost... calculated. As though they were thinking about every move to present a certain image.

Patton reminded himself that there were plenty of aliens that didn’t feel as strongly as Nilhae about the authentic self, and these aliens in particular had more reason than most to hide themselves. They were tiny and vulnerable here, stripped from their homes and families, and  by all appearances, Patton and his teammates were the ones responsible.

He wasn’t sure he’d be eager to share his unfiltered self if he was in their situation, either.

Patton clasped both sets of lower hands together determinedly. The solution was the same regardless of if he wanted to fulfill his responsibility as a researcher or make any progress in befriending these little guys: they needed to communicate!

He pulled out two sets of the common alphabet, one printed and one imprinted. He wasn’t sure which senses were the keenest for these aliens, which ones they used for their own language systems, so it was best to cover all his bases.

D studied the printed one curiously, but seemed less interested by the imprinted one. Perhaps the materials used for touch-reading were different for them? Patton moved his hand closer slowly, allowing them time to protest, and held a digit out.

After a short staredown, D set their tiny hand atop it, and Patton guided them both to the surface of the imprints. The symbols were oversized for their tiny digits, but they seemed to get the idea, running their hands over the carved bumps and glancing back and forth between the printed letters and the imprinted ones.

Patton cheered internally, and then flicked a finger in the air to get D’s attention.

“Wait here please!” he enunciated carefully, and then held a hand out, palm-down, to indicate that they should stay put.

D kept their expression carefully neutral, not twitching in any way Patton could read, which made sense, since this was the first time Patton was using these words. Hopefully, context and a few repetitions would help them puzzle the meaning out.

He dipped his lowest arms in a polite be-right-back, turned, and left the room.

It didn’t take him long to duck in and out of the few rooms that held the items he needed, though he seemed to accidentally give Virgil a bit of a startle, going by the wide-eyed look the alien shot at him as Roman greeted him briefly.

Every hand full, he returned to his space, and found D standing in almost the exact same spot, shoulders loose and relaxed, attention remaining on the printed alphabet even as Patton walked closer.

He set each item down, earning a casual glance from the alien, and discreetly checked the heat register for the desk’s touch surface.

Sure enough, the past few moments showed recordings of small footprints that traced the perimeter of the desk, checking every possible side of it, likely for an easy way down. Then, they swiftly headed back to the center of the desk and settled back in place, close enough that it would appear they hadn’t moved at all.

Patton’s mouth twisted unhappily; he could teach the aliens as many words as they wanted, but if they didn’t trust them enough to even show their discomfort with the captivity, real communication would be out of reach.

They had a long way to go.

-

Remus whistled cheerily as he was carried back to the communal room, Logan’s padded fingers forming a more secure grip around him than before. He didn’t get squeezed to death or anything, so the alien probably wasn’t too angry with him. Or they were just contemplating a more painful method to murder him.

The other alien, the one with the freaky-awesome bug mouth and the rude grabby hands, was still in there, seated by the designated Gawk-At-Humans platform. They made some greeting noises at each other, a couple of which Remus imitated to himself, mangling the vowels in the back of his throat.

As Logan got closer, he could see Virgil standing surprisingly close to Grabby, and even better, the kid was all in one grumpy human-shaped piece. He jumped down from Logan’s hand before it was completely lowered and laughed as he felt his knees pop uncomfortably.

Logan made a warble-chirp of probably-disgust-maybe-concern, but Remus was swiftly distracted by the emo appearing at his side between one blink and the next, as though he’d teleported. He circled Remus like a starving wolf, his lips pulling back slightly as he took in the bruising around his shoulders. “What’d they do to you?”

“Well, he didn’t dissect me, which would normally be an automatic fail in the mad scientist gradebook, but,” Remus paused for emphasis, “I got to trash the electronic version of a horror movie corn maze, so I’m pleased as prostitutes!”

“He put you in that maze? I knew that thing was unsafe, holy shit—,” Virgil moved to put himself between Remus and Logan like he himself wasn’t just as squishable as Remus was.

“It seemed OSHA-approved to me! Before I smashed through all those walls, I mean.” He admired his scraped up hands with a cheek-stretching grin. “It’s much less boring now, with all the fun and sharp metal scarecrow sculptures I put together to jumpscare the piss out of future contenders!”

“An alien put you in a trap-filled rat race and you made modern art?” Virgil asked, successfully distracted from whatever horrific war crimes he was inventing for Logan in that little lemming brain of his.

“Can’t have anyone beating my time!” Remus confirmed cheerily.

“You— I. Ugh. Whatever!” Virgil threw his hands up, and then grabbed the front of Remus’s shirt and dragged him further from the two aliens like a bully stereotype from a low-budget teen coming-of-age movie. “Listen, the other one— Patton? They came in here earlier without Dee. I’m worried about— my hoodie.”

Remus would have made fun of the emo for his slip-up, but he was too busy imagining Dee splattered across some distant spaceship flooring. “That alien hardly even touched me,” Remus countered for both of their sakes. “For someone with so many hands, the guy sure didn’t want to get handsy.”

“You used that one already,” Virgil told him, unimpressed. “Get better hand jokes.”

“I’m better at jobs.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows, and received a muted smack on the shoulder for his efforts. He glanced back at Grabby automatically and found both aliens watching them, neither taking umbrage with Virgil smacking him like a cat annihilating a moth. “What happened with your xenomorph?”

“Terrible movie to compare us to,” Virgil muttered, but he glanced over his shoulder at Grabby without any of his earlier terror. Grabby waved at him like some kind of people-pleaser desperate for connection. “Pretty sure I just went through the same ordeal as one of those endangered birds scientists catch and release. Weighed, measured, photographed against my will.”

“Did you at least get a colorful tag to attract more bitches with?” Remus asked, lifting his ankle up in example.

“I would have bitten them first,” Virgil replied sourly. “I didn’t spend my whole adult life avoiding all government interaction to get slapped with a house arrest anklet now. Especially not a colorful one.”

“They’re not that bad as long as you can ignore the beeping,” Remus assured him, and then paused to contemplate. “...All government interaction? Did you get sold to aliens for being a tax evader?”

Halfway through Virgil’s resulting spluttering fit, Patton trotted through the doorway, Dee sitting on one of his hands looking just as untouchable as always. He stepped gracefully onto the table’s surface once Patton’s hand got close enough for a smooth dismount, and said something in the alien language, apparently fluently as all three of them worked themselves into a tizzy over it.

Dee turned to them with an expectant look, and they wandered over to meet him like peons to their tyrannical king, or rotting driftwood in a river.

“Congrats on the Klingon!” Remus grinned salaciously. “Did you know the ship name for the most homoerotic characters in Star Trek is Kock?”

“Shut up, it is not,” Virgil said, like a nerd. “But seriously, you know what they’re saying?”

“Yes, completely, I learned an entire language in one session,” Dee snarked back, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like short phrases such as ‘thank you’ are much easier for non-native speakers to pick up naturally or anything.”

Remus interrupted Virgil’s answering hiss with a very important query. “Did you teach them any swears?”

“No,” Dee’s eyes flashed in warning, “and you won’t be teaching them any either. Or any English at all. The longer we keep our conversations incomprehensible to them, the longer we’ll maintain what little privacy we have left. I’ll share the alien language with you both, naturally, so you can report to me on what they say when they think we’re not listening.”

Remus and Virgil stared at him for a long moment before exchanging glances.

“I can’t believe you accused me of tax evasion when Dee is right here,” Virgil complained, earning himself a sharp look from the man in question.

“Who told you about that?” he hissed, and then visibly remembered that they were in space and so it probably didn’t matter. He adjusted his cuffs, which looked absolutely ridiculous from a guy wearing a hoodie instead of a suit. “Ahem. Regardless, we’re learning their language, not the other way around. If they have half a brain between the three of them, though, listening to me teaching you will be enough for them to pick up on some English. We’re going to need a distraction.”

“You had me at ‘between the three of them’!” Remus announced suggestively, making Virgil fake-gag next to him. “Leave it to me!”

Dee seemed completely content to let him wreak his havoc, grabbing Virgil and sitting down near the back of the table, the side where the aliens weren’t.

Remus strode up to the three giants confidently and cleared his throat pointedly. When that didn’t work, he screamed at the top of his lungs instead. That worked no matter where he was!

“Alright, everybody sit down, quiet down, listen up,” he started brightly, spreading his arms wide. “I brought you all here to recite the annual obituaries. Like every year, we’ll start with A and we’ll end with Z…”

---

Patton blinked, absolutely entranced as Remus belted out words to an invisible tempo.

The little creature’s vocal chords were stronger than they looked, because their melody came out loud and clear, with accompanying charades that Patton could make absolutely no sense of.

Once they had wound down to the last words and then silence, Remus looked up at them expectantly.

“Wow, that was so beautiful!” Patton cheered enthusiastically.

Remus’s eyes rolled up in what was probably an exaggerated expression and not a medical condition, and they clapped their hands together pointedly. Patton hesitantly mimicked the motion, and then more confidently when Remus visibly perked up. Eventually, he was using all three sets of hands for maximum clapping.

Logan and Roman followed suit, clapping to congratulating the abrupt performance while whispering about the implications of it between each other. Remus folded over in a deep bow that was probably an accepting gesture, and then took a deep breath.

As they launched into another song, all three aliens fixated on them, one of the two humans at the other end of the table smacked a palm against their face, utterly exasperated.

[shushiyuii]

tiny!mer tommy with giant human sbi member noms

HAHAHAHA ANGST TIME, i'm kidding. its all fluff! MUHAHAHAAHAA!

Warnings: Soft vore

Words: 1.4K+

(@ghostan0n here you guys go!)

Tommy swam and splashed happily around his pond. The pond was a fair size considering Tommy was only about half a foot in height, not only that but the pond had a good ecosystem going for it with no other Mers around, meaning it was the perfect safe haven for the little Mer.

Growing up Tommy had been the runt of him and his siblings and because of the smaller size, he got blown away in a current from his family at a young, leaving him to learn to survive without the help of his parents.

He luckily found the pond, so it greatly helped him in surviving. He learnt how to live completely on his own.

He wasn’t alone though; he did have some frequent visitors.

“Tommy! We got you some treats!”. Tommy slowly and sneakily made his way to the surface, out of the way from the human’s view, to deem this treat worthy of his feast.

Surprisingly it was his favourite, little choc chips. They were sweet and full of flavour! Tommy loved them! He dove back under the water and happily pounced onto Wilbur’s hand. “There you are!”, he was just smaller than Wilbur’s hand.

He chirped back happily and began to eat his chocolate, he wasn’t allowed much and afterwards Wilbur was supposed to give him fish food, which wasn’t the worst food out there, but it tasted rather bland if he was honest.

Wilbur chuckled as he witnessed Tommy straight up gobbling the chocolate with what he could with small fangs. He honestly found it adorable. “You doing okay, Today?”, Tommy chirped happily in response.

Sadly, Tommy couldn’t speak English, only understand it. He learnt it through many years of living in the lake. But what he could speak was his own language known as Oceanian, which consisted of thrills and chirps.

And luckily for Tommy they had a translator as Wilbur’s dad, Phil worked with Mers and had a good understanding of the language. Meaning he could communicate with them. Only with Phil present though, he had yet to learn sign language.

Once Tommy was finished with his chocolate, he dove back into the water as he couldn’t stay on the surface forever.

Tommy is honestly quite happy where he is now, he would never want to leave the pond. It was his home now and Wilbur, Techno and Phil were his family, even with the creature difference.

Tommy gestured for Wilbur to join him in the pond and play. “You wanna play?”, he got a splash in response. So, Wilbur happily walked into the pond, with it barely being his knees length he could easily sit down.

Once he did sit down, Tommy swam around his legs. Breaching the surface much like a dolphin now and again. It made Wilbur happy to see Tommy happy as cheesy as that was.

“So, what’s happening in Tommy’s chaotic life Today?”. Tommy stopped for a minute and surfaced his upper body. He pinched his chin in a thinking position until he seemed to remember something.

Tommy dove back into the water and didn’t surface back up for a couple of minutes. It made Wilbur curious about what he was doing. Then Tommy came up to be carrying a small shell, which fit nicely into both arms.

“Another shell for my necklace, huh?”. Tommy nodded and chirped happily in response. Wilbur was going to have to drill a hole into this one in order to fit his necklace that was laced with shells already given to them.

It was always a gesture Tommy gave them; it was always a contest between the three of them who got the most shells from Tommy. And not to brag but Wilbur was winning.

Tommy continued to swim around Wilbur and getting the occasional hand cuddles, then it was time for bed, “Alright Toms, I think that’s enough for today.”. He whispered to the half-asleep Mer sleeping on his hand.

Tommy lazily chirped back as if saying “I don’t wanna sleep!”. But Wilbur moved so he could put Tommy into his grove.

But Tommy wasn’t having it, he clung onto Wilbur’s hand when he tried to retract it. “Tommy, it’s getting late! Phil will be mad if I don’t get home for dinner!”, he chirped back frustratingly in response.

“Tommy we can’t be arguing right now, I gotta go. I’m sorry”. Tommy began to aggressively chirp at Wilbur as if he were screaming profanities, he probably was. “Tommy! First, language! Second, I can’t stay! Sorry bud. I’ll come back tomorrow though”.

Tommy’s ear like fins lowered as he made the saddest puppy dog eyes he could. He didn’t want Wilbur to leave obviously. Wilbur sighed, “Why are you being so clingy today, huh?”.

Tommy thrilled sadly. “Alright, alright. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, okay?”. Tommy finally let go of Wilbur, trusting him to come back and Wilbur wasn’t just going to let him down.

Wilbur made his way back to the house, “There you are Wil! How’s Tommy?”. He asked as he continued to cut the onions on the cutting board. “Just fine, he’s being really clingy Today.”.

“Ah, Mers can be like that sometimes, they don’t want their pod to leave.”, “Tommy wouldn’t let me leave one night actually, it was annoying”. Techno added, but it was clear no ill intent was there. It was just Techno’s way of being playful.

“Hey Dad, is it okay if I skip out on dinner tonight?”, Phil looked over with concern on his features. “How come?”, Wilbur stumbled on his words, whilst grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Uhh-“.

Wilbur looked away when he couldn’t answer. There was a moment of awkward silence as Phil thought for a moment. Then he pieced it together. “Oh! Got it! Go ahead! Stay safe alright?”. He sighed in relief, “Will do!”. Then, he left the house back to the pond.

…

He then made his way back to the pond, “Tommy! I’m back!”. In a second Tommy was at the surface, swimming towards Wilbur. “Okay, you clingy bitch! You know what we’re going to do?”. He asked sarcastically. Tommy chirped back in determination. He knew what he was going to do.

Because of Phil’s job as a Mer biologist, a professional one at that. He knew a lot about Mers. And he made sure his kids knew a lot too. So, when the family met Tommy, they already were well aware of how to take care of the Mer.

That also included other things too, such as the fact Mer’s were able to be swallowed and safely be stored in a human’s stomach since they were acid-resistant. The first time Phil had done it so they could transport Tommy safely was rather shocking for Wilbur and Techno.

But then they did it themselves and were actually quite surprised it felt like a giant hug, so they honestly didn’t mind swallowing Tommy, they did it now and again. So, it seems like it was one of those days for Tommy.

“How about a challenge Toms?”, Tommy furrowed an eyebrow. “Try and land in my mouth. I dare you.”.

Tommy made a determined expression and quickly dove back into the water. Wilbur sat down, opened his mouth, and waited. After about a minute, Tommy breached the surface as high as he could. And missed.

So, he tried again, this time Wilbur gave him a helping hand and let Tommy land in his hands. And then quickly shoving him in his mouth, much to Tommy’s dismay. He wanted to do the challenge. It made Wilbur laugh as Tommy’s tail hung out of his mouth.

Tommy chirped angrily and slapped his tail against Wilbur’s chin. In response, Wilbur just softly swallowed, then proceeding to slurp up Tommy’s tail like a noodle. He then swallowed again and traced Tommy’s descent with his hand. Making sure his little brother was again.

Once he felt Tommy land in his stomach, he put a hand to his stomach. “You okay Toms?”. He got a chirp in response and felt Tommy get comfortable in his stomach. He signed in relief, he then grabbed his water bottle and chugged down the bottle. So, Tommy was sure to be safe.

“Alright, time for bed.”. He then made his way back home, grabbed his guitar and played a soft melody until he heard Tommy’s sleepy chirps. Then made his way to bed.

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[satingrove]

tracing the route

pairing: javier peña x gn reader (no y/n)

word count: 3.3k

summary: he visits your desk in the evenings and misses you when you leave. he wants more time.

warnings/content: mentions of smoking, language, mild physical descriptions of anxiety, p i n i n g, kissing

a/n: thank you to my darling cris for your help and for letting me chat you up about this, as well as a thank you to jojo for the lovely gif :)

gif credit: @nobie!

“Hey,” Javier’s wide palms press themselves into the edge of your desk, his weight leaning forward into your space of disorganized papers. With the movement, a brief wafting of his scent fills your nose — he’s fresh, not dirtied or sweaty from the chase — it’s been a slow day, coffee mugs with drips long dried on their outer edges, exasperated sighs at the pace of which things are finished, getting nowhere. The open collar of his shirt hangs loose beside you, the tan skin of his torso hiding underneath the rest of the lavender fabric, “You look tired.”

You exhale through your nose, your foot catching on the leg of your desk as you swivel to face him properly, raising your brow.

He clears his throat, “You know what I mean.”

“Mhm,” you sigh, resting your cheek in your palm, “hi, Javi.”

It’s late. It doesn’t necessitate a glance at the clock; he always comes once the majority of the others have gone home. He has that soft glint in his eye, like he means to tell you something important — something that never makes it past the barrier of his lips when they’re pressed together in a lopsided grin.

Like he’s grinning now.

“How are those papers coming along?” He nods toward them with his head, leaning even closer to your shoulder, his voice quieter when he continues speaking, “you're allowed to leave at a decent time.”

You hum your acknowledgement, catching your thumb on the edge of a stack and letting the papers slip past it. It’s a failed attempt to ignore the rush of butterflies from the gentle, rich timbre of his voice.

“I don’t want to fall behind,” you tell him, brave enough to catch his eyes that look softer than usual, perhaps brighter, flitting their focus between your left and right.

“Is that worth your sanity?” Javier gives a subdued chuckle, eyebrows pulling up in the middle. You can tell it’s just a poke at you, but there’s a tone of concern laced in there somewhere. “You've been staring at that sheet for a while.”

He turns his body until he’s half-seated on your desk, his long legs extended past the wheels of your chair.

You want to swat his arm. You’d do it lightly, playfully, show him you’re not shy of being in his space... you don’t. Any step forward with Javier is more like a mile forward; it’s elevated with him. Everything is more meaningful. If he lets you in, you’ll fall right to the bottom.

Instead, you let your shoulders slump, staring at the mess you hate so much. All that time spent filing and reporting, signing lines — there’s nothing to show for it. There’s so much left.

And Javier is more insistent tonight. If it were any other day, he’d be sauntering away by now, glancing behind himself for one last look at you. This is a look you’ve yet to notice; he smiles when he turns his head back — taking a step just out of line into someone’s shoulder, or gathering the strength to pull his gaze off of you in time to avoid it.

Today is different; he stays a moment longer. Is it because he can’t help himself? It’s a question he pushes to the back of his mind for later. Now, you’re in need of a push.

“Stop,” he whispers, grabbing the pen from your grip and tossing it from your reach.

“Javi, I was gonna finish—”

He’s right. You’re allowed to leave at a decent time.

His throat tightens, thinking of the exhaustion you’re under, hating that you drive yourself into these situations of reddened eyes and the incessant bouncing of your knee.

And he’s right about before, too. The sheet of paper at the top of this pile is one you could have finished filling out at least fifteen minutes ago, but the fog in your brain cuts off the ability to form any thought other than I don’t feel like doing this.

But Javier, you think, Javier could learn from this too. He’s allowed to feel something other than that deep aching he excels at hiding everywhere but in his eyes.

You know he’s been smoking more lately. His packs empty at a pace just quick enough to earn your worrying. And it’s no secret his sleep is an afterthought too; he’s here with you every night you’re not sleeping either.

“You okay?”

Fuck that question.

Fuck that question and the way it threatens to rip your stability apart.

“Yeah.”

“Look at me,” he taps two fingers on the wood, “and try again.”

“Yes.” The furrow in your brow speaks more for you than your own voice. His expression changes, from the whisper of a smile to that of stony sympathy, the truth of your lassitude hardening his presence. 

Christ, he feels it too, but he’s not as nice to himself — he’s never as nice to himself as he is to you. It’s fucking hypocritical what he does, and he carries that awareness deep in his belly when he tells you things like this, like how you should give yourself a break, because he knows he needs it just as much.

Reaching to pat a comforting hand on your shoulder, he stops himself just short of you. Too much? His words are enough, he tells himself.

“Go home,” he speaks soft and slow, whispering your name in a deeper tone, “it would do you some good.”

And as perfectly as life and timing go, your protest — a dig back at him, a “what about you?”— is swallowed by a louder shout, requesting Javier.

He looks down at you, mouth twitching at the corner, and pushes off your desk, “Think about it.”

———

He... didn’t expect you to take his advice.

His eyes fall down to his feet. Shit.

It’s been, what, thirty minutes? And you’ve finally decided to listen to him after weeks of this gentle urging to take care of yourself?

His fingers twitch at his sides. Silent, lazy snapping. Your papers are tucked away in the drawers of your desk, that pen he flicked out of your reach back in its cup holder, the chair neatly pushed in. 

Javier should be able to go on with his night, to keep working to ease his mind, but it unsettles him too much to see your desk vacant without saying goodnight first. He’s grown accustomed to this — this stream of feelings you started within him, caring about you — it’s not that he doesn’t like it. It’s that he worries even more now, and it’s not something he could mention to you in all your conversations.

You’re doing fine how you are. You’re managing, you’re getting things done. When he sits at your desk, it’s as much time as he can bear to allow himself without feeling too guilty.

But he questions your safety.

As you key the door to your apartment, hoping you’ll last long enough to brush your teeth before passing out, Javier shrugs on his jacket, the lining cool over his skin. He walks briskly to the exit, giving an unceremonious wave behind him as he slips out the door, heading for his truck.

If you can listen, he can listen.

———

You feel sorry, disappearing like that.

He told me to do it, you reason, so why does your chest feel so tight, like you can’t get enough air? Javier is a capable man, he could last without your goodbyes — he can’t miss you that much.

He comes to visit with his free time, or maybe it’s not free — he needs a distraction — and maybe his brief touches aren’t as meaningful as you think. And that’s enough for you. It’s what you tell yourself when you kick off your shoes and head to the bathroom to wash up — it’s enough. Perhaps, if you had him whole, you couldn’t handle it.

Perhaps, if touching him unapologetically was something you could do, you’d stop yourself too. Knowing his mind is different than knowing his body. 

You know his mind; it’s quick and witty and his mouth is smart, (like when he’s perched on your desk with his shirt hanging loose) but his body is something you could learn with your hands — the most you’ve allowed yourself is to brush your fingertips against his when passing him a file, or a pen he doesn’t need. 

As you brush your teeth, you think of his hands — you’ve seen the way they handle a gun with such ease and yet care at the same time, the way they press into the edges of your desk, and how his thumb brushes his pouty lower lip when he’s deep in thought. This is the time when you look at him and he doesn’t notice.

His lips — they curl into those half-grins around his cigarette, and his hair, fluffed up by the end of the day, falls over his brow. His shoulders broad, his back strong.

You want to know his body by touch — at least, after finding out why his visits have become so frequent, why his stares are drawn out (this, you know only because you’ve worked up to holding his gaze long enough).

Shit, you mumble as you settle not onto your bed, but the couch, without thinking that this is the wrong place. It’s all Javier in your head. Laying down over the cushions, you close your eyes and hope for a restful sleep.

To thoughts of him, you doze off, picking apart little instances where he’d shown something just beyond friendly affection. Is he always like that? Was he always like that?

It’s been a gradual thing. The first time he’d interrupted your work was purely for professional reasons, and back then, he still took your breath away. It’s more delicate now, the way he speaks to you — different than the pushy yet soft tone when he urged you to find an important piece of information. His words got cheekier, his body closer to yours in those polite intrusions.

You know, when you watch him through the windows in his office, when he doesn’t want to be bothered by others — but even on those days he ends up chatting with you, pain dissipating (and that, you can tell by his fading frown).

He’s eased his way into you, bit by bit, and bit by bit you would fall apart if he ever stopped interrupting you. 

———

At first, you don’t wake up to the noise. You stir, your body shifting over the couch cushions, ignorant of the gentle rapping at the door. It stops, for a moment, before coming back harder, louder. 

It’s incessant by the time your eyes finally open, your heart an overwhelming weight, pounding in your chest. Fuck, who is that? It’s enough of a scare waking up to a racket like this, but someone is out there, you remind yourself, someone’s knocking, and it’s really fucking loud.

There’s a shout of your name, you’re sure; it’s not just your startled mind making you hear it. And it sounds like his voice, worried.

Rushing to the door and brushing the hair from your face, you lean to the small spyhole in the middle of it. 

You see the same shirt you’d had your eyes on for nearly half the day, under a leather jacket — of course it’s Javier. You almost forget he’s waiting for you, distracted by the way he’s standing, hands on his hips and his head hanging low between his shoulders. He’s thinking — lip caught in his teeth and his chest heaving slightly, as if he’s trying to suppress another shout of your name.

Your mind comes back around, hand jumping to the lock and then the handle on the door, twisting it frantically. As you push it open, his head snaps up, wide brown eyes flashing to your face, to your thigh, back to your face.

You rub your eyes, “Javier?”

His chest falls with an exhalation of relief, fingers pinching his nose as he shifts his weight to the other foot, “Shit, I didn’t realize you’d be asleep already—”

“—It’s okay... are you okay?” You ask shakily, stepping further from the door, and in your diminishing haze, you miss the way he cautiously eyes you a second time. 

“You took my advice,” he starts in disbelief, the look of concern softening to something proud, his hair tousled with the breeze from open windows during the drive. “I... wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

Oh, god, your heart is beating too fast for you to keep up with it. 

His look is sad and sincere, brows pulling up in the middle as he watches you through his eyelashes for forgiveness; he’s pleased you’re safe, yet he’s beating himself up for interrupting the sleep he’d talked you into getting.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, wrapping your arms around yourself. It’s not something he had to do, and he looks like he could use a longer break than yourself, but he’s still here.

Javier walks closer, “Were you, uh, sleeping well? Before I woke you up?” His hand lands beside your head on the doorframe, body leaning intimately near yours.

“I was, I— how’d you get here?”

As he’d expected it, Javier’s response is honest, though the same thing he always tells you when he’s surprised you with his doings, “Pulled some strings, dug through some files.”

He’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghosting your shoulder, that same fresh and heady scent washing over you.

Pulling strings; it’s what he does.

You try to think, with his eyes ceaselessly roving over your face, whether to invite him in or not. It’s not what he came to do.

But it’s late, you’re both tired, there’s drinks to offer him — for being so kind, you rationalize.

“How far out of your way am I?” you ask, unable to tear your eyes away from his. He’s boring into you. Mercilessly so. You try not to breathe too hard, let your cheeks burn too hot — he makes it impossible to control.

“Doesn’t matter,” he dismisses the question, “I know nothing happened now.”

“I get home safe every other night,” you smile at him, teasing, his face returning that same look; he knows this. Your early absence was just an excuse for it.

“What if it had been different?” He slants further, and it’s a great fucking struggle not to brush a strand of your hair back. He instead clenches the fist around the door frame, patting the side of his leg with the other, just for something to do with himself in place of pressing his hands to your hips and risking your disapproval.

There’s nothing to say to that. You giggle, maybe nervously, maybe just from his softly pressing nature, but he’s retreating now, fingers sliding down the wood as his body leaves yours.

“’M sorry I woke... you should get back to sleep.” He speaks lethargically, a heavy energy settling on his shoulders at the idea of leaving you, especially in those soft clothes where your thighs peek out, the endearing way you lean against the door in your dying sleepiness.

His hands are back on his hips when he says your name and tells you goodnight, a minor frown on his face.

If Javier stays any longer, he might not leave without kissing you, at least, not without some indulgent touches he can hardly pass up on anymore.

Except you call his name back, returning the polite farewell, Goodnight, Javier — still buzzing that he came all this way, and your heart falling that it hasn’t gone further than what you do when you’re at work, with people watching.

No one else is here. You could do anything — he could do anything he wanted.

He stills. Calculates. Makes his eyes big at you.

No, he can’t leave. 

He returns steadily, weary of this ceaseless watching, noticing, knowing you and not having you. He looks left and right over the other doors, lowering his head and sighing, “You’re killing me, baby.”

The first touch is his warm hand cradling your neck, thumb brushing lazily over your jaw, the other hand finding a home on your hip and tugging you to him. As your breath catches, his lips close in on yours, velvet, warm, and full. Wanting, needing, but not greedy. 

He walks you back inside with his body, the door swinging further open with the force of your bodies shoving past.

"Is this okay?” he murmurs deep into your mouth, earning your consent in a single word and breath, yes.

Javier is gentle with you, pulling back as little as he needs to tilt his head the other way, your arms wrapping wantonly around his neck. None of it is rough or forceful — it happens like it should, like it’s meant to for a number of arduous weeks. There’s small sounds coming, quiet whimpers and relieved sighs each time you break apart to come back together.

Javi, you breathe, before you’re swallowed in him again, tenderly, your lungs begging you to gasp for more air. You hold on as long as you can, till he’s lost it too, parting to watch your face and to see you shyly smiling up at him.

His hold moves to your waist when he kicks the door closed behind him. A moment, of sharing your breaths, his nose nudging along your cheekbone, turns everything to shades of pink. He shrugs his jacket off, letting it slip from his arms and, keeping his face nestled to the side of yours, he lets it fall.

“Fuck,” he whispers, mouth open until you kiss him again, your fingers running easily through his silky hair, resting at the nape of his neck. 

Nothing, nothing, has felt this good in years; Javier fights to keep a semblance of calm, expressing desperation through a tight embrace.

He’s your only anchor, though he doesn’t weigh you down — he supports you, keeps you from drifting. Hot and smooth and selfless. You could topple over, but the wall of his chest and the hold of his arms are too strong and firm.

For him, and you, it doesn’t need to go any further tonight. Kissing you is everything to him, hands never prying past your clothing or sliding over the more sensitive parts of you — but he needs as much of this as he can get, going slightly hazy at the thrill and bliss of touching you like this.

His lips are an incessant, delicate brush against yours, his top lining with your bottom when he nips at you. It’s nothing if not forgiving, and through the kisses from his warmth, he unwillingly whispers, “Baby, we should sleep.”

“I know,” you agree, his proposal sounding like a habitual thing between you, “I don’t know if I can.”

Sleep is far away from your racing mind. He makes a pleased sound when your fingers brush over his collarbone where his shirt lays unbuttoned.

“You will.” He cups your face in his hands, this time kissing you with less urgency and a higher sense of quietude — it’s happened. It’s you and him now, in your living room that borders the kitchen, feeling each other. It’s you and him, confessing through affection the ache of wanting one another.

Javier tells you, in a hushed and kind tone, that he’ll stay tonight, if it would help you sleep. If it’s what you want.

+

tags: @queenbbarnes @ayamenimthiriel @princessxkenobi @filthybookworm @mitchi-c @jettia @bookofbriar @nomanchesnoncreator @harrys-stan @meshlamando @jabbajambler @nakhudanyx @lycheemi @kj-holmes @goldengubs @mandoclan @lady-of-glass-and-bone @thehippiequilter

— if your user is on here but not properly linked, your blog was not able to be tagged! :(

send me a message if you’d like to be added or removed!

[starlightments]

                                     PREVIEW: part one

    The Galra, a hostile nation of magic-wielders, have finally been banished from the kingdom’s borders. The war is over, once and for all. The Crown City is more determined than ever to re-establish peace to its people when a mysterious boy is discovered in the outlands. Keith is taken under the wing of the Royal Guard, where he is to be groomed for knighthood, but his inherent and untamed magical abilities have branded him a threat, alienating him from the only family he’s ever known — until he meets Lance, a rambunctious young prince in search of a playmate.     But as the boys grow older and feelings grow stronger, their days of childhood whimsy evolve into a deeply unshakeable bond; one that is soon tested by rumors of a Galra counterattack and perhaps even a state-mandated betrothal to assuage political tension. Now, with both hearts and lives on the line, the two lovers find themselves at a complicated crossroads: duty or desire?  

Language: English  |  Rating: TBD  |  Art Credit: here  

FANDOM: Voltron: Legendary Defender

GENRE: Royal AU, childhood friends-to-lovers

PAIRING(S): Keith/Lance

                                                     . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  A flash of light comes blazing through the half-parted curtains, followed by a violent clap of thunder that rattles the floorboards and, consequently, startles the young prince awake.

  Lance sits up with a gasp, clutching at the elaborately embroidered duvet, keeping it tucked under his chin for protection. The bedroom goes pitch black again, save for the bluish glow of a star-shaped nightlight in the corner, but the storm continues to rage outside. He can hear rain beating behind his window and the blustery sway of tree branches as they scrape up against the glass like fingernails.

  “Marco,” Lance whispers into the darkness. His brother remains fast asleep, snoring softly, on the other side of the room. “Marco.”

  Still no response. Lance spends a moment rooting around under the covers for his raggedy stuffed lion, then squeezes it close to his chest as he scuttles over to his brother’s bed and shakes him urgently by the shoulder.

  “Go away,” Marco grumbles into his pillow.

  “But the noises!” insists Lance. “What if it’s a—”

  “It’s not a monster, it’s just a storm. Quit being such a baby.”  

  Lance puffs up at that, bottom lip jutting out with defiance. He’s fully prepared to remind his brother that he turned seven last month — and is, therefore, no longer a baby by any means, thank you very much — when another loud noise cries out in the dead of night; except this time it’s unlike the rumbling thunder and howling winds. It’s a mighty whoosh of the front doors being flung open downstairs. Wet footsteps slapping against the marbled foyer. Low, angry-sounding voices.

  “Marco,” says Lance, shaking him again. “I mean it, I think there’s something—”

  “Cut it out, Lance,” Marco says, and then swats at the younger boy’s hand with an agitated grunt before rolling away to face the wall.

  But the noises persist. If anything, they’re only getting louder, more conspicuous, and Lance’s curiosity is not so easily brushed aside. So, bracing himself, with his trusty lion in tow, he pads across the room and pokes his tiny head through the door.

  Across from him, Lance’s older sister is doing the exact same thing, peering furtively down the dimly-lit corridor in a satin nightgown, her hair done up in curlers.  

  “Ronnie—”

  “Shh!” she hisses at him, a finger pressed to her lips in warning. “It’s Papa.”

  Lance’s mouth parts into a bewildered little ‘o’ shape as Veronica proceeds to slink out of her room and toward the staircase. At the opposite end of the hall, he spots Coran, the royal family advisor, where he appears to have dozed off in the middle of watch duty again, slumped over in a chair, his big orange mustache wiggling with every exhale, and so Lance decides to tiptoe after his sister.  

  The Citadel’s east wing is a winding labyrinth of passageways and gilded alcoves, but the further they creep into its bowels, the clearer the commotion becomes. One of the many chamber doors has been left slightly ajar, a strip of lamplight pouring out from the gap, along with their father’s voice, hushed and stern.

  “—What on earth were you thinking, Takashi?”  

  They both scamper up to the door, peeking inside. It’s a thin opening, just barely enough space to make out glimpses of shifting bodies: their father paces around a large wooden conference table, his brow drawn tight, while Shiro, in contrast, stands perfectly still like the soldier he was born to be. There’s a small boy hovering at his side in tattered clothes, similar to Lance in size, and his face is obscured by a curtain of damp fringe.  

  “I found him in the outlands, alone, with nowhere to go and no way to survive,” Shiro answers firmly. “That’s what I was thinking, your Majesty.”

  “You should know better,” the king fires back. “After everything that’s happened, you, of all people, should know better than to invite danger into this household.”

  “He’s not dangerous,” says Shiro. “He’s a child.”  

  “No, he’s Galra.”

  At that, Veronica inhales a sharp breath, then immediately clamps a hand over her mouth. Lance is startled, too, but only because he knows he should be. Only because he’s heard grown-ups murmur that word when they think no one is listening, like it’s something terrible and blasphemous. This boy right here looks like neither of those things.  

  Through the crack, Lance can see Shiro lift his arm; the mechanical one. “And so am I, now,” he states. “The very magic that this kingdom fears, the very magic that’s now a part of me, is what saved my life.”    

  A pause. “That’s different,” the king growls. “It was our only option.”  

  “Well, pardon me, your Majesty, but then what is his only option?” argues Shiro, pointing at the boy. “Death?”  

  “Death,” Lance echoes, scandalized, his grip on his stuffed lion tightening. He reaches for his sister’s ruffled sleeve and tugs. “Ronnie, did you hear that, he just said—”

  “Lance,” she shushes, “be quiet or they’ll hear—”  

  The sudden halting of footsteps lets them know they’ve been caught. But before either of them can think to run, the chamber doors are being swung open wide and their father’s long shadow is looming from above. His expression, however, has been transformed into one that Lance recognizes; gentle and warm.

  “Aha,” he chuckles. “I thought I heard some little mice scurrying around these halls.” Swiftly, the king scoops Lance up into his arm and takes Veronica’s hand with the other. “Back to bed, you two. What would your mother have to say if she knew you were up this late, hm?”

  Shiro, in the background, says, “Your Majesty, I—”

  “We will finish this discussion in the morning, Captain Shirogane,” the king replies tersely. He doesn’t even turn halfway to meet the other man’s eyes. “Right now, I have a family to take care of.”

  “Yes,” mutters Shiro, nodding. “Understood.”

  As Lance clings to his father, peering curiously over the top of his shoulder, he discovers that the strange Galra boy is staring at him with the darkest, saddest eyes that Lance has ever seen in his life. It makes Lance’s skin tickle, being looked at like that.

  So, he waves.  

  The boy freezes in place for a moment, but eventually waves back, looking a bit ashamed, as if he’s not sure whether he should be doing it. When he does, though, Lance notices that the skin of the boy’s palm is covered in black calluses, almost charred straight through to the bone.

  It’s the last thing Lance sees — and the only thing he’ll think about, later, tucked away in bed — before his father rounds the corner and carries him out of sight.

[starlight-loki]

The Thin Line Between Life and Death (Loki x Mystic!Reader) -- PART 1

Or, That Time You and Loki Saved the World

Request: is it alright if you do a loki x reader fic where reader's got powers like strange and wields one of the infinity stones and almost dies trying to save everyone? -- requested by anon

Warnings: this is darker than other fics i've written so far: descriptions of nausea, mentions of anxiety, and major character deaths (but not Loki, I promise).

Word Count: 4.8k (hooo weeee man, if I didn't split this into 2 parts it would've been like... over 10k omg)

A/N: For context, please read this headcanon first if you'd like to know a bit more about the reader and Loki's relationship as well as to sort of set the scene for this fic -- otherwise, if you're cool with jumping right in, enjoy! This was so much fun to write :)

Also this doesn't follow the events of Infinity War/Endgame at all; this is sort of... my take on it, I guess you could say?

Everything started going downhill when you began getting visions.

They weren't anything concerning at first, in fact they were almost cryptic, really: manifesting themselves in your dreams in subtle -- almost metaphoric -- ways. First it was simply the colour orange, which then progressed to flashes of amber light at random occasions during the events of your dreams, then it became fire. For a while, fire consumed your dreams nearly every night, burning through cities, forests, and even planets.

The Ancient One had told you from the start that dreams carried messages from your subconscious. They weren't something to be dismissed, even the most simplest elements. They were to be respected, listened to, and were meant to encourage you to shift mentally and emotionally in indescribable ways.

You figured the fire was symbolic for the stress and worry you were feeling, with everything moving so quickly over the last few days.

After all, the threat of Thanos was looming more and more. No longer was he a whispered rumour that was occasionally passed around at dinnertime with the rest of the Avengers. He was an actual threat now, and the Avengers were holding meetings twice a day to try and develop a plan of attack.

He had the power stone. It was only a matter of time before he found the others.

Twenty-four hours before everything changed, a vision came to you differently than all the others.

You were in the kitchen preparing lunch for yourself when your ears began ringing. Whispers filled your mind from the inside and spoke to you in a language you didn't understand, yet chilled you to the bone at the same time. There was a blinding flash of light that nearly paralyzed you, and as you strained to focus your eyes, you noticed a small orange stone materialize in front of you.

The soul stone.

It glided closer and closer to you, and as it did so the whispers grew louder. The lives of thousands flashed before your eyes. Their deaths did, as well. It was showing you the cycle of humanity -- birth, life, death, repeat -- almost taunting you that this seemingly inevitable thing could be controlled.

You gasped, dropped the plate in your hands accidentally. It fell to the floor with an earsplitting crash, and as quickly as the soul stone arrived, it disappeared in a swirl of orange smoke.

Your hands were shaking as you knelt down to collect the bigger pieces of the now-shattered plate. A hand on your back made you flinch in surprise and you instinctively curled closer towards the kitchen cabinets in an attempt to protect yourself.

"It's just me." Loki's soft voice seemed foggy and distant as your brain continued to adjust from the voices and the ringing you had just heard. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head and sunk to the floor, half in defeat and half in relief that you weren't alone anymore. These visions were growing far too intense for you to handle.

You looked up at Loki, who exchanged an anxious expression with you. His green eyes searched your face, seemingly looking for an explanation of what had just happened to you.

"I saw something," you whispered, absentmindedly gripping the plate shard in your hand tighter. "Loki, I think I saw the soul stone."

His eyes widened as he knelt down beside you and gently pried the glass out of your grip, setting it down out of your reach. He replaced the broken piece in your hand with his own, and you sighed shakily as his thumb gently stroked the top of your hand.

"Did it show you anything?" He asked quietly, and you nodded quickly in response.

"I saw life, death... everything." You felt far removed from you own voice, almost like it didn't belong to you. "It's been happening in dreams too, but I've never seen the stone itself before."

You gazed at Loki, who almost seemed to disappear into his own thoughts at your mention of the visions you saw. You knew all too well about the Tesseract, and the way it had tormented Loki once before. The infinity stones were not gentle to humans, or gods for that matter.

"Do you think this has something to do with Thanos?" You asked, your voice trembling as you whispered. "Do you think maybe he managed to get the soul stone?"

Loki shook his head slowly, but it wasn't without hesitation.

"The soul stone is far away on Vormir. It's guarded heavily. I doubt-"

"Hey, you two okay?"

You glanced up quickly just as Tony stepped into the room. His eyes swept over the mess of a broken plate on the floor before landing on you and Loki, huddled together in the corner of the kitchen as if your lives depended on it.

Tony looked as exhausted as you felt. No one had really slept well in the last few days, but you couldn't imagine what it was like for Tony: he had been staying up until ungodly hours of the morning with Steve, Vision, and Rhodey, trying to formulate a plan of attack.

"Yeah," you shook your head as you tried to clear the last of the visions out of your mind. "Sorry, that was an accident. I'm just... really tired."

Tony gave a perfectly-timed yawn as he knelt down and began to pick up the broken pieces of the plate you dropped.

"I feel ya, kid."

You watched as him and Loki exchanged resigned nods of acknowledgement, and you grabbed Loki's hand before he could step forward to help Tony clean up the mess.

Should I tell him? You asked telepathically. About the soul stone?

Loki gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Not yet. His voice echoed through your mind like the whispers from the soul stone moments ago, bringing you warmth rather than fear. Until we fully understand why these visions are occurring, I believe it would be best to not burden Stark with any more details. It would only cause more problems.

You nodded in agreement as you pushed yourself up onto your feet shakily. You stepped forward to help Tony clean up the mess, only feel your head spin violently. You lurched forward, grabbing onto the counter as you tried to stop yourself from falling.

"Hey, whoa!" Tony sprang up and grabbed your shoulders just as you felt Loki's arms wrap around your waist in an effort to keep you standing. "Easy there, kid. Jesus, are you okay?"

"I feel sick." You mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. Even with two people supporting your weight, you still felt as though you were going to fall over.

"Go sleep, okay?" Tony told you sternly. You made a sound of protest and tried to help him continue cleaning up. Tony shook his head in response.

"Don't worry about this, we'll clean it up." His gaze shifted over to Loki, who still held you tightly. You could feel his hands trembling ever-so-slightly, and you placed your own hand over his weakly as you attempted to silently reassure him that you'd be okay.

"Loki, make sure Y/N gets some rest."

"I will."

Loki scooped you up into his arms in one fluid motion, causing you to wince as spots danced in your vision. You buried your head against his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to hold yourself together.

Has this ever happened to you? You manage to ask Loki telepathically as he set you carefully down on your bed. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face before crawling into bed beside you.

Not to this degree, he replied. You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped your lips as he gently pulled you close, cradling the back of your head. The infinity stones all have variable levels of energy, but I have never dealt with the soul stone before.

Do you mean their frequencies vary depending on their roles?

Precisely.

You sighed defeatedly, troubled by the fact that -- out of all the infinity stones -- the one that boasted power over life and death itself just had to come find you.

You knew mystics seemed to have some sort of connection to the stones, seeing as Stephen knew the time stone and guarded it with his life. You had hoped, though, that if another stone were to find its way somehow to another mystic, it would be Wong, not you.

Loki nudged your chin up ever so slightly with his fingertips, encouraging you to look up at him. He gave you a warm, gentle smile as he caressed your cheek slowly.

"Rest now," he whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead softly. "I will stay with you, I promise."

You nodded halfheartedly in response. Every cell in your being longed for nothing more but rest, yet at the same time you were afraid to close your eyes in case the soul stone was still lurking somewhere in your mind. Waiting for you.

It felt as though you had only just closed your eyes, when the sound of thunder jolted you out of your sleep. You felt weightless as you opened your eyes slowly, taking in the purple hues of clouds above you. As you felt yourself float higher, you realized with a sickening sinking feeling that your body was still in your bed, far away from where you currently were.

Your spirit had separated from your physical body, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't seem to be able to get back.

You glanced upward as you continued your ascent just as two towering structures came into view at the top of a cliff. The whispers that had filled your mind earlier that day resumed, and you cried out in fear, clutching your head in your hands. It only made them grow stronger.

As flashes of orange began filling your vision, your blood ran cold as you realized where you were.

Somehow, your spirit had found its way to Vormir.

Reaching the top of the cliff, you stepped carefully onto the platform just as a hooded figure glided towards you.

Never before has this stone ever summoned a soul into its presence. A chill ran up your spine as the guardian's voice echoed in your mind, crackling like ice.

Many have sought this stone, but it belongs to no one.

"So why did it bring me here?" You demanded, curling your arms around your middle in an attempt control your nerves. You were vulnerable here. You were powerless without your physical body -- incantations and even the mirror realm would be of no use to you in this state.

The soul stone seems to have taken a certain interest in you. It sees potential... for what is yet to come.

"I don't understand." Your own voice seemed to wrap around you in an endless echo. You instinctively took a step back as your head spun from sensory overload.

You walk the line between the living and the dead, mystic.

"But I'm not the only mystic. There's more out there like me, surely they experienced the same thing? I mean, there's Stephen-"

No. Your breath caught in your throat as the hooded figure raised its head to gaze at you, and your eyes met fiery blood red irises. You turned your gaze to the ground in an attempt to divert your fear and calm your racing heart.

Stephen Strange is already in possession of the time stone, the guardian explained slowly. There are no other mystics who possess the strength -- or courage -- to cross over into the land of the dead.

"But I'm not dead." You protested, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that drew your attention back to the fact that you were currently a spirit on another planet, far away from your body. "I... I've been training in the mystic arts for a few years now. Never in my life has anything like this happened. Why now am I suddenly getting visions?"

There is another who seeks the soul stone as we speak, the guardian replied. To your relief, it kept its distance from you. He yearns to own it.

"Thanos," you whispered, feeling a cold chill run up your spine as you spoke his name.

Yes, mystic, the guardian nodded solemnly. However, there are elements of the soul stone that the Titan has not tried to understand. Just like how life and death are two sides of the same coin, so too does the soul stone have another aspect.

You gasped as the soul stone materialized in front of you, hovering level with your line of sight just like when you were in the kitchen back at the Compound. You watched as it began to spin, gradually growing faster and faster, until it split neatly into two halves.

The soul stone embodies both the physical and the spiritual, and thus each aspect is acquired through complete mastery of its respective lesson.

The guardian's words echoed in your mind as you gazed at the fragments of the soul stone curiously. The fear you had felt in connection with your earlier visions was gone now. In its place, all you felt was awe.

As one of the pieces of the soul stone began gliding closer to you, you reached out your hand in an attempt to touch it. It looked so warm, so inviting. You longed to know what it would feel like to hold a piece of ancient power in your hands.

No.

You flinched, glancing at the guarding whose voice boomed in your head. As if to reinforce his words, the shards of the soul stone vanished into thin air.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" You asked quietly. "You said there's a connection between myself and the soul stone, I don't understand."

You must earn it. It does not come willingly to anyone.

"Then I don't want it." You shook your head, taking a step back. "I don't know why any of this is happening, but I want it to stop. I want to go home."

Very well.

The guardian raised his hand, and you felt yourself being pulled backwards slowly, back the way you came.

I offer you a piece of advice, mystic, the voice in your mind echoed out louder than ever. In order to gain the physical shard of the stone, you must lose the one you love. To gain the spirit shard, you must know the path that leads you back to them.

There was a sharp tug around your middle, and you felt your heart freeze in your chest as you began plummeting down the cliff. You squeezed your eyes shut as the wind echoed like a jet plane in your ears.

Remember this, the guardian's voice was distant now. You had to strain to register the words in your mind. The spirit shard cannot be found on Vormir. The fate of the physical shard is being decided as we speak. Use this knowledge wisely, mystic.

An image flashed in your mind of a titan ascending the mountain, towards the top of the cliff upon which your spirit had just stood. You caught a glint of purple, blue, and red flash from his hand.

You gasped, bolting upright as the heavy sensation that accompanied falling back into your body ran through you. You were trembling, drenched in a cold sweat, and you yelped as two hands planted themselves firmly on your shoulders.

"Relax!" Your heart sped up in your chest as you tried to fight off whoever was holding onto you. "Y/N, relax, it's me!"

Loki came into focus in front of you, his eyes never straying from yours as you tried to catch your breath. His hands were steady, but you caught a flash of fear in his eyes as he gazed at you.

"What happened?" He whispered, pulling you into a protective and firm embrace. Your breath caught in your throat as your mind wandered back to the visions that flashed behind your eyes moments before you woke up.

"Thanos." Your voice felt far away, almost foreign to you, as you replied softly. Your trembling hands reached up to pull Loki even closer to you. You were afraid you'd lose control and end up separated from your body again. You didn't want to be alone once more.

"What?"

"Thanos." You repeated again, glancing out the window into the now-darkened sky to make sure you were no longer on Vormir. You couldn't trust yourself. "Loki, I saw him. He's got more stones. He found the Tesseract."

Loki pushed you away, only to wrap his hands firmly around your arms. The fear he had hidden so well moments ago was dancing like fire in his eyes.

"That's impossible," he said slowly, and you weren't sure if those words were for you, or if they were an attempt to convince himself. "You hid the Tesseract yourself, you took it from me and-"

"I know what I did." You snapped. You winced as Loki recoiled away from you ever-so-slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm just... Look, you have to believe me Loki. Please. I was on Vormir, or at least my spirit was. The guardian of the soul stone was there, it spoke to me, I-"

"I believe you." Loki's soft whisper stopped the rambling thoughts that were pouring out of your mouth, and you nearly cried in relief at his words. His expression softened as he took in your torn, distressed expression, and he kissed your forehead softly.

"I believe you." He repeated again, pulling you close.

"We don't have much time." Your voice felt tight in your throat as you spoke. "Right before I woke up, I saw Thanos approaching Vormir. The rest of the stones are on Earth, Loki. I think he's coming here next."

"We need to tell the others."

"Will they know what to do?"

Loki's gaze burned into yours determinedly as he took your hand and helped you up off your bed.

"All we can do is hope."

The two of you raced down the hall, pounding on every door you passed as you tried to wake everyone up at once. Tired groans of protest echoed from within a few rooms, only encouraging you to knock even louder on the Avengers' doors.

"Everyone up!" You exclaimed. You couldn't ignore the way your voice and hands trembled as you made your way down the hall. "Emergency meeting, now!"

The Compound slowly came to life once more as you and Loki reached the end of the hall, and the two of you were met with numerous confused and somewhat alarmed looks.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, effortlessly keeping up with your strides as you made your way to the meeting room.

"Y/N had a vision." Loki explained, taking your hand and giving it a small squeeze in an attempt to comfort you. "Thanos is coming."

"What!?" Bruce's shocked exclamation echoed out from behind you as he jogged to keep up. "We were monitoring his whereabouts, just a few hours ago he was still light years away from Earth looking for the other five infinity stones-"

"Yeah, well, he's managed to get two more," You answered as you sat yourself down in a chair in the meeting room. Loki sat close beside you, resting his knee against yours in a silent gesture, as if to communicate he was right by your side through all of this.

"He's on Vormir as we speak," you continued as everyone took their seats around the table. "He's looking for the soul stone. That's infinity stone number four. He'll be coming for us next."

"How do you know that?" Natasha's question sounded out from the other side of the room.

"There's six stones in total, right?"

Your question earned slow nods from the Avengers sitting around you.

"I saw his glove. He's got the power stone -- as we know -- as well as the reality stone, and now the space stone too."

"The Tesseract was destroyed along with Asgard." Thor remarked, frowning as he took in your words. You looked over at Loki quickly, the two of you exchanging anxious glances, before you looked back at Thor and shook your head.

"The Tesseract was... misplaced." You answered slowly.

Everyone flinched as Thor banged his fist against the table, his gaze immediately shifting away from you as realization burned in his eyes.

"Loki!"

"I assure you brother-"

"I knew it was a bad idea bringing Rock of Ages here onto the team." Tony interrupted pointing an accusatory finger at Loki. Several other Avengers nodded in agreement.

"It wasn't his fault!" You exclaimed loudly. The room felt silent as everyone frowned at you in confusion. "It was mine. I should've destroyed it but I didn't. I just opened a portal and... threw it in."

"Do you know where it went?" Steve asked you.

"At the time, I didn't. I had no idea Thanos was out there looking for the stones at the same time. I just wanted that thing far away from us. It's caused enough trouble, and we didn't need any more."

Loki squeezed your hand and gave you a soft smile as he heard your reply.

"There are two stones left," you continued, glancing around the room worriedly as you thought about the threat of Thanos looming over your team like a dark shadow. "Stephen is guarding the time stone downtown. Assuming he's kept his guard up as usual, he'll be one step ahead of Thanos and he'll already be taking precautions to keep it out of his reach."

You paused, glancing nervously over at Vision. His eyes met yours in understanding, and he gave the slightest nod in acknowledgement.

"The other stone," you continued quietly. "Is right here in this room with us."

A strange humming sound caused a hushed silence to fall over the Compound. You frowned, straining your ears as you tried to listen.

"Does anyone else hear that-"

Tony's question was cut off by an explosion that took out the entire side wall of the Compound. The force of the blast knocked you to the ground, and your ears rang violently as you tried to orient yourself once more with your surroundings.

"This is too easy. Everyone in one room together, how... pathetic."

You glanced up to see Thanos looming over everyone, an already victorious grin on his face as he examined the aftermath of the blast he had caused.

"I would've thought you'd make it more difficult for me."

The stones on Thanos' gauntlet began to glow, and you felt an arm yank you backwards and into their grasp before a ray of purple light blasted throughout the room. You glanced behind you to find Loki, his jaw clenched as he stared in fear towards Thanos, before casting a protective spell over the two of you.

You tried to pull away, to gather up the other members of the team and bring them to safety, but Loki's grip was firm and unrelenting.

"They need help!" You exclaimed in protest. "Everyone's vulnerable, all our defense and weapons are two floors down-"

"You go over there, and you'll get killed." Loki muttered through gritted teeth. "I can't lose you. Stay here."

"But-"

"Stay here!"

Loki trembled as he tried to keep his shield up. Pressing yourself closer to him, you cast the strongest protective spell you knew and placed it overtop of his. Green and gold magic intertwined together, forming a tightly-knit dome over the two of you.

"I think I can get Bruce," you whispered, nodding towards the corner of the room. "He's not very far-"

Your idea was suddenly interrupted as Thanos raised his gauntlet, and the soul stone began to glow.

You watched in horror as every member of your team outside of your protective dome was wrapped in an orange aura, and lifted off the ground.

"No!" You yelled, stumbling forward and pushing your protective spell further outwards in an attempt to save those closest to you. A spark of energy backfired, burning your hands and causing you to stumbled back with a cry of pain.

"I can't get to them," you gasped, glancing at Loki in horror. "I can't get past the soul stone."

Thanos heard your words, and he shifted his gaze in your direction with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" You demanded, watching as Steve and Tony, among others, struggled to be released from the titan's invisible grasp.

"Those who play hero only bring more war," Thanos stated, glancing behind your shoulder at Loki and smiling coldly. "I'm putting an end to this child's play, once and for all."

"Let them go!" You yelled, reaching forward in a weak attempt to save your teammates. Your gesture only earned a piteous laugh from the titan.

"You're choosing to play a bold game, mystic." Thanos continued. "By keeping that shield of yours up, you're creating more pain. All you are doing is delaying your death."

"It'll give us more time to plot yours." Loki retorted from behind you with gritted teeth.

"Bold as ever, Asgardian." Thanos smirked. "But not strong enough. Neither of you are."

You glanced desperately over at Tony for any sort of help, but all you exchanged were helpless glances.

"There will be no more heroes," Thanos boomed, raising his gauntlet triumphantly. The soul stone began to glow once more. "No more martyrs. No more humans. Only gods."

"I believe in you, kid." Tony gasped out. "You can do this."

"I can't." You cried out, your heart racing as you glanced between your teammates and Thanos. "I don't know how."

You managed to catch a determined nod from Tony, before a loud snap reverberated through the room, knocking you and Loki backwards.

There was a gust of cold air as Thanos opened a portal with the space stone, smirking victoriously down at the two of you.

"We'll meet again, mystic."

Thanos pulled a now-unconscious Vision towards him with his gauntlet and disappeared, the portal closing as soon as it opened. You lowered your shield to run for your teammates, who were still hovering unconscious in mid-air, only to be stopped by Loki.

"Look."

You watched in horror as, one by one, each member of the Avengers dissolved into ash and vanished before your eyes. Crying out in disbelief, you lowered your protection spell and raced forward before Loki could protest.

"Tony!"

You tried to reach for his hand, to pull him out of the orange aura that held him captive. As soon as your fingers brushed his, he turned to ash immediately.

You sunk to your knees, the sudden silence that fell over the Compound feeling like a graveyard. You heard Loki run towards Thor, calling his name over and over again, before he too fell silent.

You caught his gaze from across the room, and a cold chill shook your insides as his eyes mirrored the same terror you felt inside yourself.

Unable to find the strength to stand, you crawled over to where he sat and buried your face in his shoulder. As soon as Loki's arms wrapped around you, you were unable to stop the sobs that wracked your body. You felt him trembling and realized that he, too, was crying.

"They're all gone." You whispered, your voice distorted through your tears. "Everyone's gone."

Loki didn't reply. Instead, he pulled you closer and ran his hands in small circles upon your back, almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you in his arms.

The sound of your cries echoed out through the Compound and reverberated back towards the two of you, piercing your skin like little knives. You squeezed shut your eyes, hoping that this was all a bad dream and -- when you opened your eyes again -- the Avengers would be right back in this room with you and Loki, ready to formulate a plan of attack.

When you opened your eyes, however, nothing changed.

There was only one infinity stone left.

Everyone was gone, leaving only you and Loki.

Thanos had won.

END OF PART ONE.

Taglist: @startrekkingaroundasgard @delightfulheartdream @justasmisunderstoodasloki @marvels-mischief @k8obr @pastyoverlord265 @lowkeytesss @levylovegood

Taglist for this fic only: @littleredstarfish @treblebeth @taylordani03

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket Manga Review , ch 110

The writer doesn’t need to rush to akito (antagonist) & give us quick background exposition & escalate her mentality to the exploding moment, simply cuz tohru (the protagonist) isn’t emotionally in her most vulnerable moment yet. Tohru’s issues will be presented deeper  with each pov chapter she’ll have. So what should the writer do now?

This is a connected plot, meaning the emotions belonging to the previous chapter are still lingering & needs to be dealt with. There is no stupid laughing & cooking or even dumber momentarily amnesia. Nope! There is this:

-The Art of Writing Slow-Burns: (Lingering Emotions:)

Last time kyo hugged tohru thro the sheets. sth he wouldn’t do if it weren’t for the heartbreaking moment of tohru’s tears & the reason behind them. Why wouldn he do it? cuz he believes he’s the reason of her pain & is setting his mind on leaving her & being imprisoned as a punishment. He  wouldn’t do it cuz he loves her but he did it cuz he loves her. why? cuz love is illogical. Kyo’s heart moved him effortlessly to embrace her & “ his tenderness covered her pain” as the writer put it at the end of ch109.

Last time tohru hugged kyo thro the sheets, sth she wouldn’t do if it weren’t for the comfort of his warmth enveloping her loneliness & providing safety & a home. A home can a person. Why wouldn she do it? cuz Tohru is someone who hides pain behind a smile, someone who thinks she’s ugly & unlovable cuz she’s grieving still after all this time. She’s thinks she’s a burden. But here she confessed to kyo unprompted or advised by anybody. He only asked a fleeting question. but tohru cant hide who she is friom him anymore. Still, he accepted her & tenderly held her thro the sheets & she threw her body at him, she initiated the hug.

The sheet hig is the biggest emotional moment between kyo/tohru yet. It altered how they feel for each other cuz in that moment tohru’s mask fell & kyo was the most honest with himself emotionally. That’s not sth you move from with the stupid ED song. They both try to carry out normally afterwards cuz they live together after all. The slightest touch brings..... sexual tension!!!  it was so bad poor yuki left the house running!!!!!!!!

The writer cleverly escalates the sexual tension as they awkwardly try to find a talking topic, then dissolves it a bit when kto asks if tohru wants to go out together & where, then escalates it when tohru suggests buying eggs cuz she’s awkward, then dissolves it when kyo grumpily agrees but this is just grocery shopping” not a fun going out”, the escalates it when tohru said she’s happy for just bring together with him regardless of the location & kyo looses it! sexual tension explodes!

The target of the slow-burn isn’t the characters... the target is the audience! the writer plays with their emotions & cleverly puts the audience in a place where they desperately want these two idiots together but still remember why they aren’t! that’s very important. Having the readers cheer for a romantic relationship includes the readers understanding the obstacles ahead & how big they are & still cheer. If the obstacles are meh~ the readers will find the couple unrealistic, if the obstacles are so big & the couples emotions aren't buildup properly, then the couple themselves will feel meh~. Glad kyoru survived such writing mistakes both manga & anime ( anime hurt their characters more than their relationship).

-Yuki wants to move on from the unofficial son third wheeling his mom & her man:

The writer jokes abt yuki admitting he felt as a son watching his mon & her bf. I love tha this joke becuz it cleverly addresses the following points:

it is cleverly weaved in with the kyoru incident from last chapter. Sth happen & yuki doesn't know what is & doesn't want to! Yuki represents the audience I talked abt in the slow-burn point above. He is us. He’ll cheer for them to be together & will be so frustrated when they can’t. It adds to yuki confronting kyo at the climax!!! You see in the anime kyo/yuki stopped interacting much in se03. Then tada~~ big fight when it’s a must! & can’t be escaped... Here we still have kyo/yuki moments despite each boy moving away from his issues being the fault of the other. Basically better writing.....

The writer cleverly used this to address that yuki still feels like tohru’s son sometimes despite being more independent now, which is natural as you cant switch ur feelings with a button. But also the writer doesnt stay in this moment long & use it to build the next moment.. yuki/Aya , yuki/machi & aya/mine.... sadly all there dynamics are shortened in the anime like kyoru’s.

-I don’t think yuki/Aya  moment suffered much from the cuts, the entire school parents meeting ep us enough to reconcile the brothers. Aya defended yuki that day & so did yuki. He completely accepted him & stood up to him in front of the mom.

- More aya/mine would’ve been good to see & I would’ve preferred it to yuki/motoko moments in the anime that served nothing. but aya/mine too are stand alone story. They’re the most alike couple in a healthy way. Aya is the guy who protected his woman the most. simply cuz he’s the snake. snakes are secretive. he kept her to himself, even from yuki!!! impressive.

- What I lament from the cut of this mini yuki adventure?

1- This: ( yuki’s facial expressions) This is sth the anime fears, either cuz (a) pretty yuki is 100% pretty all the time, so no expressiveness cuz it leads to showing eyebrows & hiding them under layers of hair is the A.B.C of pretty characters... (b) Yuki in the anime is a prince 98% of the time, except with kyo (they got rid of this in se03 & give them one honest/ugly moment together) & with kakeru (one tiny moment in se03 in match’’s focus ep & then quickly back to prince yuki!)..., ugh!!!!!! I hate how yuki is prince thro & thro in the anime!!that’s why they couldn’t get rid of any motoko content!!! he’s a prince there... heck! school girls float after him the graduation ceremony... what’s up with that!! lol.

2-. This: ( machi with the toy that tohru/kisa/kagura/momiji & kiro like! so cute!!! also, foreshadowing yuki’s future chosen extended family! (his bro & his wife), (yuki & his wife) & best friend/his brother in law! Also, yuki is so himself! no glitters, no bubbles & no pretending anger! <3

Side Notes:

The lovely @mizzraynelly​ made notice kto’s speech in ch109 abt not vising his mom’s grave! Even tho it’s such a minor line, it’s one of the biggest cuts that foreshadow the accumulation of kyo’s guilt towards his mom. Kyo’s thing is guilt towards ppl he loves & fear of hurting them, by keeping this feeling alive in readers’ minds, the writer is making sure that the climax will hurt like sharp knives cuz the readers are on the same wave liength as kyo!!! epic buildup consists of tiny subtle pieces!

 Luckily, kyoru as a ship felt so strong in both manga & anime despite the later cutting half of their moments. Why? cuz the chosen cuts didnt affects the romantic relationship...no... the cuts affects the characters’ own personal struggle... most precisely tohru. Kyo’s own character struggles had better luck in the anime despite the cuts, simply cuz (a) was drawn with very expressive emotions & the anime team lingered on them in his scenes. (b) His character design as a whole was very expressive, the anime team didnt give him constant wide eyes like tohru & didn’t fear expr4essivness will affect for his “beauty “ like yuki. (c) kyo was given one ep per season for his issues which altho not much but way better than tohru (d) most important: kyo’s issues are very universal & very relatable” feeling guilt, mistakes & choosing wrong. That’s sth we all do!!! Tohru’s thing is grieve: this is very personal & most ppl experience it differently. 

I love kyo’s oufit!!! we have a hint of this moment in se03, ep 10 when yuki was fighting kyo... but they made yuki see them shopping as opposed of him seeing them being sexually charged!

I’m so mad this kyoru moment is cut!!!!!! tohru as a woman with pending sexual emotions is so refreshing & underrated in the trope of “ girl saves guys”. Also, it contradicts the pure mom image that’s been suffocating her since se01 ep 1!!!!! oh now i know why it’s cut... That’s why! momma tohru is so pure for such things & only when it’s the last two eps, then will allow her to be a woman choosing to live away with her man by her own desire! Why the anime only allow things ti happen when there’s no escape!!! I’ve always felt tohru/kyo is the type of couple to be expressive emotionally & sexually with each other based on seeing that ALL of their romantic interaction involves body language & I’m so happy there’s a canon proof so early before the future glimpse in finale!!!!!! 

I liked the aya-story, but it felt like the typical “ lesson of the day” formula, so I didnt analyze it much, but I enjoyed the brotherly interaction so much!! It had a gold mine of yuki being himself & so nit a prince! Im so happy I saw it! <3.

Every time yuki looked expressive is a happy moment for me!

[whetstonefires]

in the shadows

hey guess who has two thumbs and just spent 5 hours straight writing another batman AU?

-

Batman wasn’t a person.

He faked it very well. When the League gathered, the line of his mask against pale skin looked natural and human, a little more perfectly fitted than the Flash’s but not quite as perfect as Green Lantern’s, which was an energy projection and not a real object and thus lay against his face flawlessly, without shift or gap.

His mouth didn’t bend into many expressions and his body language wasn’t voluble, but the emotive gestures that he did make were pretty normal. The rare smile seemed honest. He had a heartbeat, perfectly steady. His shadow (almost) always matched the shape that was blocking the light.

The stories that came out of Gotham, about the Bat—those could be exaggerations, born of terror and manipulated perception. Clark, of all people, knew how much you could convince people to believe things that weren’t real, because they made a better story. Even the scraps of photography and film showing a towering thing of black fog and long fangs could have been some clever trick with projectors.

The fact that Superman couldn’t see through his suit just meant it was well made.

He’d had to pool his observations with Diana and J’onn before he’d been sure he wasn’t imagining things. But Martian Manhunter knew shapeshifting, and said the block against his mind when he tried to touch Batman’s thoughts did not feel quite human. And Superman knew what posing as human looked like. And Wonder Woman knew truth, and its absence.

Batman wasn’t human. Which wasn’t the problem, of course.

The problem was that he was pretending he was. Pretending it rigorously in a situation where there shouldn’t be any need, unless he had something worse to hide. Pretending it in a way that overlaid on a certain inhuman predatory grace began to look very dangerous indeed.

Superman could see both things in him now, watching narrow-eyed through a roof into the room where Batman bent over a child’s bed, cape swirling up larger and darker than he let it get around them. The man and the hungry creature, flipping in and out of focus, neither ever gone but superimposed, like a trick picture that was two things at once.

Knuckles ghosted over the boy’s cheek, claws turned inward, and the child sighed softly, and sunk deeper into sleep. Batman’s heart wasn’t beating, but Clark could monitor the child’s vitals easily from here.

Batman drew his hand back, and tipped his head up—looking back at Superman as though the roof was no more a barrier to his perceptions than to Clark’s. Waited a beat, as if making sure his attention had been noticed, and then passed soundlessly between the other beds to the window, slid it open, and launched himself out through it and up onto the roof.

He didn’t bother to restrain himself to even a plausible approximation of human limits, now. The arm he reached up to the edge of the roof to pivot himself up by was too long, and his shoulder rotated further than it should have been able to, and he landed with impossible soundlessness in a billow of cape that was far, far larger than any cape that only reached to his heels should have managed, and which faded out at the edges into shadow. He knew he was found out.

Superman took the obvious invitation, and sunk down to join him. It was better, sitting like this, facing the same way on the ridgepole of a two-story building. Batman hadn’t hurt that child, that he could tell. There was no need to make this a confrontation.

“I don’t understand why,” he said at last. Out of deference for sleeping children, he kept his voice soft—he would have worried about a human being able to hear it, but now he knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Batman. “Why go to so much trouble to deceive us? We haven’t kept secret what we are. Not from you.”

Alien, alien, user of alien weapon, magical princess…

Batman sighed. He spoke almost as softly as Clark had, and his voice sounded the same as ever, except for the fact that a human voice couldn’t get this quiet without falling into a whisper. “I’m not like you.” He turned.

He’d let some of the details of his human mask fall away—what must have been the exhaustively rendered texture of skin, the flakes of dry skin on chapping lips, a crease at the corner of his mouth that had suggested he scowled or smiled more, outside of his costume. There was no pretense of a jawbone, under the skin, though the jawline externally hadn’t changed. The cowl still looked like something he was wearing, but Clark knew it was not. It flexed like skin when Batman narrowed his blank white eyes and said, “I can see you know that.”

“You’ve visited that kid every day for weeks,” Clark said. “Why?”

Batman stared at him. “How long have you known?”

“Batman…”

“You’re confronting me now because you’re worried about my intentions toward Dick. He changed your mind about something. Ergo, you’ve been sitting on this for a while. How long have you known I wasn’t real?”

That was such a bizarre choice of words Clark almost skipped answering the question to chase it down, but he held himself back. This wasn’t a story, and Batman wasn’t even a hostile source so far, if it had been. “Wonder Woman, J’onn and I pooled our observations about four months ago, in April. We were pretty sure by the time we finished comparing notes.” He shrugged. “I suspected something a long time before that, but it’s hard to say when it started to be more than…a feeling.”

“A feeling,” Batman echoed. “Yes, it would start there.”

“So?” Superman prompted. He had liked Batman. He was the last person who could insist that someone hiding the truth of his own nature was reprehensible, though the sting he’d felt about it was an uncomfortable reminder of how much most of his friends would resent him, if they knew the truth. So he’d meant to let it lie, until Batman chose to trust them, or gave them a reason not to trust him. “Why have you been visiting…Dick?”

It wouldn’t be suspicious on its own—well, not very suspicious, all things considered, in context—except that Batman had changed, around the same time. Diana said his presence seemed deeper, Clark thought he seemed to be having trouble staying within the outlines of his human mask. J’onn agreed that he seemed somehow more powerful.

Batman stayed silent a long time. Eighteen heartbeats from the boy below them, slower than those of his peers because he had an athlete’s conditioning already and was more deeply asleep than most of them. At last, the being beside him confessed, “He’s carrying me.”

“What?”

“You noticed I’m stronger now,” Batman said matter-of-factly, in a way that almost managed to cover up emotion. “That’s his doing. I was…fading, when you met me. Not up to capacity. I’m not really meant to exist that way.” He glanced over at Superman again, as though evaluating his reaction, and Clark wondered if he had really needed to do that—if he really only saw out of his eyes. J’onn could make eyes anywhere he wanted some, but he needed them to see. Batman seemed somehow less constrained by biology than that.

“Is it hurting him?”

“No! No. It…shouldn’t.” Batman ghosted a sigh, voiceless, inhuman as the wind. “I don’t know that it’s good for a child to be around me. But I’m not…taking anything from him. I’m not…feeding on him, if that’s what you think.”

It was what Clark had feared. And probably anything that would eat a child would also lie about it, but Batman was his teammate and very nearly his friend. So it was reassuring to have it so firmly denied. He’d come braced for only a little and no lasting damage and he said it was fine.

“Please,” he said. “Can you explain it to me?”

“I suppose I have to.” Batman tipped his head back, to look up at the few stars that smudged themselves visible through the red blanket of light-polluted smog overhead. Clark could make out more of them, even with his ordinary visible-light vision, than a human could have. He wondered what Batman saw. “Will you tell the others for me? Your little conspiracy?”

“Not Green Lantern and Flash?”

“Hal and Barry can figure me out on their own.” That dry sense of humor was the same, even if it was bending amusement onto a mouth that could no longer pass as human.

A breath Clark suspected he didn’t need was drawn. “A different little boy made me up,” Batman said. “Bruce Wayne. You can look the story up in the newspaper archives.

“It was a little over twenty years ago, in Gotham. A mugger shot his parents in front of him.” Another slanted glance, and then he looked away again. He certainly acted like he needed his eyes to see. “It wasn’t more terrible than things that happen to a hundred other people every day, really. But he was the right kind of terrified and angry, in the right place, at the right moment…the police reports all say he tackled the mugger from behind, and got lucky that the man hit his head. But it was me. I took him down.”

He raised his face back toward the smudged stars. “I was such a small thing, then. If that vengeance had been enough—the killer taken in and sentenced, brought to justice—I would have faded away again. Things like me are summoned and dispelled that way all the time. Or he could have taken me back into himself—the danger was past, it wasn’t a chronic part of his existence, so I would have reintegrated, probably, and not hung around rising up to protect him for the rest of his life, and probably disrupting it in the process.”

That amused quirk to the horizontal slash of a mouth, again. “But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He clung. He brooded. He wanted to protect everyone. And I grew.” Bittersweet and fond. “I grew until I really could help. Until anyone could see me, any time I liked. Until I was solid enough to get in half a dozen fights in one night without my blows starting to go right through the enemy.”

There was no way Batman was letting him know these things about how he worked, when he wasn’t holding back, by accident. They were being given.

“Where’s Bruce now?” Clark asked. Knowing it was probably a painful topic, but hoping to hear it was some rule of magic out of a storybook, that only a child had the right kind of belief to sustain a projection of this nature. That Bruce Wayne had grown up and moved on and had a career and a family, and perhaps didn’t remember that Batman was something he’d made.

Batman’s eyes closed, and vanished completely into the black of his head. He’d kept unspooling all the while he’d been talking, Clark realized, and the gouts and folds and flame-like flickers of his cape now sprawled over more than half the roof, leaving a great circle of open space around Superman himself, and a broad open route away from Batman, as though he couldn’t just go straight up if he wanted to get away. The billows of it had now collapsed in on themselves. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed and solemn, but calm. “He didn’t make it to sixteen. He died tackling a gunman who’d been holding up a corner store where he happened to be, buying junk food he wasn’t supposed to have. The cashier fumbled the register key and bent over to pick it up, and the man panicked and started shooting. Bruce saved lives, that night. But he didn’t survive. Because I wasn’t there. I was away protecting other people, like he’d asked me to.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. Inadequate as always, but more so, when he’d pushed for this truth and didn’t even understand enough to know how to offer comfort. He reached out to offer a comforting, boundary-respecting brief pat on the shoulder, like he might have when he had less idea what Batman was, and his hand hung still in the air, as the face Batman turned toward him was human again, so abruptly that even to his accelerated visual perceptions it looked like some sort of glitch.

“This is his face,” Batman told him, and the grief that hadn’t been in his voice before was worn on it, in the pull of the mouth and the bend of pain around the blank white eyes. He looked like he might cry. “The way he would have looked. He never…grew this far, but…”

“In memory of him, then,” Superman said, soothing, and was able to deliver the pat on the shoulder and withdraw. It sounded like Batman was in some ways the only surviving part of Bruce Wayne, and as such had every right to his appearance, but he clearly didn’t think of himself that way, and it wasn’t Clark’s place to try to alter his self-concept, or even make comment when he’d only just been introduced to it. “That seems appropriate.”

Batman shrugged. It looked very human, except for the way the cape parts of him reacted. “I knew it best.”

Had he held the memory of his…creator’s face in his head, updating it carefully to how he would have looked with every year or month that passed? That couldn’t be healthy. It also might be unavoidable, considering Batman’s origins.

“You went on protecting Gotham, afterward?”

“What else would I do?”

“And you joined us. When Starro came.” Batman nodded, as though that was only obvious. Clark supposed it was—when you were a supernatural entity created to protect human beings, why would you not answer a call to band together with other superpowered beings to save the world? “Why did you pretend?” he asked. “To be…”

“Human?” Batman asked. He snorted in derision, either at Clark’s inability to choose a word or his own deceit. “It wasn’t the first time. I talk to the police like this, sometimes. Witnesses. It reassures people, to be talking to a…person.”

That was the same reason J’onn made himself look more human, even in blatant green—it wasn’t entirely unlike why Clark kept his own life as Clark, why Superman didn’t wear a mask. “But why…” He’d gone to such lengths, to maintain the façade. Human jaw and teeth, sculpted solid to catch X-ray vision behind flesh he’d carefully made permeable to it, when even now with the image of Bruce Wayne’s face restored he wasn’t bothering. Consistent physical proportions. Always running close against the edge of normal human limits, of strength and speed and length of jump—not hanging back, but not throwing himself onto the front line either, contributing as much with tactics and analysis as actual combat. “Why try so hard to convince us?”

Batman shrugged. “I wasn’t holding back that much. I told you. I was fading. I was never meant to last. Once it turned out the team wasn’t a one-time thing, I still didn’t want to go through the whole…process of revelation.”

“But you’re doing it now.” Clark found he was grinding his teeth, because he was putting together a picture he didn’t like. “Because. Now you’re expecting to survive.” Batman had been dying. He hadn’t thought it was worth the stress of being honest with them, because he hadn’t expected to exist long enough for their relationships to matter.

Superman glanced down through the roof at the sleeping children, and one child in particular.

“I wasn’t there in time to save his parents, either,” Batman said, and Clark knew that feeling—all this power and yet you could still arrive too late, and be too little. But Batman was defined by that feeling, founded upon it almost, so it probably struck him deeper. “But I was there afterward. I protected him from the followup attacks, meant to stop him testifying about the sabotage he’d witnessed.

“And he clung to me, whenever I came…I do try to comfort them, especially when it’s children, but usually they’re at least a little bit afraid. He wasn’t. And he didn’t have anyone else to cling to. They wouldn’t let his parents’ friends in to see him more than once, and then they left town. And then, after I came to tell him that Zucco and his men were taken care of for good, when I left I felt the distance opening…I realized I was…his, now.”

There was a strange, wondering ache in the way he said it that made it easy for Clark to repress his own discomfort with the idea of anyone belonging to anyone else, and of something that looked like a grown man asserting an intimate personal bond with an unrelated child. Batman was supposed to belong to a child, it was how he’d been made, and he’d expected to die by inches in the absence of the one who’d made him, and now he suddenly wasn’t. This little orphan was the most precious thing in his world, that was plain, and to Clark at least it was equally plain that he felt a deep guilt at replacing the boy who had been his world before.

He wondered, suddenly, if Batman had ever been this honest with anyone in his existence. Had he been this open even with his Bruce, or had his need to protect led him to put on a front, and conceal every uncertainty?

The pale smudge of Batman’s face was still and remote, and his voice was nearly calm, but the darkness of his cape had spilled out over the whole roof now, and it was gently writhing. The route out for Superman, opposite Batman’s main body, had shrunk to the merest footpath. Was that there out of instinct, or a more conscious courtesy?

“You don’t have to leave that,” Superman said quietly, flipping his thumb toward the corridor of open shingle and beam. “I know you aren’t trying to trap me, and it won’t anyway.”

The path snapped shut almost instantaneously, and a little of the strain in the atmosphere faded—Batman had been holding himself back from encircling him completely only with continuous effort. Why? Did he naturally expand to fill the available space? Or was expanding in the form of the cape an expression of emotion that was uncomfortable to suppress, in the same way it was hard to sit still when you felt anxious, or hold your tongue when you got mad?

His teammate’s whole torso was turned away, now, and this too was easy to read—shame at his own inhumanity. In front of Clark, of all people. But then, Clark made it look easy, didn’t he? It even was easy for him, when it came to things like looking like he fit in.

J’onn should have been the one to come. But it disconcerted him not to be able to pick up anything Batman did not intentionally share—Clark didn’t think he’d learned to read human body language yet, beyond the most obvious things—and Batman had been known to use fire.

“It didn’t seem wise to seem to be trying to threaten you,” Batman said flatly, into the night.

“Thank you,” said Superman, because while he didn’t mind at this point, it would definitely have made him uncomfortable earlier, before Batman had made himself so vulnerable. “Could you, do you think?”

A sidelong look. “You’re less invulnerable to magic,” Batman said. “Probably.”

Something to keep in mind. The Flash was the only teammate he had now that he was reasonably sure he could take three falls out of three. Maybe they could start practicing against each other, if they could find somewhere they could risk making a mess on that scale. Sparring—he and Diana had tried it out, gingerly. If Batman wanted to stretch out his re-expanding powers in a secure environment…

“Do you have any plans, going forward?” Now that he had a future to plan for.

“I have someone who helps me,” Batman replied. “Bruce’s guardian, after his parents died. He wanted to leave Gotham, after…but he stayed. To try to help the city, in Bruce’s memory. And to keep an eye on me.” The amusement this time was bitter. “We don’t really get along. He thinks Bruce died because of me—that I made him feel invulnerable, and then didn’t protect him. He’s projecting. But I suppose that’s what I’m for.”

Clark made a face; he didn’t like the idea of people being for purposes. Even people who’d been made. This wasn’t the time to argue about it. “But he helps you?”

“He helps.” Batman glanced down, toward Dick’s bed, as though once again he could see through the roof. “I’m trying to get him to agree to take Dick in. He did a good job with Bruce, even if he doesn’t think so.”

“Will that be the best for Dick?” Clark asked, as neutrally as he could manage. He could tell Batman’s intentions were good, but he didn’t know if putting a child entirely within the influence of a supernatural being that had latched onto him, without an external line of support, was a good idea. On the other hand, putting him in the care of an adult who would know he wasn’t delusional could only help. And Clark could be the outside support, if necessary—not that he wasn’t under Batman’s influence himself, but he wasn’t within his circle of it the way this Alfred seemed to be, resentment or not. The resentment might be the most dangerous part.

What part of this train of thought Batman sensed, he couldn’t tell, as his comrade only retorted, “It can’t be worse than here!”

A group home with four beds to a room certainly wasn’t the best environment, but surely he couldn’t be here much longer. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He doesn’t get much privacy. He agreed to meet with Alfred last time he ducked into a closet while I was there, so now Alfred’s the focus of the plan.” Batman sighed again. “He’s so brave,” he said fondly. “It worries me. I wish he were somewhere safe.”

The wild impulse rose to offer to step in, to take the role of legal guardian if this Alfred wouldn’t. Clark sat on it. He didn’t want a child, he wasn’t equipped to care for a child, CPS would be able to see that perfectly well in a single reporter in his 20s living in a one-bedroom apartment in a somewhat run-down building. He didn’t even live in the same state, and child placement was handled on a state-by-state basis so even petitioning for custody would be horrifically involved, never mind obtaining it. Also, he had a secret identity to protect.

He couldn’t always help. The hardest lesson in life, and one he had to keep relearning.

“So your plans are…to get Dick into a safe home environment.”

“And keep him alive,” Batman affirmed. Quick, and firm, and almost not obvious about what a vital goal this was to him. Keeping this child alive, the way he’d failed to keep the one before.

“Of course.” Clark nodded. If everything he’d been told was true—and he thought it was, it felt true—then there was no need for the League to intervene. Gotham was probably safer than it had ever been. “Can I meet him, sometime?” Partly to do his part as an outside support network. Partly because he was curious, to meet this child who’d been able to reach his hand into Batman’s chest and close his fingers around his heart.

Batman glanced over, and then seemed to relax. Even the endless piles of his cape seemed suddenly to behave more like ordinary fabric. “I passed, then?”

“What?” Oh. Of course he’d known. Clark had hardly been sneaky. “Yes.”

“Not that I know what you were planning to do if I hadn’t.”

Clark didn’t know either, other than get Dick away of he seemed to need it.

“All of this is off the record, of course,” Batman added. It was a testament to how distracted Superman was by Batman’s problems that it took a long second for him to realize the potential implications of that choice of words, and read in Batman’s posture and the way his cape had developed hooks of tension in some of its folds that they were entirely intentional.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“You attended a press event in Gotham two years ago. You still feel like you, no matter how you dress.”

“Well.” Superman tried to shake the sudden tension out of his shoulders. Batman was a good detective and data analyst, that hadn’t changed with the rest of it. He’d certainly tracked down the name of the gentleman from the Planet. “I guess that’s fair. And of course it’s off the record. I won’t even tell J’onn and Diana anything but the basics without your permission.”

“Oh.” Batman clearly hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

“You have a right to your privacy.” Clark thought back over his own approach to the whole situation and said, with a gentleness born somewhat of guilt, “You are a person, after all.”

“I’m really not,” Batman said, corner of his mouth ticking up just slightly to underline the easy irony in his voice. But the great spread of cape had fallen into easier, more geometric wrinkles, and Clark was beginning to learn to trust that over what he said with his borrowed face. Though he could almost definitely lie with the cape part of himself, too, if he needed to.

“Don’t…” His tongue flickered across the back of his teeth; be brave, Kent. “Don’t talk about my friend that way, huh?”

[dinpascal]

No Good Deed — Din Djarin

No Good Deed — Chapter One

➥ There’s an unconscious Mandalorian outside your door, along with some tiny, green thing clutching at his cloak. There has to be some sort of manual that tells you what to do in this situation... Right? 

There were many things to hate about Nevarro. The miles and miles of just-barely crusted over magma, the Rebels that tended to brush through every now and again, acting all high and mighty and as if they were too good to set foot on such a planet. However, without a single doubt, the thing you hated the most was the damn Guild.

You had never been the type of person to judge another for their method of survival. You had done many... unsatisfactory things in your lifetime, just to see another day. A few of those still kept you awake at night, debating whether you were deserving of what you had, no matter how miniscule. The Guild, however, was an entirely different thing.

Perhaps it was the mere fact that at least seventy percent of the people you served were hunters from the Guild. And if not already in the Guild, aiming for opportunity to be. They were a cocksure group, always carrying themselves with an aura of arrogance and as if they were allowing you the privilege of surviving. As if your little, insignificant life was balanced between their fingers, because they were all so skilled in the art of bounty hunting.

A lot of mudscuffers, in your opinion.

You wiped your palms down your apron, which did little about the stickiness that was present from hours of drink-making. The hairs were no-doubt spilling from your braid, hardly remembering to breathe in-between each order and the chaos that surrounded you. Creatures of all kind called out to you in many  different languages, some you understood and others you required your “partner” to translate. The droid was good for nothing apart from that, perhaps apart from being perpetually in your way. It reached the point where you no longer felt guilty for bumping it out of your way. 

Today, evidently, was Greef Karga’s awaited return from some mission, leading to the assembly of many (impatiently) awaiting their next bounty. In other words, the bar was way past its capacity limit. Many patrons were shoulder-to-shoulder, filling the building with endless, buzzing chatter that made the ache that much more present at your brow.

“C’mon, I’ve been trying for months. Why don’t you let me take you out? Just one night?” You eyed your suitor as you collected empty glasses and bottles, eyeing him with a thoroughly practiced smile that gave him the impression you enjoyed his company. It was something you were forced to learn early in this occupation, if you were even remotely interested in tips. Customers, males especially, enjoyed feeling wanted. As if they had any semblance of a chance with the “pretty thing” that served them drinks behind the counter.

“Cardon, you know I don’t date bounty hunters.” You replied, taking a moment to take another order and busying yourself with making it. Luckily, very few (if any) frequenters drank anything complicated, often preferring spotchka and even simple shots of hooch.

The dark-skinned hunter smiled, moving to brush his hair back with a gloved hand. “And why not? Don’t think you could handle one?” If you had to decide, Cardon wasn’t the worst of the bunch you could choose from. He had ebony hair that touched the top his shoulders, the top half often twisted into a bun. He was tall enough, but quite lanky compared to many of the other hunters that frequented the cantina. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. If you had to guess, the majority of the hunters you served only had one head. Instead of commenting further, you motioned towards his glass. “Want another, Cardon?” He waved a hand in silent agreement, seemingly coming to terms that he was, yet again, striking out with you. 

“I think I’m your relief for the night.” You turned, positively beaming at the sight of olive skin and black eyes. “Alejad... My savior.” He grinned wickedly and threw a rag over his shoulder, lightly tsking at the mess you’d made of the bar. 

“So very messy. Have I not taught you a thing?” 

With a roll of your eyes and slight scoff, you began fingering the knot of your apron. “We’ll see how lucky you end up tonight. Karga isn’t even supposed to be showing up until second sundown.” You brushed your hand over his shaved head as you passed behind him, an act of affection you’d picked up in the time you’d worked together. Alejad had been the one to train you, considering no one else apart from the two of you seemed to want to work in this hunk of junk somehow considered a “proper establishment”. 

Stepping out of the back entrance with your day’s tips firmly shoved in your pocket, the silence of the alley was almost dizzying compared to what you’d dealt with for the last seven hours. Despite the distant sounds of the hustle and bustle of the market, it was much more preferable. Almost anything was preferable to being cat-called and yelled at all day. 

With a sigh and a brush of the back of your hand across your forehead, you finally made your way home. It wasn’t a far walk, just a few twists and turns that made it a comfortable enough walk to and from work. Your home was nothing exciting, nothing more than what you absolutely needed — the absolute bare essentials. It had once served as some kind of building for the Imps that were once stationed on Nevarro and eventually separated into two, unconnected homes once the Imps were chased (or killed) out. A little family had moved into the home above yours, made up of a young Twi’lek couple and a little, rose-colored girl you doubted had seen more than five cycles. You often found her crouched outside your home, digging through the dirt to find new additions to her rock collection. On the rarest of days, when you’d either be leaving or just returning from the bar, she’d already be outside as the first sun was rising and would offer you a toothless smile that made your heart warm. 

However, given the first sun was only just beginning to set, there was no young girl parading about the property. Hopefully, she was busy eating a plentiful dinner with her parents and had a nice, warm bed to look forward to tonight. 

The door creaked as you stepped inside, double-checking that you’d locked it behind you before making your way (all three steps of it) to the kitchen. With a quick look in the conservator, it seemed for the fourth night in a row now, you were having broth for dinner. With a sigh, you discarded your dirty apron aside and flipped the oven on to reheat your soup. It seemed you were in dire need for a trip to the market. 

There were a dozen and a half things you needed to do around the house, including a deep clean of your floors, as well as stripping your bed and washing the linens that you’d ignored for much too long. Taking the trash out was sufficient enough for the night, right? Right.

The evening air was cool against your skin, the first emergence of the first sunfall of the night beginning to appear. In a matter of hours, the cool air would soon become too cold to bear without some kind of protection. It was an interesting contradiction. While the ground beneath your feet was warm, almost hot to the touch because of the molten lava beneath it, the air was often cool and bleak the moment the suns began to sleep for the night. 

A soft noise behind you drew you from your thoughts, nothing more than a gentle, sad coo. You immediately turned, worrying a young babe had dodged their parents and was now exploring with no supervision. While Nevarro was now exponentially safer now that the Imps were gone, it still was no place for a child to be roaming at first sunfall. 

The last thing, actually very last thing you had expected was the sight before you. A Mandalorian slumped against your home with a little, green creature clutching at the frayed ends of his cloak. It regarded you for no longer than a moment, big eyes quickly returning to the hunter and cooing softly once more, as if urging him to get up. It tugged at the cloak again, its free hand bumping against his shoulder as if the tiny jostle would wake him.

You stood there a moment, almost afraid to take another step towards the pair. Though you’d never met a Mandalorian yourself, their reputation was enough to make your legs shake a bit under your weight. None too long ago, one had caused the entire town to burst into gunfire and killed dozens of other hunters. Undoubtedly, he (was it a he?) knew more than a dozen ways to kill you. And the creature? While it looked harmless enough now, how could you know if it would begin spewing venom at you the moment you took two steps towards it? If you’d learned anything growing up, it was to not trust a species you didn’t know. And you’d learned that lesson the hard way. 

As if aware of your thoughts, its eyes turned towards you once more and made another sad sound. It pulled at something deep inside you, something dormant and untraveled. Whatever it was, it urged you to move your damn feet and make the poor thing stop giving you those big, sorrowful eyes. 

“Okay...” Hesitantly, as if standing eye-to-eye with a Nexu, you braved a step forward. When it didn’t abruptly move or hiss, you took another. “Hey... little guy,” you murmured, eyes flickering from gleaming silver to the little one’s, “What happened?” 

It whined pitifully, turning towards the Mandalorian with a three-fingered hand as if motioning towards him and saying, ‘help him, will ya?’. 

If it were any other situation, you may have found the little creature amusing. It didn’t seem to be able to speak, but its body language and big, bug eyes were expressive enough. 

Once you were close enough to touch the Mandalorian, you slowly kneeled and made sure it stayed in your peripheral. You doubted it would suddenly sprout wings at this point, but you could never be too sure. Maybe it enjoyed playing with its food. 

“I’m gonna... Take him inside, okay?” Much to your surprise, it nodded and backed away a couple paces to give you space. Okay, so the green thing was intelligent. Good to know. 

With a steadying breath, you maneuvered your way around the Mandalorian so you could (attempt to) lift him. You imagined his armor couldn’t be light by any means, meaning you were going to have to carry a man already twice your weight, along with that much more in armor. “Knew I should have bought those weights...”

Sliding your arms under his armpits and securing your hold through intertwining your hands over his chest, you figured this was the best chance you had. There was no way you were getting him up over your shoulder and you figured dragging him by his feet wasn’t the best method, in case of a possible head injury. 

The breath immediately whooshed out of your lungs as you straightened, using gravity to your advantage and using the force to drag him backwards, instead of back down like it wanted. The little rag-covered bean waddled after you, apparently not willing to allow the Mandalorian out of his sight. 

The helmet lulled forward as you mostly-dragged him into your home, most certainly and unquestionably out cold. 

In the middle of your kitchen, you paused. Where the hell were you going to put him? The kitchen certainly wasn’t spacious enough for him. It was hardly enough room for you to comfortably move about. 

That left your bedroom.

“Just a little farther, alright?” You huffed, suddenly very keenly aware of the heaviness in your shoulders and triceps. The creature stumbling after the Mandalorian’s feet cooed in response, seemingly more content now than before. 

It took you much longer than you would’ve liked, but eventually, you somehow managed to get the damn guy on your bed. His feet hung over the bed and no doubt was coating your sheets in dirt and blood and who knew what else. At least they already needed washed.

After taking a moment (minutes, really) to catch your breath and watching the bean climb its way up your bed and back to the Mandalorian’s side, you once more found yourself at a loss. What the hell do you do now? 

Checking him for injuries was probably the best next course of action. You didn’t want the guy to die right here, on your bed, right?  

With your hands on your hips and a sweat breaking out over your brow, you looked in the what you now mentally referred to as the bean’s direction. “These guys have something against taking off their helmet, right?” Your response was a sound you couldn’t quite differentiate between amusement and agreement. Nevertheless, you nodded. “That’s what I thought.” 

After another few minutes of heavy consideration, you decided starting from the bottom-up was probably your best bet. If you were lucky, he was just incredibly sleep-deprived and absolutely nothing else was wrong with him. 

The little bean at his shoulder watched as you methodically undressed the Mandalorian, beginning with the armor as his shoulders and then moving to his chest plate. You made a small stack of it just beside your bed, being careful to not add any dinks or scratches that weren’t already on them. 

With shaky fingers, you began lifting his shirt to inspect any possible torso wounds. You were met with caramel skin etched in paler, puffier skin in various places where he’d been wounded and scarred over. A trail of dark, nearly black hair drew your gaze below his belly button and disappearing into his trousers.

You swallowed. This was not the time.

“Stomach looks good.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself. You pushed the fabric up further until it was under his chin, fingers delicately brushing across an angry, red line just below his left clavicle. It didn’t look serious and most likely just a result from his armor pressing into his skin, but it gave you an excuse to feel his skin beneath your fingertips. His chest was faintly dotted with hair, nipples pebbling at the sudden exposure to the air. “Chest looks good too.”

That left on more thing to check, the one thing you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do. 

You sank back onto your haunches for a moment, teeth anxiously worrying at the inside of your cheek as you considered your options. You didn’t have to do anything — you’d already given him and his... pet? Child? Friend? Somewhere to rest and checked him for any serious, deadly injuries. On the other hand, however, what if he did have a head injury? Without aid, a head injury could easily and quickly result in death. And you certainly didn’t want a dead Mandalorian on your hands. 

“Second option it is.” You murmured, brushing your palms down your trousers and taking a soothing breath. “But,” you began, pointing a finger in the air as you looked towards the bean. “I am not being that person.” You disappeared out of the room for a moment, quickly returning with a clean rag and making a show so the bean could see it. “See?” 

The bean, seemingly content, made an inquisitive sound. With one hand, you curled your fingers under the helmet’s edge and searched for the locking mechanism. Once you felt the tiny button, you nudged it and released a breath as it unlocked. “Okay, okay... Just gotta do this quick...”

With one, shaky hand, you gently tugged the helmet free from his head, immediately snapping your eyes shut the second you no longer felt the weight of his head. Discarding the heavy thing aside, you took the rag and, as efficiently as possible with your eyes firmly shut, placed it over his face. Though it wouldn’t make breathing especially easier, it at least would preserve some of his modesty. 

Once finished, you took a deep breath and regarded your work. You turned towards the bean with a triumphant smile. “Not bad, yeah?”

The bean regarded the rag with something akin to distaste but you couldn’t be sure. It was difficult to distinguish every emotion with its tiny face. The majority of your basis was just on its eyes.

You maneuvered your way around the pile of metal on your floor, as well as your own things to the head of the bed, eyes settling on the head of brown, presumably thick hair that stuck out from under the rag.

When was the last time someone so much as had seen a strand of his hair? Had anyone ever? Yet there you were, looking at not only it, but nearly everything else aside from his face. 

You eyed the creature currently tracing a three-fingered claw up the Mandalorian’s arm. It seemed... Conflicted. As if the whole world rested on its little shoulders, now that the Mandalorian was no longer protecting it. Its tiny features were pinched in worry, shoulders slumped forward and ears drooping at the corners. 

You wanted to console the little thing, except you still weren’t completely sure it wouldn’t nip at you if you got too close. 

Turning your attention back to the man (because at the current moment, he seemed to pose less danger), you cautiously slid your fingers around the back of his head. There was nothing but thick, course hair, even as you rounded the back of his head. At the very least, there were no external injuries. 

Until you looked down. 

And found that his foot was twisted at an angle that it most definitely wasn’t supposed to. 

“Well, kriff.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself. You regarded the said appendage for awhile, unsure quite what to do now. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to do, but moreso the fact that you weren’t sure you wanted to go snapping a bounty hunter’s leg back into place. It was usually something a person informed another of before doing. 

With a sigh, you turned your attention back to the little bean. Though you had little to no clue if it was capable of understanding you (though it had somewhat shown it could), it made you the teensiest amount less nervous to talk to it. “Maybe it’s better to do it while he’s out. What do you think?” The bean babbled something incoherently. You nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ 

Surprisingly, the Mandalorian hardly flinched when you snapped his ankle back into place. Most surprisingly, he hadn’t woken up either. Hours later and he was still completely dead to the world. Numerous times you had to check to make sure he was still breathing. 

After about hour five, the bean decided to venture from his side. It appeared at your feet just as you were elbow-deep in washing, first inquisitively watching you scrub at your clothes, as if you were doing something it had never quite seen.

“Hey, little... Guy,” you finished lamely, pausing to eye the green creature as its head tilted to the side and those big eyes blinked. It made a soft sound, as if expecting you to easily understand. When you didn’t immediately react, it’s features pinched and it threw its arms up as if it were exclaiming something as it spewed into further coos and babbles.

You stared blankly.

What would a small, green creature want? A new, preferably clean rag for clothes? For you to throw something so you could chase it? Something to sink its little teeth into?

You faulted for a moment in your thinking. “Are you hungry?” It nodded immediately, fingers touching its belly and watching you with a look that clearly said ‘that’s what I was saying!’. “Okay, well, what do you eat?” It blinked as you stood from your washing, little feet tapping against the tiled floor as it followed you. “All I really have is broth, so it’s either broth or nothing.” It didn’t make any sound of disagreement or disappointment, so you took it as enough agreement and poured the still-warm broth (which you’d forgotten about until the stove beeped indignantly at you, still preoccupied with snapping a literal bone back into place) into a bowl. When it took the bowl you offered it, it blinked at it for a moment. Then it blinked up at you. 

“What? It’s all I got, little guy so I—,” It cut you off as it set the bowl down, before lifting its arms up that very plainly was uppity arms that babies were known for doing. It left you to stand there for a moment, mouth falling open and eyebrows shooting upwards. “You’re a kid?”

It babbled impatiently, big eyes looking at its meal before back up at you again. “Okay, um...” Slowly, still not completely sure you trusted it, you picked it up and then its bowl of broth. “You need... Help?” It cooed in what you assumed was agreement.

That was how you found yourself sitting at your table, some kind of child creature sitting in your lap as you spoon-fed it broth and occasionally pausing to let it babble something or burp. 

It was quite the character, you were learning. 

And quite the conversationalist. If only you could understand a word it was saying. 

Then you felt the atmosphere change... Shift. Where calm once sat, something you could only describe as charged replaced it. The child seemed to notice as well. Its head turned toward your bedroom, softly squealing and clapping its hands together. The Mandalorian was awake. There was a moment of silence as the dread pooled in your belly and a chill ran down your spine. 

This was the moment you hadn’t really considered. Many people, especially a Mandalorian, wouldn’t like waking up in a strange place with their armor stripped and their damned helmet off. 

Dank farrick, you just had to go and get yourself involved.

The seconds stretched as complete silence filled your home. Not even the child made another sound, though it was evident its feelings were a stark contrast from your own. Of course, it hadn’t dragged a Mandalorian into its home and practically stripped him bare. 

There was a flash of silver at the doorway of your bedroom. 

No good deed goes unpunished indeed.