#Mithrun in between his legs..

[delicious-in-imagines]

Nsfw headcannons for Laios, Mithrun and Kabru??? 👀👀

I love them very much 😁 (I'm soooo normal for them, so so so normal)

*rubs my grubby lil hands together* :)))

NSFW below the cut, as per usual! Spoilers for Mithrun!

Requests are still OPEN!

Laios Touden

You have the full authority to bully this man - I promise you that he enjoys it. He wants to be so good for you, sitting on his legs as he looks up at you, awaiting each and every instruction. For him, it's all about fulfilling your desires and wishes, anything you ask of him, you don't need to repeat yourself.

Grope and grasp at his body, that little bit of extra padding that he has, and feel free to add some stinging remarks to the fondling. His chest is especially sensitive, Laios letting out the cutest little gasps as you take a handful each and squeeze. That adorable blush of his will paint across his skin and up his neck, even to the tips of his ears as you coo and sneer at him in equal measure.

He loves to have you on top of him, riding him into the earth as he holds at your waist like a lifeline. He'll babble out whatever he's thinking, usually interrupting himself while he's gasping about how beautiful/handsome you are on top of him, how thankful he is to have you in his life.

We all saw the way he ties ropes, but this man is no rigger - he's a bunny through and through. He'll teach you each and every knot that he knows, showing where to place them on his body while he can barely contain his excitement as each line grows taut. Eventually, he's wrapped up for you like a pretty little package, blushing and already fixing to burst at the seams.

He's usually starving after sex, so grabbing a bite is definitely part of his aftercare. He'll offer you up some food as well, lingering by your side and enjoying the warmth of your bodies, and the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair. He's always got this dopey smile on his face after the deed, something that lingers even while he conks out afterwards.

Kabru of Utaya

Kabru is a 'try anything once' sort of guy, so if you come up to him asking to try something new in the bedroom, he's not going to shoot you down. There are some things that he might need some coaxing on, especially if it involves inflicting pain on you - though he is conscious of the fact that he won't know his limits until he pushes against them, at least a little.

He loves to have his hands bound under him, the slight burn in his shoulders and the grating from trying to 'struggle' his way out of his bindings. It leaves him at your mercy, looking up at you with those bright blue eyes as you take your fill of him, knowing that he's 'powerless' to stop your roaming hands and teasing mouth.

The trust between you is a turn on to him all on its own. Knowing that at any given point, he could say the word and you would stop without any hesitation is part of the thrill. It's the safety within those walls that gives you both the freedom to explore your desires - and knowing you're enjoying yourself is intoxicating in its own right.

When he's alone, or sometimes if you're interested, he'll engage in orgasm denial, squeezing the base of his length, or using a snug ring to stop his pleasure in its tracks. You can keep this up until he's weeping from both his eyes and his arousal, paired with the previously mentioned bindings, he'll be begging for release which only you can provide - if you're feeling merciful.

A bath after your activities is a must, not only to wipe away any sweat and fluids, but also to just enjoy some casual nudity and each other's presence. He'll pay extra attention to any marks that he's made, rubbing gently against them while you talk about what went well, things to try next time, etc., ...

Mithrun of the House of Kerensil

The easiest way to work Mithrun up intentionally is to clamber into his lap, draping your arms around his neck and drawing him close. After a display like that, you're not getting away from him. If you try to pull away he'll settle his hands on your hips and grip you closer. It's only after some heated frottage or Mithrun sparing a moment to teleport whatever offending articles of clothing away to get to both your arousals that he'll finally let you go.

Any undue attention towards you from anyone is another quick way to get him riled up. He'll grab your wrist to tug you away, sometimes sending the offender outside of the walls, before pinning you to a nearby wall with barely any semblance of privacy to have his wicked way with you. He'll press teeth and open-mouthed kisses to the length of your neck, his actions speaking where his lips would not.

An easy way to turn the tables on him is to speak so sweetly to him, calling him handsome, cooing at him and complimenting him. It knocks him off balance, and it's the perfect chance to get him on bottom. Lavishing his body in reverent touches and kisses, he turns into a mess, and will often bring a hand up to try and hide his face.

The two of you have a fair collection of toys - though usually it's to use on him. Part of his newfound desires is the exploration and deepening of those, and the more that you can potentially overwhelm him during those intimate moments, the better. Little enchanted trinkets that with a tiny bit of mana can vibrate, or some select pieces that Fleki or Lycion suggested to the pair of you embarrassingly enough, the potential is endless.

All of the aftercare will fall to you. Making sure that he eats something light and rehydrates, knowing that you'll both probably need to rest pretty soon after. On some rare occasions though, he'll still your hand and check you over, rubbing and pressing kisses to some of the harsh marks that he's left behind - his favorite reminders that you choose to stay with him, that he's your first pick, even if you could have anyone else.

[daistea]

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 - 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Mithrun x gn Reader

2,300 words

suggestive / tw kissing / tw choking

◇─◇──◇─◇

 The world was separated by fine lines. They ran through civilization, rarely with a discernible beginning, and rarely noticed by anyone but those who approached them. They were tangled and knotted and digging into the skin of society— and when released, the mark they left was red, bruising. 

 You wanted to snap one of those lines. You wanted to run it across your palm, wrap your fingers around it, and squeeze. You wanted to watch the tension grow, to tear it apart, to leave it ragged and broken and ready to be yours. 

 Yours, as you were his. 

 You felt the fine line grow taut as Mithrun’s good eye searched your face. You’d done something bad. His chest rose and fell as he held himself up with both arms on either side of you. Those arms could’ve been the bars of a jail cell, or the columns of a temple. His palms were flat on the cold ground, his fingers were splayed, one knee was between your legs and you were doing your best to make no noise. 

 Mithrun’s good eye narrowed. He was doing his job, he was the Captain. You could only wonder if he ever stopped being the Captain, if he was ever just Mithrun. Knowing him, most likely not. Another line. Did he ever let it bend?

 As if he could see through your skull and right into your brain, his shoulders tensed and his lips twitched. He knew. He always knew. You inhaled through your nose with hyper-awareness of the rise and fall of your chest. You were far too considerate of how precisely how little room there was between Mithrun and yourself. He smelled like basic soap, like familiarity. 

 “You did something stupid,” Mithrun broke the silence. He didn’t sound particularly perturbed by the fact that you’d done something stupid, but you caught the hint of gravel, the hint of a rough scratch in his throat that told you all you needed to know. 

 You knew. You always knew. His shoulders relaxed a little as if saying his thoughts aloud helped him come to terms with it. 

 The truth was: you did a lot of stupid things. Despite the self-awareness you possessed upon the matter, you still did them. The source was not genuine stupidity, but rather a quality that you and Mithrun shared; single-minded determination. You thought he’d understand. 

 You managed to raise your right hand and gently press it against his chest. Yet, no amount of pressure would push him back. He steeled himself and leaned in closer, shoulders rising as silver curls fell forward to brush across his jawline. 

 “I’m fine,” you argued, and you could not help but avoid the black-eyed gaze that dug through your brain. You settled for glaring at a misshapen brick on the wall of the dungeon. 

 Mithrun seemed to relent. He sat up on his knees and folded his arms over his chest, though you were still on your back in front of him. You’d ended up in that position by accident. You did not stay in that position by accident. It was like pulling teeth, but you ripped your eyes away from the wall and looked up at him. The rays of the light spell above washed him in pale yellow. And the fine line regained its strength with every inch of space created between your bodies. 

 “You’re fortunate I was there,” Mithrun observed with the nonchalance of someone who believed he did not care. 

 That was what you knew so well; Mithrun could care. Mithrun could desire. He wasn’t aware of that, but even if he were, he wouldn’t bother with it. What point was there in desiring anything unrelated to the demon? 

 Another line, though it was not fine like the others. The Captain had simplified himself so much. And simple things were easy to understand. If it didn’t involve revenge, he did not care. That was a line you knew you could not bend, twist, or snap. You didn’t try.

 However, you did walk it like a tight-rope.

 “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” you informed him. You weren’t sure how you sounded, most likely defiant, most likely argumentative. Judging by how he slightly tilted his head at you, it was one of those two descriptors. Yet, the room to care had run out. Your rooms were filled with fire, flames licking at every inch of you and turning you into ash. Your lower abdomen felt as if it was a rubber band being pulled. 

 You liked being pulled. 

 “You put people in danger,” Mithrun responded almost immediately, “you could’ve died.”

 He said the word ‘died’ as if he wanted to spit it in the dirt. 

 You and Mithrun had been separated from the Canaries and your party on account of your own horrible decision making. You couldn’t quite recall what you had done. Was it pathetic that all you knew was Mithrun’s arm around your waist as he yanked you away? One track-minded, surely, but Mithrun had the ability to create new, far more exciting tracks to follow. 

 He’d teleported you both to a room nearby. It was stone and smelled of dust, and hints of green moss crawled up the walls like desperate fingers. You were, most likely, the one who desired the room into existence, a spot for Mithrun to teleport to where you could be alone together. If it was anyone else, Mithrun would’ve been on his feet and determinedly searching for the exit by then.

 But you knew. How could you not know? Mithrun never hid his feelings; a blessing and a curse for all involved. 

 The line appeared again and it was not the thick, simple line that you could never bend. The line that settled between you and the Captain was thin and weak and just asking to be torn apart. Without a second thought, the words were out of your mouth, “I don’t care.”

 You don’t care. 

 You don’t care?

 (You cared.)

 Mithrun’s lips parted and his brows slightly furrowed. He knew what it was like to not care. He had to know you were lying. Yet, the words wrapped around him and sunk into his veins like poison. Immediately, they spread through his body. For someone who cared about so little, he despised how you apparently did not care. 

 Which, in and of itself, was a desire. He felt something. He stared at you as if you’d just kicked a puppy and you knew, in that moment, that he desired— even if he didn’t realize it. 

 That was okay, you decided within seconds. He didn’t need to realize it. 

 “Do you not realize…” slowly, he lowered his body like an anchor dropping into water. His hands slid across the dirty stone, then his forearms, until he was only inches away from you. His breath mingled with yours and your abdomen pulled again. It was as if his proximity had captured your soul on a hook, and it was all you could do to stay grounded. Mithrun continued, “That if you died–”

 The line began to stretch. 

 His fingers wrapped around your throat. Your heart flipped rather gracelessly. His fingers were cold and firm and in the perfect spot, encompassing your pulse. He could most likely feel the increase of your heart rate beneath the pads of his index fingers, but that was fine. He knew. 

 It was nothing new. Yet, you’d seen flowers bloom a thousand times. You’d seen the oranges and pinks of the sunset a thousand times. But you always stopped for them, giving them a moment of your life. Who could possibly say they were tired of seeing the sunset? 

  “Do you not understand what that would do?” He asked. Mithrun’s voice was quieter than usual— he wasn’t trying to seduce you, he was trying to talk to you. For half of a second, you felt like a total pervert for melting beneath his touch. 

 Yet, pervert or not, you wanted that line to stretch further. 

 “Do to who?” You asked, despite the light pressure on your throat, “What would it do? Why do you even care?”

 “I don’t,” was his immediate answer. He had his hand around your throat and looked at you as if you’d ruined his life. Such vitriol, such hatred. “I can’t.”

 You began to thrive. “You’re being contradictory.”

 “Stop.”

 You immediately stopped thriving. “Alright.”

 There were certain lines you wouldn’t cross. Perhaps it was best to leave this particular one alone. 

 But he kept his fingers around your throat. 

 Mithrun’s expression turned slightly softer, though it was just a hint gathered from the shape of the lines between his brows and the slight flutter of his left eye. You could’ve written a book on the slight facial expressions of the ex-Dungeon Lord of the Central Observation Tower. 

 “Promise you won’t do that again.” It was technically a question, but Mithrun wasn’t asking. The Captain was commanding. 

 And as one-track minded and stubborn as you were, you were his. You tried your best to respect his set lines. 

 However, “I’ll try my best,” was all you could offer him. 

 Mithrun’s shoulders lowered, though not because he relaxed. His body arched ever so slightly as he pushed down further on your windpipe— there it was again, that pull, that ache, that burning. Consuming. What had you even done in the first place?

 He noticed, because he always noticed. He simply didn’t usually acknowledge it. His eye widened and searched your face as heat rose to your cheeks. You tilted your head back to give his hand more room. Grabbing people by the neck, using his teleportation magic to remove their heads from their bodies and replace them with stone was natural for him. And touching you, that was natural too. 

 Yet, this was one of those fine lines. As he exhaled softly and his fingers tightened, digging into your skin, your eyes fluttered. The line had been stretched again. Your muscles tensed and you couldn’t help but lift your hips. Through the layers of clothes, the room between your bodies closed and your flames brushed against him. Again, Mithrun exhaled, sharper. His head slightly dipped and his brows furrowed and his hair fell into his face. 

 You knew. 

 He slid lower until your breaths intermingled. You closed your eyes as his lips brushed against yours. It was like holding a monster back by a thin, weak leash. In seconds, it would snap. Rampage.

 With a slight lift of your hips against his, it snapped. You could practically hear the sharp crack of thread breaking away. The taut bowstring of his body released as he pressed his lips against yours. They slotted together. His teeth scraped harshly against your bottom lip and you gasped into his mouth, but he didn’t care. He never cared. He continued, holding himself up by core strength alone as his free hand went to your waist as if he wanted to pin you down to the cold stone floor. 

 You tilted your head so your noses wouldn’t bump. His breath drifted into your mouth; it was hot, but smelled like nothing. Mithrun slowed down for half a second to gently pull at your lip with his teeth, and it was as if he had pulled the rubber in your stomach too tightly, and it was snapping back with a force that wracked your body. The shiver was undeniable. His fingers on your hips dug in even tighter; he clearly wanted to pierce your skin and feel your flesh encircle him. Fingers were important, they were the parts of the body that controlled things, that reacted, that felt. He held you as if he desperately wanted to feel. 

 It hurt. 

 It would leave bruises, round, representing four fingers on your hips.

 The pain spread through you like a drop of dye in water. It branched out, reached out, ran out. It stretched to the edges and corrupted every inch of your body until you were colored Mithrun. 

 That was the line. It wanted to do more than simply bend. 

 One tendril loosened and pulled away. The frayed edges were happy to be free, to feel the air. 

 You raised your arms and wrapped them around his neck, yanking him down even closer. If it was possible to put a negative amount of centimeters between you both, you’d find some way to achieve it. In past relationships, kissing was a constant reminder to pucker, then deepen, then hold. With Mithrun, you didn’t think, you couldn’t think. It was as if he’d breathed something into you that scrambled your brain. 

 And his hand was still around your neck. 

 And his hand tightened. 

 And you let out a soft noise without deciding to do so. His left eye lowered slightly as he pulled back to look at you— admire you? Perhaps. It might not have been pure delusion on your part. 

 Another tendril of the line frayed and threatened to snap. Your abdomen pulsed. After meeting Mithrun, you started to believe that desire was a concept. After kissing Mithrun, you knew that desire was an emotion, a pulsating and raw and consuming emotion that liked to wrap its cold hands around your entire body, around your throat. Merciless. Ruthless. Apathetic to what was logical and right because desire had its goal in mind and would do anything to reach it. 

 He squeezed. You gasped. Something thrummed, threatening to break out of your skin. 

 And the fine line snapped. Pleasure mingled with its enemy: pain. Mithrun crashed his lips against yours again and you softly moaned into his mouth, helpless to his touch. For once, he put in the work. For once, he was motivated. For once, he wanted.

 It wouldn’t last, you knew. Your rightful spot in the race was clearly second, a silver medal. 

 Yet, for the moment, with the way he touched you as if he could kill you for daring to leave him…

 With the way he squeezed, with the way he bit, with the way he exhaled as if letting out years of stress—

 Your lines intersected and, for once, he was yours. 

[meocities]

Keen

mithrun/reader - 1,561 words, implied/referenced self-harm, hurt/comfort

note: hi anon, i love you, i am so so so sorry for taking four months to get this done. i was going to also do kabru but it was just taking so much time so i . did not write him. i hope this brings you comfort and thank u for requesting :)

It's not that you mean to stare. Your only defense of yourself is that you're not judging him, but even that is flimsy. It feels wrong to even think, as your eyes travel over the scrabbled scars on his forearms, but it almost feels like coming home.

Which is a thought that is definitely out of line — not to mention assumptive — but it doesn't matter how quickly you backtrack, because Mithrun has definitely noticed you looking now. His arm is still outstretched, hand holding the shirt he was wearing, because, right, you were supposed to fold it for him. You're already making a fool of yourself on the first night you see him to bed, the first night you perhaps might even spend in his presence. Mithrun's still largely uncaring, but he's made progress in expressing his preferences lately. Your reaction here, your stare — would this be something that drove him to avoid you in the future?

You’re stuck paralyzed. His expression doesn't change even as you fumble with the shirt and drop it on the bed between you. 

Yet, he's waiting. His eyes are watching your face, expression open in a way it usually isn't. He's making space for your own reaction, you realize, and the nerves bunch up in your stomach.

You broach the topic in the only way you can think of. “How did you… get those?” You ask, and the knowledge that this is too blatant, too personal, makes your heart beat into a frenzy. Your skin feels cold and clammy — he's staring at you with his gray-dark eyes, flitting down only to pick up his shirt. Which, you take and start folding, and ignore how his hand finally drops back to his side. His very exposed side. The skin of his abdomen is where your eyes follow (because of the movement of his hand, because it dropped there, of course) and your breath catches in your throat at just how much there is to see, how his soft waist has scars there too. 

Mithrun stays silent for a moment. His eyes glance at your arms, down your torso to your legs. “How do you think?” He asks, sparing a look at his own forearms and their marks — as if, from the past, he had grabbed on, dug in, and dragged. 

You're quiet. It doesn't feel right to say.

Mithrun knows anyway. “After losing my title of dungeon lord,” he says, and you think, what? The confusion must not show on your face, because he continues. “I didn't want to recover. I didn't want anything. Any reminder of what I was sent me into a frenzy. I'm sure you can understand what I mean.”

Now you understand. You understand better than you want to admit. You weren't a stranger to emotions so big for your body — panic choking through your throat, anger burning a hole in your chest, grief so heavy you couldn't move off the floor. Frenzy or not, you had been there. You, too, had wanted that hurt.

“I'm sorry,” you say, and set his folded shirt on the nightstand. “That must have been hard for you.” You move a hand to his wrist, trailing down his skin until your hands are entwined. It's a gentle gesture, less of a grip and more feeling his flesh against yours. Mithrun doesn't move to grasp your hand more than a brief twitch of his fingers, but even this is more than enough for you. 

It's as if the contact has unlocked his thoughts. “The demon was all I could think about.” Mithrun's face has an uncertain expression etched onto it, and you know he's trying to make sense of his emotions. “Before I wanted to kill it, I couldn't stand the mention of it. I only realized recently that I wanted it to finish the job.” He doesn't react to his words at all, not with his posture nor his hands, but you can tell from the distance in his eye — half-lidded, unfocused — that he's reminiscing. An x-shaped scar on his throat trembles as he speaks, his voice soft and raspy. You wonder how much he had to force those words out into the open.

The scar bobs as Mithrun swallows. You wish you could reach out and soothe the motion.

There's a moment of quiet before Mithrun lets go of your fingers, pulling his hand to rest at his abdomen. Rejection pangs through your chest and you try not to let it show on your face, schooling your expression into careful neutrality. Yet, Mithrun's not done moving, because he shuffles down under the plush gray covers of his bed, turning his head to you. He doesn't say anything nor nod his head in any way, but you can recognize what an invitation looks like from him. 

Your lounge pants are the first thing to go, namely because you can slip them under the covers faster than Mithrun can get a good look at your skin. Next is the shirt, and you turn away from him as soon as it's off. You fold these delicately, then place them on top of Mithrun's clothes on the nightstand. A few seconds after this is all it takes for you to turn the lamp off and shimmy underneath the covers, burying yourself up to your shoulders. Moonlight fills the room in the lamp's absence. Your expression is carefully calm, and your quick breathing can be explained by the way you're both undressed next to each other. Your right shoulder is pressed against his left — Mithrun's warm, so warm, and you want to curl into his body and stay there forever.

Yet you’re still — too still — and Mithrun draws a breath. You were too fast with getting undressed and not letting him see. “You asked because you're the same as me,” he realizes, and you know it's not a question. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you wonder if he can feel how you've tensed where your bodies are touching. “Didn't you know?”

Mithrun looks, looks down — you feel as if you've been drenched in ice. “Wounds are versatile,” he says. “I don't read into others’ bodies.” It's hard to believe him — you know what you look like, after all, but you suppose that many others wouldn't take Mithrun's scars as self-inflicted if all they knew was that he was often in combat. Maybe you had been primed to recognize what these wounds had looked like. Maybe your eye for hurt was more keen than most.

“You're not like most people, then,” is what you come up with. Something deep inside your chest is throbbing, some ache that formed when the scars did and never quite went away. “They usually know just by looking at me.”

Mithrun’s silent. He's silent often, like when he's cooking noodles in preparation for opening his shop. But he's never silent while staring at your arms as if he's had a revelation, and this new quiet makes your abdomen flip with a decided nervousness. 

“I suppose you understood more than I realized,” Mithrun says, and you nod your head.

“I think so.” 

It's still horrifically still. There's too much tension in your throat to swallow down, and each breath aggravates that hurt in the chest even more. You move your left arm — the one not pressed to Mithrun's side — to press over your wild heart.

Mithrun must sense your restlessness. “Relax. It doesn't change anything.”

Right. It made no sense for it to change anything, not with Mithrun's own scars. You nod. You still can't look at him.

“Yeah,” you say. “There’s no reason for me to be nervous.”

You hear Mithrun’s head shift towards you again, skin brushing against the pillowcase. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his expression turn contemplative. He's silent for another moment before he speaks, voice soft in a way you've never heard before.

“You're still attractive to me,” you hear him say, and this is what gets you to finally look up at him. His eye is focused on you, moonlight hitting his face through the window, and there's something so picturesque about how his wavy hair spills over the pillow, how his eye is twinged just slightly silver. Breath catches in your throat as you're entranced by his visage, and Mithrun turns closer, pressing his chest to your shoulder. His fingers come up to hold the side of your face, the curve of your jaw, and his voice is reverant when he confesses, “still beautiful.”

The ache beats once more in your chest, then falls away, dislodged. For now, it's been calmed, and goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Thank you,” you whisper, and even that tiny breath is shaky. “I think you're beautiful too.”

Mithrun hums some vague sound and you see the hint of a smile rise on his lips.

He still can't fall asleep without being coaxed, and your heart's beating far too quickly to rest. But for now, it seems that you're both content to lay next to each other, trading kisses, skin to scarred skin. He's gentle, sweet when he wants to be. You can't help but delight in how lucky you've been to keep him.

Mithrun is soft against you — so delightfully warm — and you discover that feeling his body against yours is more comforting than you ever believed it would be.

[room-surprise]

Hey! Fun question, how do you think an in-canon kabumisu confession would go? People keep portraying mithrun as blunt and straightforward about their relationship, but would he be scared to tell kabru in the chance that he'd say no and leave? Is the desire to just be in a relationship with kabru, or is the desire of not wanting to scare him off greater than that? I'm so starved on the lack of post-canon kabumisu content, they make me go crazy

As usual, I'll try not to go into TOO much detail because then I won't be motivated to write fic about it... and I AM planning to write a post-canon Kabumisu fic anon, so don't worry. I'll get there eventually :3

They make me go crazy too 😔

I think Mithrun's a complicated guy with complicated emotions. Even when he was "empty" in the dungeon he actually showed a lot of feelings - smug satisfaction, annoyance, anger, even a little bit of subtle happiness.

So while I DO think he will still be blunt in general, I also think it's a mistake to assume that means he doesn't feel things and won't have anxieties and insecurities just like any other person.

Mithrun used to be WILDLY insecure, and jealous, and paranoid. He just stopped caring about anything, but if, like the end of the manga suggests, he is going to try to START caring again, he will then start to have feelings, too.

I think Mithrun is intensely aware of his own "undesirability", that's one of the reasons he's BEEN so depressed. Most of his self-worth before the dungeon hinged on being "better" than his brother, and better than other people. Then he looses that (or maybe he was never actually better at all!), so what does he have left? And now his youth is gone too, he's middle-aged and lost his "best years" to depression. He's disabled, he's scarred, he's a bastard that nobody wants.

It's a pretty huge fall from "most eligible bachelor in the empire"!

So I think no, he won't just bluntly tell Kabru that he likes him. It will take Mithrun awhile to realize how he feels, and once he does, he'll be afraid to reach out, so he's going to do what I call "playing silly little elf games". He's going to try and flirt via writing letters and sending gifts, to hint that he likes Kabru.

Luckily for Mithrun, Kabru also knows how to play Silly Little Elf Games (he's an Olympic champion), so he picks up the signals and starts reciprocating, though he's also uncertain and worried that he's misunderstanding. Captain Mithrun couldn't be flirting with him, could he? But... what if he is?

(I will go into Kabru's feelings at a later date anon i promise.)

I think the thing that will ultimately push Mithrun to act is the fear that he'll miss his chance. Mithrun realizes Kabru is a limited time deal that he can only enjoy for the next 60-something years, and he wants every minute of that time for himself, no matter how much it will someday hurt to lose Kabru.

And he also knows that Kabru is very handsome and charming, and he can't expect Kabru to wait for Mithrun to get himself figured out. Someone else will swoop in and snatch that man up, so Mithrun has to hurry.

ALL OF THAT SAID... I think their confession is a lot less of a confession, and much more "we have both been picking up these signals of interest for months/years, and finally one of us pushes it a little bit further than we've ever pushed it before and we acknowledge the unspoken thing that has been growing between us."

Maybe it's a hand resting on someone's leg, or a gentle touch on the arm. Maybe it's leaning in so their shoulders touch. Maybe it's looking into each other's eyes a little bit longer than normal.

Probably it involves both of them admitting "Spending time with you makes me happier than anything else in the world. Whenever we're apart all I think about is when I'm going to see you again. I spend hours composing letters to you in my mind. I want us to spend our days together, no matter what shape that takes."

It's very vulnerable and scary for both of them, and I think they're both DEEPLY relieved after they finally get it out, and they don't get rejected. They know each other so well, and they're so good at reading people - they both thought that the other might feel the same way, but it's so scary to take that leap of faith and hope that they're right.

And just for the record, I think that Kabru worries about if Mithrun will be interested in sex or not, because sex is something that matters to Kabru, but what if Mithrun just doesn't have any desire for it?

And so before they get into a relationship Kabru has a long hard think about it, and decides that even if they never have sex, he wants to be in a romantic relationship with Mithrun anyway, because just being around him makes him feel happy, and understood, and like he isn't alone anymore. There's someone who sees him as he is, all the good and the bad, and says "I love you anyway."

And Kabru decides that he's willing to just jerk off for the rest of his life if that's the price of this relationship that he wants.

Luckily for Kabru, I think Mithrun does want to have sex with him, but I like to think that Kabru thinks through all the possibilities and decides that no matter what they end up doing together, being with Mithrun is worth it.

[abbyswagjo]

[Image description] first image depicts Kabru from Dungeon Meshi holding Mithrun awkwardly in the same pose as painting of Jesus Christ holding a small lamb in his hands. Mithrun is too large to fit in the pose that Kabru is holding him in so Kabru's left arm is under his in between his legs- causing mithrun's left leg to be raised over it at a strange angle. Mithrun is sweating nervously but isn't showing very much distress.

Second image is a tweet by @ tanjirou on twitter which has a screenshot of Kabru and Mithrun running away beside each other while Kabru holds a lamb that they are going to eat when they get to safety, and another image of said painting of Jesus Christ holding a lamb. It is captioned "Incredible."

[madraleen]

Delicious in Dungeon - Ryōko Kui Vol.9: The one where I write a Mithrun essay.

-mithrun cover! beautiful, magnificent, extraordinary, sublime-

-the way marcille insta-changes her vibes, i relate to it so much, i see myself in so many of her expressions

-SPILL IT OUT, MARCILLE! TELL US ABOUT YOUR PAST AND YOUR DREAM! ffs, keeping silent after drilling chil like that

-laios and marcille are so sweet together

-eheheheheheehe laios' ideal is marcille, cute cute cute

-MONSTER marcille is laios' ideal?! boy would he find his place on tumblr

-...do we trust the winged lion, do we really? do we trust "power"? i can't tell.

-is that. is that baby kabru? HE'S SO CUTE

-mithrun, sir, are you aware that you are the most beautiful character in the manga, sir?

-AHAHAAHA NO, "IDENTICAL" KABRU ACCORDING TO MITHRUN OH NO

-the fact that mithrun has no idea what kabru looks like but knows there's a mushroom around his leg

-yes, a week of just kabru and mithrun, that's all i want, that's great

-kabru: pls tell me how i can tend to you properly. mithrun: *proceeds to tell him his entire backstory* like, you didn't have to, my man. you didn't have to.

-the "others. others. mithrun" is me when reading dunmeshi

-aw past mithrun has longer hair, lil bb

-mithrun going from "i can't sleep without spells or potions" to just dropping asleep on the floor, everyone say "thank you kabru"

-"barometz soup. ingredients: barometz." i burst out laughing. senshi is sensing this and crying somewhere out there

-surely you can't expect me to see mithrun in his domestic era with his disheveled hair and his little bow scarf and his little spoon and his puffy sleeves and not love him? surely?

-wait so, mithrun's beloved is still alive out there, and she's with his brother?

-i wonder what mithrun’s non-abridged story is.

-lol at how the elves feared for mithrun's well-being, when instead they should have been fearing his spilling every single ancient secret to a guy he just met with arguably conflicting interests

-NO RESCUE, NO RESCUE I SAY, JUST KABRU AND MITHRUN!

-ah. oh man. mithrun asking kabru "what do you want to do?" hit me some way

-MITHRUN LOOKS SO SOFT WHEN HE TELLS KABRU "right. then let's do that." MY HEART! OH MY GOSH MITHRUN IS STAYING WITH KABRU. and kabru doesn't even question it, lmao, "of course my elf man would stay with me, wdym"

-okay, hold up though. i'm interested in how mithrun makes choices like that without desires. can choices be completely devoid of desire? if you choose something over something else, especially so blatantly, like mithrun choosing kabru over the expected course of things, ie his rejoining the canaries, that entails preference, and doesn't preference correlate to a want, to an extent? we don't seem to be differentiating between want and desire, so... is the want in such choices so minuscule that it doesn't count as a want? you could argue that choosing isn't necessarily wanting- you could be neutral about all choices and just pick one to get it over with, but mithrun wasn't asked to choose. kabru didn't invite him along, he didn't even imply he wanted him along. the canaries were like "come, captain, pspspsps" and mithrun asked kabru what *he* wanted, and then mithrun's actions were like "well, i don't have wants, but i'll trust *his* wants over my team's that i've known for years if not decades, so... bye bitches." which is heartwarming, to say the least, for someone like me who loves the mithrun/kabru duo.

or maybe, is mithrun’s choice completely driven by desire for revenge? but that would be easier to obtain if he stayed with the canaries. or could it be an extension of mithrun needing things and his actions being dictated by those things, just without mithrun registering consciously that he needs these things? eg his body collapses when he needs rest, but in *his* perception, he just collapses randomly, he doesn't register the need for rest. so maybe something in him needs to confide his backstory to kabru, needs to join kabru, and it doesn't register consciously as a need, he doesn't care to know the reason for acting on it, but his actions/choices are dictated by it all the same. is this elaborated on later and i'm babbling nonsense, or is it never addressed and i'm just overthinking it. i wonder.

-on a lighter note, i really love the tidbits of "meanwhile laios' party" 'cause it's so cool seeing "oh this is why they found the fire, this is why the dullahan lacked a horse" etc.

[britcision]

Hey, you know what turned out to be super a lot of fun? Writing Mithrun from other peoples’ perspectives.

You know what else is a huge amount of fun? Badass evil ladies 👀 I fucking love Cithis she’s the worst

Will be posting this and other lil ficlets over on AO3! Link is at the bottom, I’m just… drastically failing at “short” so far 😅

(I just have a lot of feelings okay?)

Warnings: some mild dehumanization, because this is Cithis’ POV, and Cithis doesn’t think of others as people

Summary: Dramatic gestures are all well and good, but four in the morning is another matter entirely. Mithrun’s used to one particular person tending to his needs; unfortunately, Cithis values her sleep.

Maybe not quite as much as a chance to finally mess with her captain though. Budding Kabumisu

—————————

After Dinner Mints - Afterthoughts

“Cithis.”

Brows furrowing in irritation, Cithis rolled over, tugging the absolutely tragic excuse for a blanket that the Canaries allowed around her tighter and burrowed in.

“Cithis.”

Her name, again, and she considered folding the pillow over her ears, still hazy with sleep.

“Cithis.”

She was going to kill Fleki. Maybe make Lycion do it. Or Otta, or anyone really, honestly, she just wanted to sleep…

“Cithis.”

But the captain would just stand there all night, saying her name in that damn monotone. Probably had been for a while, before it woke her up. Honestly, she counted herself lucky when he respected her request not to just shake her.

It was inconsiderate, honestly. He’d have to have passed all three of the others to reach her, and casting spells always woke her up. It ruined her chances of getting back to sleep, where as Fleki could pop off any number of minor spells and, as Cithis was painfully aware, be snoring again in moments.

“Cithis.”

Yes, this was Fleki’s fault. And Cithis’s rest would be avenged.

Stifling a sigh, she reached for her bells and rolled over, not surprised to see the captain’s shadowy figure looming over her cot. The soft smile came to her lips without effort; that part had always been easy.

“Do you need another sleeping spell, Captain? Lie down now,” she only half asked, the chant already spilling out before her.

Honestly, she didn’t care if he dropped where he stood. So long as he didn’t fall on her.

“No.”

The magic died before it could form, and Cithis bit back a sharp hiss of irritation.

She hated that limitation, the shackle around her power that put her at the beck and call of these pathetic little wardens. The ones not loved enough by their wealthy and powerful families to keep them from a life of pain and drudgery.

And they still dared think they were better than her. When they hadn’t even earned their place.

Resigning herself to whatever the hell the captain wanted now, she forced herself to sit up, and give him her best “obedient servant” smile. Well, the best she could manage at this ungodly hour.

It wasn’t like the captain cared.

“What, then, Captain?” She asked, taking the time to actually look at him.

He looked… her brows dipped down again, frown crumpling the smile almost at once.

He looked… bad. Captain Mithrun usually did, especially on the days where she or Lycion couldn’t be bothered to make him presentable. But even dishevelled, exhausted, covered in blood, she’d never seen him look like this. It set her on edge.

And it gradually dawned on her that even though by his standards Mithrun was practically well dressed in a sleeping tunic and absolutely no filth… he looked worried.

She’d never seen him worry before.

The petulant pouting, that was nothing new, and frankly quite adorable. Annoyed, bored, satisfied, apathetic, she’d seen a lot on what most insisted was a blank face because they couldn’t be bothered to actually look.

But never this, uncertainty, worry, perhaps even fear writ large on his features and in the twisting of the tunic between his hands.

That couldn’t possibly bode well for her.

Setting her legs off the side of the cot to make a space, she pointed to it firmly, letting a little more command slip into her tone. A soft voice often worked for Mithrun, but when he was recalcitrant sometimes he needed authority.

“Sit.”

He folded immediately, dropping gracelessly to sit beside her on the creaky little cot. He didn’t seem to be injured at least, although he rarely bothered acknowledging it if he was. Better to be sure.

“Do you need a healing spell?” She asked, not bothering to prepare the magic this time. If he did, he could wait. If he didn’t, the less she had to deal with the damn leash the better.

The Captain shook his head, hesitated, and then… sunk in on himself.

Also not good.

Reaching out, Cithis gripped his chin firmly and turned his head to face her.

He looked lost, and while he was usually unfocused if they weren’t on a mission, it was never with this much vulnerability. And while she’d once thought she’d like to see that from him, see him actually begin to care about something, it was unsettling.

Not least because she couldn’t imagine what had caused it.

Humming a short note, she released him and nodded.

“Tell me what you need, Captain,” she urged him gently.

Captain Mithrun opened his mouth. Closed it again. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she’d need to enchant him just to get a fucking answer, he sucked in a sharp breath and spoke.

“I don’t feel anything.”

Taking a breath, Cithis consciously smoothed her frown away this time. Impatience had never moved the captain before, except to raise his own. And she just plain didn’t have the patience to deal with that right now.

“And that’s a problem?” It had never been before, so she was expecting maybe a sharp look, and then some more information.

She wasn’t expecting him to turn to her, his eye wide and empty.

“Yes. I…” he hesitated, looking out past her and to the rest of the tent. Cithis waited about as patiently as she felt capable of for him to find the thought.

Or give up and let her knock him out again.

“I don’t… you said there would be new desires. But there haven’t been in forty years. It takes… so much to keep moving. To eat, to sleep, and I don’t feel anything. I don’t even want to. I don’t even want to lie down and die. There’s just nothing.” He sounded almost calm, with the same lack of inflection, except… he actually sounded tired.

Another new not-improvement.

Cithis was surprised to find she was actually almost sad. In as much as she felt anything for anyone, she rather liked the captain.

He was certainly the best warden she’d ever had, even if she couldn’t just twist him to her needs and leave. Most of the spoiled rich brats the Canaries were saddled with made her sick; born into money and privilege, half of them having the first cold meal of their lives with the force.

Mithrun was… well, at the very least always entertaining, even if it wasn’t the kind of entertainment she preferred. You couldn’t humiliate someone who didn’t feel shame, and she’d only ever had one whim he hadn’t indulged, even though he’d apparently been able to resist any of them at any time.

He was… a broken, damaged thing. Usually Cithis very much enjoyed the act of breaking things herself, but she did know how to take care of what belonged to her.

Captain Mithrun had been given to her, body and soul, and while he wasn’t fit to be a proper plaything he was still very useful. Seeing him fall apart had hurt her more than she’d admit even to herself.

Or maybe it was just knowing that she hadn’t been the one to cause it, or been able to do a damn thing about it. She hated other people taking her things.

She hadn’t been able to pull him out of it, either; hadn’t been able to think of a way to try. Not before that little… ah.

Cithis had always had a gift for spotting a person’s weakness.

Reaching out, she covered the hands still twisting through his sleeping tunic to still them. The question was, if he even knew it.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I don’t see where this is different,” she said carefully, keeping her voice light. By all accounts, the captain couldn’t read other people for shit to spot a lie on his own, but why take the risk? “What has changed to make this a problem?”

And if she was just a little relieved to see a far more familiar look of annoyance flash across his face, he didn’t need to know that either.

“There is nothing I want now. The demon is gone, and I’m not,” he said sharply, and she didn’t bother curbing her smile.

“That was true two days ago, Captain. Yet you got up. What has changed?” She repeated a little more firmly, searching his face intently for any kind of recognition.

Sullenness pulled across his features and he slumped back, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nothing. That is the problem.”

Hiding from her? He’d never hidden before.

Maybe there was something good at the root of this after all, if the captain was going to become more… interesting. She’d not had a new plaything of her own since she’d been given him, or more accurately since she’d realized just how little he actually cared for himself.

And if this surge of passion turned out to be the temporary reprieve and he sank back into motionless, well, she’d just have to enjoy him while she could.

Of course, just giving him the answers wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Her tiredness wasn’t even feigned as she sighed, slotting her legs back onto the cot behind him and lying down again.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I’m afraid I’m just not sure what you want. Perhaps I’m just too tired… shall we talk more in the morning? When you’ve had more time to gather your thoughts?” She asked sweetly, and yes, there was that irritation again.

That little flash of petulance that only the proximity of a dungeon had dragged out of him before. Honestly, him even taking the initiative to come find her at all was beginning to look like part of a lovely new pattern.

Maybe there was a new desire already forming… at least the desire to have a desire, which she supposed would be a new feeling to almost anyone. Yes, this next part was going to be very entertaining.

A fun little thought occurred to her, and she held the blanket open for him.

“Why don’t you sleep here, Captain? I can cast you another sleeping spell, and then if things are clearer in the morning you can tell me immediately,” she offered with her most innocent, sunny smile.

And if she cast a strong enough spell, he would certainly be asleep past the time his little tallman would come looking for him. And she’d have a lovely front row seat for the show.

The look Captain Mithrun gave her was… honestly, as sceptical as it always was when she put in the effort to be charming with him. He wasn’t a stupid little thing, just incredibly unbothered.

“I don’t always need sleeping spells,” he grumbled to himself, and oh Cithis knew this was going to be fun. He’d never cared about the method of his sleep before.

Still, he obediently lay down beside her, tucked in on his side until they were touching from shoulder to ankles to both fit on the narrow cot. Cithis considered curling a leg around his waist, both for her own comfort and to see what his… Kabru would do.

That could wait for morning.

She did wrap the arm holding her staff around him though, partially for easier spell casting and partially so neither of them fell off the cot. A rare moment of mercy moved her, and she let her lips press gently against the back of his head for a moment, her voice low.

“After all, Captain… tallmen hardly live for any time at all. Even if you never have another desire for as long as he lives, that isn’t so long to wait.”

The captain stiffened in her arms, but didn’t stop her from murmuring the incantantion this time, and with a gentle jingle of her bells he slumped back into sleep.

Making a mental note to find out just how old Kabru was (and how long tallmen actually did live anyway), Cithis settled down and relaxed as much as she could, waiting to join him.

Casting spells always did wake her up, but at least now she had something interesting to occupy her while she settled.

Perhaps Fleki had had a point, and it might be worth being released on the captain’s recognizance, even if he was planning to stay in this backwater country. After all, she was his caretaker. And she’d need a front row seat to whatever disaster Captain Mithrun’s attempts at flirtation were going to be.

She’d have to make sure that Fleki was also released to stay with them, of course. That would be the start of a fitting punishment for her lost sleep.

—————

Watch this space or follow me home via

[angstandhappiness]

Interesting

@dwellsinthebog #i think the moment the goat scene happened#just the framing of it all and the way it took place in mithruns bedroom quite literally in his bed#with the goat between his legs holding him down and everything....it just seemed too SA-coded to have been a coincidence IMO#i really cant think of that scene in any other way#as always ryoko kui is a masterful storyteller and artist#dungeon meshi#tw sa

ok it’s 4 o’clock in the morning but I need to say that I think Mithrun was an SA storyline.

[daistea]

i sometimes think of mithrun manhandling — when in the relationship — my oc, in a normal amount. though, my oc is far taller than him and honestly my oc likes it because yeah it's mithrun and they're in a relationship that's good, and that's a level of trust between them. for all i know, these two are happy and they care for one another. the end.

I think that elf trains so much that he’d easily be able to lift someone taller. Though it would be funny if he threw a taller person over his shoulder and it’s like… their legs dragging on the ground LOL

AND there is trust there, to allow oneself to be picked up in the arms of someone. Like to be comfortable in someone’s arms, that takes a lot of trust. I just love it. I also like the thought of Mithrun being the one manhandled. I think he’d like that just as much as he likes doing the manhandling.

For my oc, she’s smaller so he just picks her up like a rag doll. They’re the tiny person brigade and they will both bite your shins

[halffootguildofficial]

Evidently, the reassurance that Mithrun would come back in a few years catches the half-foot off guard, but he's not really going to make an effort to correct his misconceptions. It's not his circus, not his monkeys. Chilchuck can get back in touch with the elf when he's able to.

Besides, it's not like he'd have been able to get the information out anyways. The elf is currently intensely distracted by the flash of gold on the floor. Coinchuck stiffens as Mithrun's piercing gaze lands on it, and scampers away. It still hasn't really tried to fly, but it uses it's wings to try and drive itself forward. It's a very odd display. It's an even weirder one to see it stop in it's tracks and go flat when Mithrun gets close enough, tucking in it's wings and shivering. It looks... scared.

"Oi, pointy ears!" Dandan interrupts before he can kill the bug, "That treasure insect- Wouldn't happen to have a mimic on it's back, would it? If so, it's probably the boss."

Given a momentary chance to escape, the coin bug scuttles away, jangling noisily all the while. It scuttles over to Dandan and jumps at him. The half-foot grabs it mid-jump, pinching the thing between between his pointer finger and thumb. In response, the coinbug's six legs squirm, and it's wings flap noisily, trying in vain to escape. The sound of coins rustling is intense. It must be really upset.

Dandan huffs a laugh through his nose, not giving the poor thing any mercy. Vengance is sweet. It seems causing each other misery is one of the cornerstones of these two's friendship. "Yeah, this is the boss alright. As you can see, he's a little under the weather at the moment. Got a bad case of mailbox magicks, as I understand it."

"I'm sure this whole thing will blow over in a few days. That elf girl he's started hanging around will probably have figured out how to change him back by then."

Good evening... chil... uh—

*he pauses. aware that he is missing some parts of his acquaintance's name. But he did not hold the desire to remember it at that time, unfortunate how that predicament came to bite him in the end, he thought. Perhaps if he tried harder it wouldn't to struggle like this. But alas, what has been said is done. And he has no one else to blame but himself at his incompetence.

Despite that though — he cant help but feel a little bad about it*

Hrm ...i came to ask if you had any alcohol that i can purchase from you...

Of course — i will pay . (double, so i please, its customary for me to do that) .

I... apologize if its a strange favor, considering i could simply go to a winery. But i would rather take advice from someone i am acquainted with than a stranger.

....

*he hears no response. Strange. The tavern says its open outside, and he knows it too — considering he goes here around the same time of the week, in a way it has became a part of his routine. So this is very peculiar for him*

Hello?

*Again, no response. He sighs. Randomly relieved, perhaps due to the fact that no one were to bare witness to his — quite frankly — embarrassing situation with the half foot's name*

Uhm—

.

— @ask-mithrun

(No clue why i went on a tangent on mith not remembering his name. But oh well. Hey also isnt half foot first names only for people intimate. That's funny. Completely unintentional.) Also mithbun wasbugging me during writing this. He rlly hates you guys.........

The tavern is, for the most part, empty. It's sole occupant is a half-foot who pops up from being crouched behind the bar, presumably having been rummaging among crates.

The half-foot looks him up and down a few times, clearly judging him. "You must be a little more than acquaintances, calling him that," he says, his expression tipping from confusion into smug amusement, "He's come down with some kind of sickness, I'm afraid. You'll have to come back later. I can leave a message for you, but whatever you're wanting to order will have to wait until he's feeling better. Delivery isn't in my contract."

[invre]

So, this is Chilchuck. And he's nervous, Mithrun notes — he breathes just slightly uneasy, grapples for distance between the two of them. Strange. It makes him wonder if Mithrun had intercepted him in the middle of some untoward behaviour, but ultimately it's not really his business anymore. Trespassing ... ? If that is what he had been up to, Mithrun has no reason to care. A minor infraction out here on the verges of town, and he doesn't report to any lowly farmer and their herd.

" You're nervous. " Likely unhelpful in making him relax. But Mithrun does sit back slightly upon feeling his arms trembling under the weight of holding himself up, and a distance is put between them once more.

He knows... previous little about this one, actually. He recalls their first meeting, where he had been a rather feisty presence initially, although Mithrun had slipped off within mere minutes of their meeting. And they had met briefly again after that, but each of them had their attentions elsewhere. He knows he is influential in his community, and he knows that he is a skilled picklock ( considering how far he managed to get his party members, he must be ) — and he seems like a... forceful presence, despite having blurred into the background of the circumstances that led them here. He feels like a stranger.

" Yes. " It seems like a strange question, and Mithrun finds himself wondering if he had experienced some kind of adverse reaction to it. He had felt it hard to move, to think, when casting — maybe he had experienced some kind of pain or itching upon receipt. It can happen, although Mithrun is experienced enough that it doesn't come up often... " Why ? Did it hurt ? "

Ah. He then turns his head towards the horse, and regards her for a minute. The half-foot must have brought him here on her back. Wordlessly, he rises to his feet with the intention of approaching her, but only manages a couple of steps before his legs give from under himself and he goes back to his hands and knees, palms bitten by the earth. Nnn. He doesn't acknowledge it, except to sit back and prop himself up against the nearest tree. It can bear his weight instead, for now. He returns to... silently regarding his company. ( so unsettling. )

He manages to sleep through all of the jostling, dragging, and moving — a reasonable assumption that he might be dead, honestly, given that none of that would be a particularly delicate affair. Thankfully, he doesn't appear to have injured himself going down ( is that from practice, or just luck ? ) and at least he's not teleporting around scaring horses anymore. Only half-foots, now.

It takes a few hours before he blinks one eye open in response to the cold on his cheek. Not a full rest - he's probably only got his mana partially restored - but enough to allow for consciousness. Hopefully he won't be needing to fight any more this evening, anyway.

His eye swivels from the dark sky to the trees around, and then to the half-foot.

" Oh. "

That's literally all he says before he begins pushing his elbows underneath himself and sitting up. It still feels hard, like his body doesn't want to move as fluidly as it should — but it doesn't matter. He scans the area around them, and then looks down the road, both directions. He has no idea where they are. Even in relation to the dungeon, or to the nearest trail into town.

So then he turns back to look at Belatina, and to her master. Once again, he just stares at him. He knows his face, he's sure of it. He wasn't the half-foot from Kabru's party, they were blonde and had that... beastman friend. Mickbell, it was. No, this one is not a mere innkeep, Mithrun is sure of it. Let's see... he's tall for a half-foot, probably around middle-age... He stares hard for another minute, leaning in ever-so-slightly and ( instinctively, since it serves little purpose ) tucking some hair back behind one ear to free it from where it obscures his prosthetic. Then it finally - finally - comes to him. Ah. He knew he recognised him from somewhere. This is the picklock that they had met in Thistle's abode. Laios' party.

" Chilchuck. Is that right ? I believe we've met before. "