#as long as you can not be stubborn or fight him and just be agreeable

[after-witch]

Out of the characters you write for, who would you consider to be the five worst yanderes to have a relationship with? Who would you consider to be the five most tolerable to have one with?

Hmmmmm

Worst, in no particular order:

Feitan

Mahito

Sephiroth

Overhaul/Kai Chisaki

Nikolai Gogol

Most Tolerable, in no particular order:

Chuuya

Sigma

Cloud

Sesshoumaru

Vash

[thecameronchronicles]

No Nut November

TW: Masturbation references. Smut. Semi-public sex. Language.

SUMMARY: Partaking in ‘No Nut November’ would prove difficult when you become a bit too needy for him to stay true to his ambition. 

WORD COUNT: 1500

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

Reader x one of the obx guys and him and his friends (so either the other kooks or other pogues) are challenging each other who can go the longest for no nut November and it’s been a few days and you’re being needy so you do everything to tease him until he finally gives in and fucks you

*I WANTED TO CHANGE THIS A BIT TO MAKE IT A BIT MORE INTERESTING…

No Nut November

The odds were stacked against him from the second he agreed to this display of self control; one thing he already wasn’t known for possessing. But by the two week mark, having lasted longer than anyone thought he would, JJ was busting at the proverbial and literal seam of his pants as you only made this worse. Purposely wearing only his shirts and tracing him such ways that if you’d only move slightly north, he’d certainly stain his shorts after denying himself that release for so long. But if there was one thing JJ Maybank was above all else, it was stubborn. Especially when money was on the line. And this was the deal he made with the other pogues. Two hundred dollars for who could last. But you had an ambition all your own. 

“JJ?” You asked as he relaxed in the hammock, trying to think of anything but how his cock throbbed at even just the sound of your voice. He was desperate, but too stubborn to let anyone else have that two hundred dollars. 

“I’m bored…”

“I think Sarah and Kie are-”

“I want to play with you…” You watched his jaw clench and his chest rise in a deep breath. 

“Sweetheart-”

“Please J…I miss you…” He sat on the edge of the hammock, tapping his knee as you knew the invitation well as it was all you had for the last two weeks. But no matter how skilled he was with his fingers or his tongue, you wanted HIM. Because there was nothing like the sensation of his fullness-the closeness. And for that, you were willing to risk appearing desperate or even feral. 

“I want YOU, JJ…”

“Baby, I can’t-” For this, you dropped to your knees, running your hands up his thighs and to his belt as he contracted against you. 

“Is THIS worth more than two hundred dollars? Shit, J, I’ll pay you myself, just fuck me!” 

“Ahem!” John B cleared his voice at your back as you turned to find Pope and Kiara smirking at your desperation. 

“You’re so screwed, J…” Kie commented as he was able to distance himself from you long enough to ignore the temptation you forced on him. 

A few hours later, you were all set around the inner heart of The Chateau. Some conversation of a recent movie spoken between Kiara and John B with passionate standpoints on either end as you could only focus on the fringe of the blanket at the ends of your fingers, unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you were too embarrassed. All because of a stupid deal that made you completely unhinged. And in the attempts he made to warrant a response from you, you would only ignore him, until he tried to pull your legs over him, to which, you’d just pull yourself into his room, slamming the door closed without a care of how this could embarrass him or yourself. 

He waited only a short while before following behind you, finding you in one of his shirts yet again, only now, without a care to use it as a means of seduction. But the second that you would find him wrapping his arms around you, no matter how tempting his embrace had been, you pulled away from him. Or at least tried to before feeling him pull his grip to between your thighs. As you tried to fight him, but found the expert circles and perfect pressure to draw you into more of an agreeable state than what you would have preferred. 

“JJ-”

He silenced you by a hand around your mouth, “You’re gonna want to keep this there…I’m not stopping until you know how sorry I am…And I know how much of a screamer my girl is,especially when I make her squirt…” You groaned into his palm as he was quick to take you to that precipice of that orgasm, only to edge you. 

“JJ, Please…”

“I know what you need…And I know exactly how to give it to you…but you need to give it to me when I’m ready…”

“Please, J…Nobody has to know…Just the tip…Just let me see it-fuck…please…” 

“You really love it that much?” He smirked against your ear as his hand had lowered so you could talk. 

“I need it, J…Please…” You began to rock your ass against him, rubbing and circling him, before his hands stationed at your waist. 

“Then we’re gonna make it worth two hudnred dollars.” He turned you suddenly on your stomach, the excitement of this moment having only been compared to that of your first time together. His hands were quick to undress himself before he would then position your hips up to him. 

“You want it and you’re gonna take it, right sweetheart?”

“Yes, J-I swear to God…”

“Nuh uh…Me. Swear. To. Me.” He ordered as he bent you into such an arch that he could look into your eyes as you nodded. 

“I swear to you, JJ…Whatever you want to do to me, I’m yours…” He smirked.

“Then perk that perfect little ass up for me and bounce it against me exactly how I like it…you know how…And I want you to flick yourself…do it slowly because I want this to last…” You nodded. “And you don’t get to come until I say.”

“Yes, JJ…”

“Goooood girl…” He purred, his cock suddenly inside of you as you whimpered. 

“Yes…” You grunted. “YES-” You spoke again behind tear eyes and clenched teeth. 

“You gonna make it worth it for me?”

“Yes…”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you moving?” You began to move forward, allowing his cock to find the familiarity of your inner walls clenching around him. With a hand to the bend of your neck, he held you in guidance to slow your desperate thrusts before you were left solely to his motions and the white knuckled grip into your shoulder. 

“J Please…it’s-”

“Don’t you dare complain. I’ve waited two weeks without doing as much as stroking and you’ve been walking around making it worse…wearing my shirts with no panties-yeah I noticed…” He paused to set a smack to your ass, “Bending over and moaning…on your knees and looking up at me like you know drives me crazy…So YOU don’t get to complain.” But as he spoke these words, he would take pity on you as he had been relentless, minutes fading into an hour and beyond as he’d break long enough to prolong his own release. All the while, edging you and spouting those dirty words that kept you ready for him without aggression reaching to the forefront. 

“JJ…”

“Turn over.” He finally allowed you a reprieve before you obeyed, his hands quick to pull his shirt from your torso as he was quick to attack each breast. Your fingers ran through his hair but were quickly set over your head. 

“You’ve done enough…I know you’ve had to wait too…So you’re gonna come,” He was silenced by his own motions, wincing at the reinsertion of his cock to your welcoming sex, “With me…It’s only fair-”

“Please, JJ…”

“Fuck…I missed those whines…Ke-k-keep whining for me…shit…” He grunted, head folded into your shoulder as you dug your nails into his arms, his muscles contracting to each movement, before his paces grwe to that familiar speed of a near climax. 

“You can stop and still win, J-” You reminded him. 

“Not a fucking chance in hell. You wanted it…you’re gonna get it. All. OF. IT!” He clenched, battering into you, finger rushing across your clit as you would squirt,allowing him the perfect slick to pound his final desperate movements into you before then falling at your side, breathless, pullingyo in to him. 

“To be honest…I can’t believe I lasted THIS long…” He confessed as you nodded. 

“I’m sorry, JJ…For being desperate-”

“I’m not.” You looked up at him, his hand softly tracing your jaw. 

“Because it means that you have 200 reasons to make it up to me.”

“200-orgasms?!” He nodded. 

“Before the end of November-” Your eyes widened. 

“That’s like five a day, J!”

“And this was one…” He winked. “Now do whatever you have to, get some water-shower,although that’s redundant…because when I come back…I’m using that perfect…dirty…little mouth…” You were left in awe as he moved back into the crux of The Chateau, applause awaiting him. 

“Guess you missed out, JJ…” Pope teased. 

“You can gladly have it. Because after that last dollar is spent, I’ll still get to have sex…” He teased as you blushed when hearing him speak in regards to you. But you couldn’t help the fact he was right…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

[velvetcloxds]

come over- more twd request for you, daryl and sunshine!reader braiding his hair and him forgetting to take it out before getting to work in the morning

OH, SUNSHINE | D.D.

word count: 1k

warnings: soft daryl my beloved, age gap, alexandria era, little suggestive at the end- not exactly as requested, also added some dbf!daryl, quickly proofread

You giggled as Daryl grunted for at least the hundredth time since he was very cruelly persuaded to take a shower with you, you being there the only thing that was convincing enough to let you wash his hair for him, a deep conditioning only allowed after the promise of letting him kiss you all over while you worked. His hair was longer than it was in the prison, very much so, and with the aid of the hair dryer his hair looked prepped for some fancy advertisement you’d have seen posted on a wall somewhere before.

“Stop that,” you cooed, the cigarette he flicked out the window long forgotten as soon as his eyes landed on you, you were sprawled out on the bed they’d assigned him, all clean and perfect in a shirt that should’ve been his, but he didn’t mind seeing it on you instead. He had half the mind to check if the door was locked again, knowing you shouldn’t be in here, shouldn’t have been in there with him either, but hell what a sight, he’d face whatever reprimand his selfish feelings would earn him for savoring the delicacy that you were. He fiddled again, trying to tuck his hair behind his ear but the softness was unfamiliar, slipping right back and earning another little huff and puff from him. “Come here,” you beckoned, sitting back against the wall, unfolding your legs so he could settle between them.

He was slow in his descent, hesitant, careful as always knowing who you were, who you belonged to, his best friend, your father, fast asleep in the room next door. But he moved still, on his knees in front of you, raking his eyes over your features as the most delicately hopeful smile rested on your lips. You were much less hesitant, gentle hands reaching out to smooth out his hair, the fuzziness from the conditioner making his grunting more understandable.

“Can I braid it for you,” you breathed though you knew he wouldn’t mind, ever the stubborn man that he is, he could never say no to you, never fuss as much as he is used to doing, not with you, it felt wrong to be anything but perfectly agreeable to your every wish and desire. “It’ll be less frizzy,” you had one of those smiles on your face again, like the one that coerced him into the shower, into his room, into his heart.

Now he wasn’t all that excited for the concept of it all, he’d briefly considered an issue coming up in the middle of the night and he’d have to face the dead or the enemy while sporting a braid but selfishly it would mean he’d get to feel your fingers digging through his hair, scraping at his scalp, cooing him in a way he’d only allow from you.

“Alright,” he gave in and he was putty in your hands in an instant, melting down onto his elbows to let you work, eyes full of disbelieved wonder as he watched you and he couldn’t fight himself placing a kiss onto your bare thigh, humming as he stole a few more, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Is this better, baby?” you sighed, performing some sort of magic with the end of his braid to tie it off and make it stay in place, fingers gripping his shoulder to guide him up, bring him closer, humming just the same as he gripped onto your waist. He kissed at your neck, trailed his lips up your jaw, your cheek, pausing as he hovered by your ear as he whispered inaudible praises- you fought a giggle at the softness of him, so unfamiliar yet so natural. “Dar,” you wanted to see him, unhappy with him hiding even as he was so close to you. He kissed the hair above your ear, grunting differently this time, a smug little sound as his hands drifted up your shirt, rough flesh scraping against your silky skin.  

“Yes, sunshine?” he shifted to look at you, not surprised when you cupped his cheeks, brushed your nose against his, and scrunched said nose when he pinched at your sides.

“I love you,” you knew you weren’t allowed to say that out loud, whisper it maybe, draw it in small hearts on his hand when he reached for you in secret, write it on notes to sneak into the pocket of his leather vest but never out loud- it was a dangerous thing to say, to admit, loving him shouldn’t be something you were bold about. “You love me too,” you added, and his brows dipped, he wanted to disagree, remind you that this wasn’t the plan, wasn’t what either of you signed up for but he couldn’t find the words to lie to you. So, he kissed you again, harder, forceful with the softest, gentlest reminder of love. You held onto him tightly, scared he’d leave if you didn’t, brave as you felt him guide you down into the pillows pulling lightly at the material of your shirt.

“Say it again,” he whispered into your mouth and you smiled when he pulled away, looked you over, the heat creeping over your skin, burning against his own and you knew it was crazy to be so caught up in him in the midst of it all. “Again, say it again.”

“You love me,” you dared him he had that smug smile again, tilting his head to demand more. “And I love you,” he hummed, pleased with himself, with you obliging him. “You going to show me how much?” how you managed to say that with such an innocent little expression was beyond him, but he wouldn’t stop giving you what you want now, and never would.

“Let’s hope this braid of yours holds.”

And it did hold, right up to the morning when he'd forgotten he had it in the first place, the night before having much more memorable moments that took root in his head. You were the last one up, making sure to sneak into your room to get some real clothes before going downstairs where you found a blushing Daryl eating a piece of toast. He was the center of attention, jokes coming from all around even from your dad, and your little hairstyle was to blame. His frustration eased ever so slightly when you ever nonchalantly stilled next to them.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and he knew you were, knew you felt extremely silly for making people laugh at him over what was supposed to be an act of love. He handed you the plate with his other piece of toast, shrugging as he licked his fingers clean.

"Don't be," he whispered right back just in time for Rick to come through with another joke that had you biting back a smile of your own as the kitchen filled with laughter. "Something funny, sunshine?" he dared loud enough for the room to hear and you were the one to shrug, hiding the fondness in your eyes by taking a bite of the toast, humming at the taste, content as he accidentally rested his shoulder against yours.

[eartht137]

Agony

Me and my ideas. 🤦‍♀️ Here is a small snippet from a big idea I have been working on. I work long hours, so I never have time. Please forgive my lack of fics, I haven't abandoned the other stories you've asked for continuations of, I'm still working on them. I have small little works I plan to roll out soon, so standby for that. As always, tell me what you think and keep being your unique, dark, perfect little selves. MMMMMWWWWAAHH!!😘

if you are under 18 years of course turn yo little ass back around! We do not play them games here. Mmm-hmm gone, gone outside go play.

Now, my grown folks, strap in. If you've read any of my previous works, you know what's up. This I'd deliciously dark, but it's not too bad👀👀 kinda. It's just an idea I plan to grow but I felt it was too good not to post.

********************************************

Dark August Walker x plus size reader

********************************************

"Come here little one." August cooed to you. You sat with your back to him as If you didn't hear him. "Kitty" He hummed. You glued your to the TV hoping he'd leave you alone. "So stubborn" he said as he pulled you up by your arms. He led you to the recliner pulled your panties aside and slammed you down on his length. You cried out at the sudden intrusion. Your lower stomach ached at the fullness.He pulled you back to relax as he found something to watch. Once he found an agreeable film, he spent the entire movie stroking your clit gently, only stopping when he felt the slightest flutter of your walls.

"Uh uh poppet. Only good girls who listen to their owners get to cum."

"You're not my owner." You said trying to sound unfazed. He chuckled and shifted his hips making you moan and pant like and whore in heat.

"Oh, really?" You quickly turned your eyes away from his. You screwed your eyes shut, trying your best to calm yourself. "Love, I can smell you, and feel you dripping like a faucet. You can lie out loud but your actions..." He said snaking his hand up your shirt to your sensitive nipples. You tried to pull away, but you weren't going anywhere. "Heavens your body is so responsive. Like, you've never had what you need. Denying yourself pleasure, when all you need to do is stop being so fucking stubborn and stop trying to control this. Until then...let's just say, you'll be a very frustrated little lady."

When you made to move away, his arm wrapped around your chubby tummy. "No, no little one. We're gonna finish our film, then, I'm going to read you a story." He said as he resituated your hips, pulling your legs apart to softly strum your clit. He only stopped when he felt the slightest flutter of your walls. You could only fight moans and sobs as he slowly pulled you to the edge, then cruelly snatched you back.

[twistedisciple]

deep dive character sheet

stolen from: old dash game courtesy of Mirae tagging: you!

NAME: GRISS

BODY

height: 177cm / 5′ 9

strength ★★☆☆☆ (physical strength is real bad; magical strength is a different story though)

dexterity ★★☆☆☆ (also surprisingly not great)

health ★★★★☆ (more or less physically healthy, still young enough to not have notable illnesses or disabilities yet; 3 more years though and he becomes a senior citizen)

energy ★★★☆☆ (has that earth-sign tendency for laziness when left to his own devices)

beauty ★★★★☆ (definitely naturally good-looking, with or without the tattoos and piercings and mullet)

style ★★★★★ (has A style even if it's not The style of the mainstream; puts effort into how he dresses)

hygiene ★★★☆☆ (oily hair and no personal routine costing him points)

SKILLS

perception ★★★★★ (much more observant than he comes across; sharp eyes)

communication ★★★★☆ (blunt to a fault but you'll always know where you stand with him; unafraid of asking questions if something doesn't make sense)

persuasion ★★★★☆ (by sheer persistence, "grabbing someone by the neck can be very persuasive" <- reused from fáfnir's form)

mediation ★★☆☆☆ (the answer is always simply fight it out)

literacy ★★★☆☆

creativity ★★★★☆

cooking ★★☆☆☆ (good fucking luck)

tech savvy ★★★★☆ (probably, he'll poke at things until he figures it out)

combat ★★★☆☆ (not bad per se, but hard to judge a guy's combat ability when he's constantly trying to get hit)

survival ★★☆☆☆ (self-destructive, on the flip side a full 5 stars for having not gotten himself killed yet)

stealth ★★★☆☆ (when he wants to, the problem is that he gets bored of it after a while - pspsps come here celly)

street smarts ★★★★★

seduction ★☆☆☆☆ (lmao)

luck ★★☆☆☆ (probably goes hand-in-hand with his survival thus far)

handling animals ★☆☆☆☆ (don't think he's really an animal guy; his energy probably freaks horses out)

pacifying children ☆☆☆☆☆

MIND

intelligence ★★★☆☆ (sharp and pragmatic, though his openness when caught off guard or confused tends to distract from this)

happiness ★★★☆☆ (generally speaking)

spirituality ★★★★★ →  ★★★★☆ (starting to have some doubts, not really thinking about them though)

confidence ★★★★★ (read: shameless)

humor ★★★☆☆

anxiety ★☆☆☆☆

patience ★★★☆☆ (not hard to tell him to wait for something)

passion ★★★★★ (goes hand-in-hand with spirituality)

nice         ☆☆☆★☆ mean (aggressive? yes. hateful? not usually. this answer is more like an absence of niceness than the presence of meanness)

brave       ★☆☆☆☆ cowardly (bravery implies that fear exists; griss just isn't afraid of anything)

pacifist     ☆☆☆☆★ violent

thoughtful ☆☆☆★☆ impulsive 

agreeable ☆★☆☆☆ contrary (generally pretty chill if he doesn't have a reason to be aggressive)

idealistic   ☆☆☆☆★ pragmatic

frugal        ★☆☆☆☆ big spender

extrovert   ☆★☆☆☆ introvert (perfectly fine being alone as long as it's in short bursts)

collected   ☆☆☆☆★ wild

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist <- (none of these really work for him)

SOCIAL

charisma ★☆☆☆☆ (he's not making any speeches that's for sure)

empathy ★★★★☆ (arguably empathy is at the core of his love of violence)

generosity ★☆☆☆☆

wealth ★★☆☆☆

honest  ☆☆★☆☆ deceptive (has no issue lying but tends to be honest more often than not)

leader   ☆☆☆☆★ follower

polite    ☆☆☆☆★  rude (what are manners)

political ☆☆★☆☆ indifferent (political only when the politics are intertwined with theology)

BELIEFS

higher power ★★★★★

fate/destiny ★★☆☆☆ (doesn't think about it much, fell religion probably taught that individuals can take whatever they want but are all destined to meet the same end)

magic ★★★★★

soulmates ☆☆☆☆☆

good and evil ★☆☆☆☆ (leans more toward believing order vs chaos, altruism vs egoism, than good vs evil)

luck ★☆☆☆☆

PRIORITIES

family ★☆☆☆☆ → ★★★★☆ (fully believed family was only those related by blood, thinks of it differently now thanks to zephia)

friends ★☆☆☆☆ → ★★★★☆ (see above)

love ★★★☆☆

home ☆☆☆☆☆

health ★☆☆☆☆

praise ★☆☆☆☆

justice ★☆☆☆☆

truth ☆☆☆☆☆

power ★☆☆☆☆ (likes it as a side effect, but doesn't pursue it)

fame ☆☆☆☆☆

wealth ★★☆☆☆

others' opinions ★☆☆☆☆ (only very specific people matter to him and they can be counted on one hand)

[reprisalet]

Character Deepdive

NAME: reyson

BODY

height: 181 cm

strength ☆☆☆☆☆ (lack of physical strength is sincerely laughable, mr "once punched someone and broke his hand bones" over here is NOT going to be winning any fights)

dexterity ☆★☆☆☆ (he will sometimes dodge!)

health ☆☆☆★☆ (despite physical frailties, takes excellent care of himself)

energy ☆☆☆★☆ (he spends most of his time incredibly fired up. calm down dude it isn't that serious)

beauty ☆☆☆☆★ (notably so, herons in general and reyson specifically are referred to as beautiful numerous times throughout the games they feature in; he's ambivalent toward his own appearance and doesn't like to be reduced to it, but nonetheless he is what he is)

style ☆☆☆☆★ (he dresses to make a statement! and make a statement he does)

hygiene ☆☆☆★☆ (pretty clean, takes good care of himself, he keeps himself and his space tidy but isn't obsessive over it)

SKILLS

perception ☆☆☆☆★ (heron empathy can grant him glimpses into the hearts of others, reading emotions, intentions, even thoughts... this is potent and because of that he's very aware of what those around him are doing, he's also pretty sharp-eyed so long as it isn't dark)

communication ☆☆☆★☆ (aforementioned heron abilities aside, he's a good communicator, faltering only when he gets heated. his people skills are impressive, befitting a birdie politician)

persuasion ☆☆☆★☆ (you will do as he asks. of the main persuasion methods, only intimidation is weak)

mediation ☆☆☆★☆ (peacemaker for the bird tribes...)

literacy ☆☆☆★☆ (well-educated befitting royalty, however he falters occasionally when not reading/writing in the ancient language even after all these years)

creativity ☆☆★☆☆ (pretty average!)

cooking ☆☆★☆☆ (decent cook given his limited palette and long list of dietary restrictions, nobody will be signing praises for his food, but he has a number of specialty dishes he can create that are generally enjoyable)

combat ☆☆☆☆☆ (herons are unable to engage in combat, and i play true to this even in rp)

survival ☆☆☆☆★ (after everything...)

stealth ☆★☆☆☆ (he's really noticeable, isn't he...?)

street smarts ☆★☆☆☆ (he's getting better! he's getting better, probably,)

seduction ☆☆☆★☆ (not his strongest suit, but more than capable when he puts his mind to it)

luck ☆☆☆★☆ (one of his highest stats! considers himself particularly lucky for how he was able to survive against all odds)

handling animals ☆☆☆☆★ (they like him, he likes them)

pacifying children ☆☆☆★☆ (i think he's good with kids! his family was large once, i bet there were little ones flying around...)

MIND

intelligence ☆☆☆★☆ (pretty smart, good mind for certain things though he isn't at 'genius' levels)

happiness ☆☆★☆☆ (things are not perfect. but oh, they are better)

spirituality ☆☆★☆☆ (complex relationship with the goddess of order and what it means to be a heron and what she intended for herons and if he, any of them, can live up to that)

confidence ☆☆☆★☆ (he has insecurities like anyone, but is generally confident in the things he knows he's good at!)

humor ☆★☆☆☆ (a little below average...? he takes himself too seriously sometimes but has the wit to be funny at times)

anxiety ☆☆★☆☆ (so much could still go wrong)

patience ☆☆★☆☆ (hot-tempered still, but he's calmed down somewhat)

passion ☆☆☆★☆ (see the above note on his hot temper, he still feels wild-hot grief and rage regarding the destruction of his people, he's just better at picking his targets)

nice         ☆☆★☆☆     mean

brave       ☆★☆☆☆     cowardly

pacifist     ☆☆☆★☆     violent 

thoughtful ☆☆☆★☆    impulsive 

agreeable ☆☆★☆☆     contrary

idealistic   ☆☆★☆☆     pragmatic

frugal        ☆☆★☆☆     big spender

extrovert   ☆★☆☆☆     introvert

collected   ☆☆☆☆★     wild

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ☆☆☆☆★ (natural charisma + being raised a prince + pretty face)

empathy ☆☆☆☆★ (the heron of it all)

generosity ☆☆★☆☆ (he shares what he can)

wealth ☆☆☆★☆ (serenes is recovering!)

honest   ☆★☆☆☆ deceptive (sometimes to a fault, dislikes lying and dislikes more when others try to, looking at you naesala)

leader   ☆★☆☆☆   follower (has a natural knack for it but prefers not to be at the very head of things)

polite     ☆☆★☆☆  rude (certainly can be as polite and diplomatic as a situation might call for... but is prone to vulgar turns of phrase picked up from twenty years among informal hawks)

political ★☆☆☆☆  indifferent (he literally cannot afford to be indifferent...)

BELIEFS

higher power ☆☆☆★☆ (he believes in ashera, and yune for that matter, but again see the note on his uncertainty with regard to what he is & what he's meant to be)

fate/destiny ☆★☆☆☆ (it can be hard to believe all the tragedy he suffered was preordained...)

magic ☆☆☆★☆ (both the beorc and laguz varieties have been witnessed, he of course has a firmer belief in the seid magic of the herons though!)

soulmates ☆☆★☆☆ (hmm)

good and evil ☆☆☆★☆ (and the general distinction therein)

luck ☆☆☆★☆ (fortune over fate)

PRIORITIES

family ☆☆☆☆★ (always always always, and not just blood relations either)

friends ☆☆☆★☆ (there's room in his heart for many)

love ☆☆☆★☆ (not just the romantic sort, he loves his friends and family deeply and he wants to do all he can to support them)

home ☆☆☆★☆ (pleading emoji)

health ☆☆★☆☆ (he takes care of himself/his health when he can, but is prone to reckless behavior that endangers it)

praise ☆☆★☆☆ (everyone likes to hear they did well sometimes, right?)

justice ☆☆☆☆★ (ahaha... of course the question of 'what is just' can grow murky, but he genuinely tries his best)

truth ☆☆☆★☆ (he hates lying he hates being lied to...)

power ☆☆★☆☆ (many kinds of power out there, not just physical strength)

fame ☆☆★☆☆ (it isn't a motivator, per se, but he is well-known and both good and bad things come of that)

wealth ☆★☆☆☆ (not a main priority)

others' opinions ☆☆☆★☆ (depends which others! but he wants to have a good reputation to better aid the bird tribes)

[undeadhetalian]

Franport rambling

warning: long post

For once I am making an original post here because I don’t want my non-hetalian followers to see my ship rambling on main heh

So I have a total of 6 wip fics sitting in my Google Drive and Franport is only one of them but IT’S THE LONGEST ONE. I don’t even know how many chapters it will last but it might hit 30-40. 

Fruk is the main rival ship in the fandom (I’m only mentioning it because it’s so mainstream compared to something like Franport) and franport looks very tame next to it because well, there’s not much historical context and these two have barely interacted in canon (and the interaction is just france being france and port being sus of him while he has a smile on his face and that’s about it)

But I assure you, these two can get as petty as England and France, purely on the basis that they ARE in canon (ah, those romance nations)

Canon France is... canon France, y’know? He would slander you on everything that isn’t according to his own taste, be it food, fashion, etc. (looks at England)

Portugal? Look at what he did to Spain over some internet post and tell me he is anything but petty (ok maybe crazy or deranged or unhinged but anyway)

Ngl, Franport banter/fights hits different because if you were to compare Port (at least my interpretation of him) to England in Fruk (referencing fandom content), he’s much calmer, more laidback and less emotional. This makes Port more prone to giving in, instead of being stubborn and escalating the situation consequently (I think England is already more logically inclined among our favourite homosexual eldritch nation immortals but at the same time he can get quick-tempered and hot-headed because of his ‘tsundere’ nature) 

I also headcanon that Port is the type to place more value in social harmony than in his own stance/beliefs, but at the same time, he can get very argumentative if he finds a flaw in logic even though he usually doesn’t strike others as the “nerdy” type of guy (I love how this is reflected a lot in fanon)

But he likes being a smartass (I kinda relate to him this way. I can’t help being annoying like this sometimes with my friends) Therefore, if you were to put him in an argument with France, it would only last longer if it were a battle of wits (usually with Port being the reasonable one), but if they are just fighting over something, like which side of the bed to claim, it would end almost immediately with France overpowering him

That doesn’t sound very healthy, but it’s something that Port is entirely comfortable with. He isn’t a people pleaser (can be quite the opposite actually) but very much like me, he wouldn’t pick a fight with someone over something as insignificant as a bed simply because he deems it as a waste of time (to sleep). Ofc, he would try to find an alternative in other situations to make everyone happy, but in many, it’s not possible, so he just caves in, unless the other person doesn’t mind him having the better option (which is somewhat rare with France, no matter how considerate he can be). There is a line to be crossed, but this bed situation doesn’t represent it

France is definitely the bigger flirt among them (my version of Port is much less inclined to flirting compared to some fanon interpretations), and he loves it whenever Port makes a sarcastic comment in response to his advances. It’s something he finds more endearing than annoying because he likes a challenge, not someone who is easy to fluster/embarrass, or someone too agreeable/sappy

Historically in nationverse, Port can be very refreshing for France to interact with because of his naturally calm personality. All those centuries of his infamous rivalry with England must have taken a toll on him. He needs someone who can patiently listen to him without getting too opinionated or emotional with him. Although Portugal may look like the wrong person to go to, considering his alliance (read: close friendship) with England, he is one of the few people who understand England the most, and so understands France deeply in turn. Sure, Spain and Prussia might be closer to France, but it is Port who knows how to keep France grounded at his lowest, thanks to his ability to listen and keep most emotions out of the way. 

Although, Port will be quick to defend his best friend sometimes, he will quickly notice when France is too tired to argue back and shut up right there. I can see France crushing on him because of this side of his confidant ;)

Thinking of opening my askbox because I want to talk more about port and ships when I don’t have any mutuals irl 

[kat-holden]

Conversations with Death Part 3

I sat quietly during the next leg of our journey, looking at the scenery. So fast was the ground covered by snow that every hill and tree became purely white. “Who is driving the carriage?” I asked the girl who sat next to me, her saucer eyes never blinking and never turning away from me. “Oh, they know the way. I need only set them off. They are quite obedient.” She said with a twinge of pride in her child-like voice. “Why did you show me that?” The lack of any kind of expression on the 8-year-old’s face disturbed me. “It was your decision to look at it. You could’ve closed your eyes. There is no rule to force you to watch.” An exasperated and annoyed sigh left me. “You very well know what I mean. Do not play the innocent here.” I paused, anger rising in me. “This…this thing is not the most important event in my life. There must be something else that you could show me."

“Ah, probably there is. But this made you who you are, wouldn’t you say so?” My hands were in fists as the carriage as if flew towards our next stop. “One mistake does not define me. What about if it did not happen this way? What if I never went to that garden in the first place?” The child said nothing. She grabbed my forearm and held on tightly. The carriage stopped abruptly again, but this time I only slightly swayed in my seat. That little girl held me in place single-handedly. “If you did not look like an 8 year-old, I would swear you are a demon.” I said with more hatred than I intended. “One would never know.” She said and this time only gently tugged me towards the door. The white blanket that enveloped the scenery only intensified. In the dead of winter and complete silence, the only thing I could hear was the hissing noise the snow made as it fell. It obscured all the vegetation.

This time I needed not wait for the mirage to appear. It quickly formed before my eyes in the empty snowy field. Just as before, colors were muted, but I recognized the garden of our summer house. The very same I left as if a lifetime ago. We were lying on the grass and my hands were stained red from the strawberries. It was maybe June or early July. The grass swayed around us just as it did this morning. Our bodies making a dent in it. There was no sound again, but I knew what he told me in that summer afternoon. Endless professions of eternal love and a promise. A promise that if I gave him what he wanted, he would be mine forever. I saw it in my childish eyes that I did not take any of his words seriously. I declined him time and time again, only stealing a kiss or two. As the scene unfolded, I saw his intent growing, his eyes darkening with every denial of further closeness from my side.

My breath caught in my chest. “You can look away, you know that.” The demon-child said flatly. Unblinking gaze following the scene. But I could not look away. I knew, oh, I knew how hard his hands grasped my wrists then. So quickly did he turn me around, not letting go. I could see myself mouthing the words “No.” and “Stop.”, and “Please.” I could see how I thrashed and kicked, to no avail. Even now I could feel his weight on my back, his warm sweet strawberry breath in my ear, saying if only I had given him this willingly. If only I weren’t so stubborn. If only I were more agreeable, he wouldn’t have to do this. I saw how my will to fight gave way to stillness as he brazenly took what he needed from me. And as warm tears rolled down my cheeks, I saw myself lying in the grass long after he left. Hoping, praying it was just a nightmare and I would wake up. It never happened. Rather, I descended a downward spiral from that day onward.

I did not wait for an invitation to go back to the carriage. I strode as quickly as possible, needing to put as much distance between me and this memory. The journey continued in silence. The whiteness outside seemed one dimensional. The trees and hills were only an outline. The demon with my face on it kept on looking at me. Her eyes were dark and deep as eternal death itself. “Why am I being punished for something that was not my fault?” The girl looked on in silence. “I was a child. I did not know the treachery of men. Nobody told me it would end this way. No one prepared me for this.” She still said nothing. “It wasn’t my fault!” I said loudly, tears starting again. “No one is blaming you. Only you are.” The little demon said finally. “You weren’t there for the aftermath.” I wiped my face with my sleeve. “They blamed me. For everything.” Her head for the first time turned towards the window and she asked, “Would you say that this pivotal moment in your life impacted the rest of it? Would you have been a different person if this never happened?”

“Of course I would! My life is not predetermined. I could have been a million things and a million different people. I could…” What could I have been? As if she read my thoughts, she repeated my question back to me. “What could you have been? You see, I know all of the possible outcomes of your life. The main river and all the little streams that divert from there. Some of them dry out, others end up in a bog, never really flowing anymore. Others make it all the way to the ocean and get swallowed up by it eventually being assimilated in it.” “But that’s not fair.” I said quietly. “You can’t just say that I was made to always be one outcome, to always be the disappointment. The unreliable silly girl that no one can love for real but simply take and then leave.”

“Sadly, you were made to be exactly that. The living incarnation of fire. But then again, who can hold fire for too long? Who can keep on burning themselves and chose to stick around when there are so many other girls – calm rivers, steady mountains and gentle breezes.” In an odd childish manner, she fogged up the window with her breath. “Look, I’ll show you.” Slowly, as if someone was drawing pictures on the pane with their finger, images appeared. I recognized myself in these. One was of me, sitting behind a small desk in a tiny attic room. My hands stained by ink, papers strewn around me in chaos. I was writing. A writer! That’s what I wanted to be a long, long time ago. And then I saw it, bottles and glasses around the room. My hair was uncombed, eyes crazed. The picture turned from romanticized ambition to souring reality. The next one – a calm fire, me sitting in front of it reading to a child sitting in my lap. A man, face obscured, waving goodbye, leaving for the evening. There were two outcomes that the demon-child showed me. One was when my faceless husband never came back, the other one when he did clearly spend time with other people from the fair sex.

Time after time after time, every branch of my possible future life ended in a rotten fruit. No happy ending to my story, no matter which route I took. And each and every one of them ended in a sad and dramatic way. “Enough.” I said. I hadn’t even felt the carriage stop this time. This time, I opened the door myself and jumped out of the vehicle. “Let us go on with this torture, as I am sure you will not deny this being exactly that.” The girl laughed emotionlessly. “This is far from it.” And she followed along. Another white field. Or maybe it was the same. The mirage was already waiting for us when we came close to it. A darkened room. Blood stained sheets and me in the middle of the bed. Two strong women holding me down. I screamed that night. “Why isn’t it crying?” I whispered under my breath, repeating the words from that night. “Why isn’t it crying? Tell me!” I said, slightly louder. A small bundle exchanged hands, a door opened and shut. And me screaming bloody murder “No, no, no give it back. Don’t take it away, please!” I was ready to leave, seeing the scene coming to an end with my crying and thrashing. The child stopped me mid-turn. “Wait, not yet.”

I turned, and my eyes widened. There was no sound, of course, but I could clearly see in the faded moving images that the infant’s face was red and its mouth wide opened in a scream. “Wait, I…I was told that…” The midwife hastily walked along a winding corridor reaching a back door. There, a woman waited. Her arms outstretched took the little bundle and held it to her chest. Before I managed to even comprehend what happened, the image faded into the whiteness and it was gone. “It…lived?” I blinked. “She,” the little girl corrected me. “She lived.”

“How do you know?” my voice barely came out. “I came for you that night. But you stubbornly continued on. I saw the little girl was alive, too. I was a bit cross for leaving empty-handed that night.”

“When will this end?” I asked my little replica. “How much more of this do I have to go through?” She smiled and her empty eyes looked up at me. “Come now, last one left.” And we made the short walk towards the carriage. As I stepped into the velvety salon, I noticed that the scenery had changed again. No longer was it snowing, although everything was the same color from before, the hills and trees, even the grass in the fields were as if painted by a clumsy child with black water-color on a white canvas. I felt like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole – rather than her, I fell down a nightmarish well that was leading me straight to hell.

We spent the journey towards our last stop in silence, both from me and my personal demon with a human face. I had nothing left to say or rebel against. No words of denial and fiery explanations threatened to explode from me. Only a few questions, ones that no one but me could answer. So I sat there, in the luxurious hellish carriage, pulled by monstrosities through a scenery that seemed to disappear parallel to my will to live. And I asked myself – if given a second chance would I make different decisions? Would I have inevitably ended up in the same sorry state in which my life ended today? What about a third and a fourth clean slate? Would I keep making the same stupid and not well-thought through choices as I did before? The outcome is only different in severity of consequences, but always ending with the same amount of sadness. Would people always think of me as the unreliable and difficult to tame? Am I always going to be the one who does what she pleases, making everyone’s life difficult simply because I wanted to be happy?

Should I not have morphed myself into the perfect image of virginal innocence and asking for permission to even breathe? No books, no snarky remarks at parties – a beautiful marble statue living for everyone else but herself. Obedient and agreeable, modest incarnation of an angle. Should I have been that? Maybe I would have been alive if I were. “We are here.” The child said. The carriage gently stopped and as I walked towards the last mirage, I realized I did not feel the cold. I hadn’t felt the cold of the snow for a while now. In truth, it wasn’t really snow anymore. Just endless flat whiteness. The last remnants of scenery bled into it, and when I looked to my left, I saw no end to this. It did not stretch out like roads did, nor did it surround me like a room. I stood in nothingness that was both enormous and suffocating at the same time.

A trembling hand held the heavy piece of steel. So violently did I shake I couldn’t put the gun steadily to my temple for long enough to pull the trigger. When I finally managed it made a clicking sound and never went off. I saw my father burst into the room, wrestling the weapon from my hands and flinging it. My mother silently screaming. Dead-eyed me sitting on the floor and then on a white bed in a nice hospital where people promised them I would be as good as new in a few months’ time. And I was for a while. Until I wasn’t and withdrew from everyone in my life as much as possible. Until this faithful morning when I finally got my wish. “You know,” the demon said, I almost forgot she was with me. “The way you died this morning, quietly in your sleep, is probably my favorite.”

“It’s pathetic.” I said bitterly. “I wish I was more successful with father’s gun.”

“Ah, truly, I made another useless trip that day.”

“One would say, Death, that you had a soft spot for me. Following me around while I was alive.”

“I have no feelings. You were just…interesting.” Death smiled.

“Interesting?”

“Yes, I have seen you die a million times in your other iterations. And I have seen you fail many more, but you, the original one, proved to be stubborn and cling to life. Why I wonder? But here we are at the end of it. I will let you figure this one out on your own. You have eternity to do that.”

“Wait…you mean to leave me here?”

“Yes, that was your final stop. Here you remain, forever.”

I thought for a bit. Death kept looking at her pocket watch and if she could show expressions on her face, it would be one of impatience.

“It is fitting, I believe, since my life amounted to nothing, I would get to spend eternity in nothingness.”

“That is all wonderful, but I have to go. So sorry, but you understand plenty of other souls to ferry through.” With that, Death took her, or his, its place on the brunt of the carriage that now contrasted even more starkly with the complete whiteness, cracked its whip, and the grotesque vehicle disappeared in a blink of an eye.

I sat on the ground the same way I did this morning and closed my eyes. I imagined the old oak behind my back and thought about a life without pain and sadness, where I could run through the green fields, hair loose, dress billowing in the wind. Little insects and flower petals swirling around me, my hands gliding on the tall grass as I ran. And if I focused hard enough, I could hear the birds chirping away in the boughs of my old friend. The smell of wet grass and summer flowers was almost palatable. The sun shone through the branches and warmed my bare feet. The green of the fields and the blue of the immaculate skies mixed on the horizon. And in my mind's eyes I saw myself seventeen again – careless and unburdened by choices and consequences. I had an eternity to spend with her.

[secrettyrant]

Name: William ‘Wolf’ Cross

Age & Birthday: 41 years old, October 15th 1982

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man He/Him

Birthplace: Atlanta, Georgia

Time in Hollow Cove: 3 years

Species: Werewolf / Alpha of Cross Pack

Role: Soldier / Trainer, Patrol, Watcher, Builder

Positive personality traits: Loyal, Communicative, Brave, Charismatic

Negative personality traits:  Impulsive, Reckless, Stubborn, Rigid

ABOUT

To be a Cross is a gift and a curse, much like the werewolf gene that has flowed through the name for generations. To be a Cross is to know that you will live like one, fight like one and die like one but it also means you will love like one. There wasn't much love in the Cross pack, not that William can recall until his brothers were born and promptly taught him the importance of family. He finds it amusing that Jeffrey spoke so much about it, shouted it even, yet all Will needed to do was look at his brothers to really learn it. Knowing that they could face the torture from their father together made the fists feel a little more endurable.

Growing up, Will earned the nickname Wolf swiftly. Either from the obnoxious howls he would bellow for no reason or because somebody had a stupid sense of humor, but even if the origin has been long forgotten, the name has stuck.

Wolf tried to inject a small dose of wonder into his brother's lives while they were boys. It was a hard task when there was so much violence, but Wolf was determined. He'd recite stories and philosophies, or make up whole new worlds for them to escape into and create games that would let them stay on the streets for a while longer instead of having to head back home. Of course, childhood doesn't last for long and soon each of the boys were too old to be escaping. Wolf tried to take the brunt of their father's wrath but when training rolled around and Jeffrey wanted each of his boys to be a strong fighter, there wasn't much else the eldest son could do.

Wolf was a dutiful son, agreeable almost and ready to fight at a moments notice but this is where his contradictory personality was formed. Wolf doesn't shy away from violence and can erupt into it just as easily as one expects a Cross to, but there is always a reason. He admires the strength that's been given to them as Cross men but despises the need for mindless pain. So, Wolf sits firmly in the middle and believes that great strength is shown when it's controlled.

Wolf became a father at a young age, another Cross tradition it seems, but he fell in love with three beautiful women who also loved one another. Rhea, Josie and Xiomara. From their relationships followed the greatest gift Wolf has ever been given besides becoming a brother. He became a father to Tyr, Alectrona and Luna. His boy and two girls were the beacon of hope for a brighter future and it became impossible for Wolf to stand by when they were being ingratiated into the pack. Wolf's dutiful nature shifted and instead of trying to divert Jeffrey's rage like he did with his brothers, he outright fought it. Years of fights erupted between father and son and eventually, Wolf needed to be taught a lesson. When Josie tried to intervene, the message was sent loud and clear to the rest of the pack. Any challengers will be killed and the blame lies on those they were defending. Alectrona was only ten years old when her mother was brutally killed by her grandfather, and Wolf feels nothing but guilt and anguish when he looks to his daughter.

Josie's death was not long before the death of Brandy, another wave of grief that stifled Wolf's spark and sent him into a spiral. He was quieter, and has never been the same since. His eccentric personality now has a glow of sadness to it, sometimes appearing as a troubled and lost man instead of one who is happy with his madness. His focus became on protecting his brothers and children, planning how to overthrow Jeffrey as Alpha after all. It was during these years, Wolf went on an inner journey of accepting his death and fate. It seems Jeffrey's teachings had some truth to them because Wolf quickly discovered that if he was to die as a Cross for a Cross, he would die honorably.

In 2020, while the war was terrifying and new and the pack was split and separated, Wolf was thankful to know Jeffrey was one of the names lost. He humbly accepted the role as Alpha, with clear visions on how he wishes the Cross Pack to look in the future. However, he knows it won't happen over night and trying to balance the art of controlled anger and violence in the midst of a war is no easy venture. He's hopeful, or as hopeful as he can be.

[teawaffles]

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sorrow

Yandere Siren/Fae!Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Yandere content, survivalism, pain, slight blood, suggestive adult content

A/N: This is one of the fics I was gonna post in October, but didn’t finish it on time, but I guess that means I can be a spooky dude all year round.

Tears may be cheap, but you keep them sacred.

Your captor has taken almost everything away from you: your body, your mind, your freedom, but you will not be giving him your sorrow. That will stay buried, locked away inside your chest, where the key lies somewhere he will never get to. You know he wants it. He’d told you as much.

“I’ve committed all of your expressions to memory,” he’d said one night after you nearly bit his tongue off. He’d used his song to ease you into a half-lucid state, where he kept you in his lap, wrapped tightly in his arms, shrouded in his wings. “The scorch in your hateful eyes when you wish you could fight me. The tremble in your delicious pout when you wish you could resist me. The furrow in those beautiful brows when I have you forfeited to the pleasure I give you after a battle you wish you could have won.”

Air-light fingers brushed down your cheek. He’d grabbed you by the chin, and tilted your head so that your gaze was locked in with his.

“Do I really gotta sing every time I want you to surrender, little dove?”

His fingers tip-toed down your chest, past your opened blouse. His thumb encircled your nipple until it puckered for him. He’d given it a teasing pinch. You’d stifled a moan lodged in your throat. He’d noticed.

“Aren’t you sorry for hurting me?”

You remember how good it felt to have him kneading at your chest. How his breath was nothing short of intoxicating. How you wanted nothing more than to lean into him—to kiss him—to put your hands all over him. You also remember that the only reason you wanted any of that was due to his song—his sweet siren lullaby.

“Tell me you’re sorry, angel,” he’d said, cupping your face with his free hand. His thumb slid across your cheek, under your eye. You’d known he wanted to see you cry so badly. You would not.

You’d shaken your head, and took note of the twitch in his feathered eyebrows.

His hands had moved through your hair then, lightly pulling through your roots. That was when he’d parted his lips, and began to sing.

Kiego has three songs committed to memory: one to lull you to sleep, one to make you more suggestable in the bedroom, and one to beckon you to him. The song he’d sang for you that night was the suggestable one—the mesmeric tune that made you turn around so that your knees were on either side of his thighs, the one that made you melt into his embrace, the one that made you his.

You’ve always wondered why? Why you? Out of anybody in the world, the siren had grown to have an obsessive infatuation with you. At times, you have thought that if it hadn’t been you, it would be another unfortunate soul in your place—somebody else that might not be able to withstand him, or somebody else who would actively enjoy his company. But during the times he sings for you, you don’t think. You don’t have to.

When he sang to you that night, all you could think about was giving him everything he wanted; however, the stubborn sore in your heart still clung on to the idea that he would not have you in tears.

“Say you’re sorry,” he’d commanded again between slow, sensuous kisses.

And you’d responded with: “never.”

Since then, you’ve been good. You’ve been obedient. You’ve given him everything except your tears. If you don’t stick to your ideals, then you really do have nothing.

However, when one only has so little to lose, and so much more to gain, one becomes reckless. First, your recklessness comes in mere thoughts—creeping visions of harming your winged abuser, which proves as dangerous, seeing as he’s stronger than you, faster than you, and has that pesky siren song. Then, you’ve begun thinking about running. The closer, more agreeable you become, the more he lets his guard down. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve begun learning his schedule: when he eats, when he hunts, when he sleeps, and what wakes him.

Comfort and praise seems to be the ticket to getting him to trust you more. Each night, you stroke his wings, you kiss his neck, you tell him his voice is gorgeous, fathomless, and irresistible. He thinks he has you under his spell—maybe he does, a little bit—but you’re not completely lost to him. You know that you have to leave. You know that you will leave. You’ve just got to figure out when.

It happens early in the morning.

The night before, he’d brought home spirits for you and him to drink. The two of you toasted to each other, danced together, and drank together. But he hadn’t seen that most of what had been in your glass went discarded in one of the potted plants full of herbs and berries he has allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t seen when you spiked his glass with a concoction you’d been working on for weeks with the herbs and berries he’d allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t noticed when his eyes grew drowsy, and he fell into bed with you in tow, you eased away from him, waiting for his breathing to slow.

The sun’s not up yet, but you know you have to leave. When you’re ready, you tie your boots, stock some food and water, and despite everything he’s put you through, you kiss him. Once. A sort of farewell, thanks for the memories, I won’t be missing you, you piece of chicken shit.

The departure is soundless—something you’re not used to due to Kiego’s constant singing, crooning, and happy little chirps. His guard had been down the night before, so there aren't as many safety precautions to heed as you silently maneuver your way to escape his loft.

When you’re out, you’re out. Free. Running. The most you can do to not shriek with glee and alert him of your escape is to keep your goal in mind: Find civilization. Find help. Hide. Keep running. Whatever you need to do to keep your safe stead.

At least, that’s always been the plan. You hadn’t accounted for the landscape. In fact, you’ve only ever seen a fraction of the surrounding parameters of his loft. You don’t know about the drop-off point by the outer edge of the woods. The whispering oranges of dawn have only just cracked through the trees, so you don’t see the danger when you slip on some foliage and are sent spiraling. Falling, rolling, screaming, until you catch yourself on a tree. Rather, your body wraps around a tree, which nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Groaning, you lay there for a while and breathe. The air filling up your lungs is frigid. Deadly. A part of you wants to fall asleep, find warmth in your dreams. A part of you knows that if you do that, you might catch hypothermia and die.

So you stand.

The world is dizzying. Trees tilt, while shrubs and rocks spin around you. Your first few steps are a sideways hustle. You’re like a toddler first learning to walk. There’s a sharp pain in your leg, and it takes everything out of you not to look down. If you think you’re seriously injured, you’ll give up. You hadn’t packed anything for first aid, and even if you had, you’ve lost your water and food during the fall.

You’re not sure which way to walk for a few minutes. You’re dawdling, finding your footing. The destination should be away from the drop-off, so you slowly make your way down the hill, sitting and scooting when you’re unsure if you’ll fall again.

It’s only when you find solid ground again that you hear him. His song. Some new hypnotic tune, miles away, reverberating throughout the forest. It’s nothing short of haunting and you don’t spare another second to listen. He’s awake. He knows you’re gone.

The next mile is clumsier than before. Though you’re sure not to fall, your balance is off, and your body slams into a dozen trees. Sometimes it’s because you can’t help it, while you often just need one to hold you up so you can breathe. Your palms cover your ears the entire time, and even still, his song gets louder. Invasive. He’s growing nearer. If you don’t hide, he will find you.

By nothing short of a miracle, you find a large tree where the trunk is hollowed out. You crawl in, allowing your hands to touch the ground, away from your ears for only a moment, but a moment is all the song needs.

Suddenly, you’re struck with an aching. It’s anguish. Mourning. Sorrowful remembrance. Your chest constricts with a dire need to release, but you don’t go so far to ponder exactly what it is trying to crawl its way up your esophagus. You hold back your emotions with what’s left of your strength, while you try to keep your breathing steady.

Through the cracks in the trunk, you see a flash of brilliant crimson. The ground thuds with his landing. It’s silent for a moment, until his song starts up again. You keep your palms clamped over your ears while you bury your head between your knees. You’ll stay like that for however long is needed. You will not allow yourself to be seduced or lulled or beckoned. You will not be found.

There’s no telling how much time has passed. Seconds crawl to minutes, and minutes crawl to excruciating tension. You’re not aware of the end of his song until you use your hand to wipe at your leg. It’s sticky, probably from blood, but you won’t think about it until you’re safe.

It has to have been awhile since he’s scoured the area. You army crawl out of the tree, chest scraping away at the frosty, dirt floor. The sun is barely peeking up through the trees, and you allow its warmth to touch your mud-caked skin.

In the distance, there’s smoke. With a bit of walking, you see a fire pit, and someone in a black, wool cloak sitting by it.

Picking up your pace, you call out to him, but your voice cracks to only a squeak. Still, the hooded man looks up at you. You hope he can see that you’re hurt, recognize that you’re in need of first aid. He can shelter you, take you back to civilization, and save you.

But while you half-hazardly bound towards him, you’re pushed to the side. Rather, you’re zooming through the air, unable to utter a scream, until your back slams into a tree.

Despite the pain, the loss of energy, you writhe and howl under Keigo’s harsh scrutiny. His wings spread out, taking a predatory stance, while desperate amber eyes search your body. Though his face doesn’t show a hint of malice, you know the trouble you’re in. His lips part, and an unfamiliar melody begins.

“No!!!!!” Your hands fly up to your ears, but he catches them in a vice grip, pinning them back against the giant tree’s trunk. He begins to sing and you know you’ve lost.

Loss. That’s what this is—his song. Unbridled, unrelenting grief. The tune sweeps across your feet, slowly creeping up your body. It hugs your waist as it wraps around you, squeezing as it coils. You choke as the substantial heartache clogs your throat with the emotions you’ve been repressing for months.

Tears burn your lower lashes and your vision blurs. You blink, and a hot stream runs down your cheek. Though Keigo continues to sing, you see a subtle tilt to his mouth. While your body slackens, too tired to fight him off any longer, he cups your face and pulls you into him before you can crumple. He pets your beat up, bruised back, and coos.

“Sneaky little bird.” There are two octaves in Keigo’s voice as he speaks to you, as if two people were speaking at once. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

A part of his statement is true. You can feel it. His songs reflect his emotions and desires, and he wouldn’t be able to create this relentless melody unless he, too, felt the way it made you feel. But you also hear the triumph on his tenor. He has obtained what he’s always wanted: the key to that sacred place in your heart you wouldn’t allow him to venture to. There’s no saying that he doesn’t now own you completely.

“My sweet angel, what am I going to do with you?” As he speaks, you cling to him, knitting your nails into his shirt.

“I’m s-sorry.” It’s a faint croak, but it’s all you have to offer him. It’s all you can do to stop more renegade tears from staining his shirt. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

A twig snaps in the near distance. Keigo sharply turns towards the noise, and wraps an arm around your waist, one of his wings shrouding you slightly. Through his puffed out feathers, you see the man from the fire pit standing near a tree. He eyes the both of you with intrigue, but not concern. You cast him a pleading look, and you know he sees you, but all he does is sigh.

There’s a low, sort of echoing growl coming from deep within your captor’s chest. It’s menacingly territorial, but the cloaked man doesn’t react. Instead, he steps back and into the tree. Not like he stepped into the tree, rather, at one point he was a man, and now he is the tree. Two separate objects becoming one.

Keigo lets out an annoyed grunt, and in one swift movement, hoists you into his arms, carrying you in bridal style. He looks down at your leg, which you can now see has a giant scarlet puddled gash in it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says while his wings begin to flap. The gusts blow foliage around you as you lift off the ground, and Keigo offers you a sort of sweet, conjugal smile. “After that, we can discuss your...punishment.”

A sob tears out from your throat. Keigo tuts, cradling you closer to his chest.

“You don’t have to worry, little dove. Though, I do promise to be gentle, don’t expect me to act like a gentleman. You’ve put us through the ringer today, and once you’re healed and healthy, we’ll work on all the ways you’ll be apologizing. Until then, let’s go home.”

Home. The place where Keigo will have you locked away in his birdcage of a loft. The place where you give him your body, your mind, your freedom, and now, even your sorrow.

While the two of you take flight, you think to cry some more--to let it all out of your system before you have your captor’s undivided attention. But as he flies, he hums a tune, and soon your eyelids fall, and you slacken in his embrace.

[imnotataxiservice]

The Light of Long Dead Stars- Chapter 6

6. Allies

Word Count: 5318

Warnings: All canon typical stuff, maybe a touch of anxiety

Summary: Mando partners with Toro Calican on a job, and you wonder if ghosts can get anxiety.

A/N: Happy Friday! Here’s a new chapter! I’m gonna go through and link the chapters properly at some point but I’m just posting this for now because I like pretending I’m good with regular updates lol, please enjoy :)

--

Things had been relatively quiet on the danger front since leaving Sorgan.

Days in space blurred together, dull after such a stretch on a peaceful planet. The walls of the Razor Crest became all to familiar, and you had started predicting the noises and cycles of the ship; when the lights would switch from day to night mode, the water filtration system working after every trip to the vac tube or fresher, the sound the engine made just before a hyperspace jump. You liked the quiet, though you did miss the green of Sorgan, the company that made you feel a little less invisible.

Grogu, upset about the upheaval, was being difficult on purpose. At first, you found it funny, watching Mando trying to settle a fussy baby, wrestling him into some sort of routine whilst you hovered, barely helping with your words. You liked watching him learn, a man who was used to subduing bounties finding that his usual silencing techniques wouldn’t fly with a baby, suddenly having to try a gentler approach to achieve peace on the Razor Crest. Grogu had lulled him into false a sense of security on Sorgan, agreeable when he had plenty of adults to look after him and lots of children to keep him occupied. Now, Mando was on his own with a child that was not going to make this easy for him. Well, not entirely on his own. Maybe, in this case, you would count.

“There, Kid, that wasn’t so bad, huh?” His armour was covered in smears of whatever had been in that ration packet, but at least Grogu had eaten a few mouthfuls. You snickered.

“Can’t you give him a break?” You asked, drifting over to inspect the mess. It didn’t look very appetising. Space food was so bleak. “He said he was sorry.”

Grogu could be a stubborn thing, and he was gripping his anger tight. You pushed at his ears until they twitched and he huffed, doubling down on his scowl in lieu of smiling.

“He wanted you to stay,” you crooned, endeared by the way Mando wiped the food from Grogu’s mouth with his cape before even noticing his armour. “And we both know its not him you’re really mad at.”

Grogu let Mando clean him up in silence, big eyes watching the helmet. No, he wasn’t mad at Mando. Mando kept him safe. In his mind, that visor didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. If anything, he was comforted by it. You still hadn’t figured out why Mando never removed it. You supposed, so long as he was good to your youngling, it didn’t really matter- your curiosity could be left unsatisfied if it meant Grogu was protected.

“This life is dangerous,” you continued, settling yourself in front of Mando so Grogu would look at you, too. “I know it reminds you of your past. But you are fixating so much on your woes that you aren’t seeing the good. You had to leave Sorgan, and that was upsetting; but you are under the protection of someone willing to fight for you, to search for safety on your behalf- someone who is able to keep you safe. Things have changed in your favour since… before.”

Before, they hadn’t been able to keep him safe. Whoever had been in charge of protecting Grogu had failed. You had failed time and time again, your barely-there consciousness only able to follow him around for so many years, watching him be passed from hand to hand and lost to the light.

Mando had sat himself on a crate and wiped his armour with an old rag. Even without seeing his face, you sensed exhaustion, in the slump on his shoulders and his heavy hands. He was used to not sleeping, long hunts and a life that was hard on both body and mind, but childcare was a different battle, one that you didn’t think he had expected would be just as tiring. A tiny thing shouldn’t be as difficult to deal with as a hardened criminal. It made you warm to him, especially as he missed a spot on his chestplate, a smear in the shape of three tiny fingers.

“Poor thing,” you sighed, draping over Grogu’s shoulders. “You’ve done a number on him, old friend.”

He had the decency to feel bad, cooing quietly.

I didn’t mean to.

“I know. He isn’t mad at you, either.”

A question, one he wasn’t sure how to express, crossed his mind. A thought of Mando looking more energised, back to his usual self. Could Grogu do that? You laughed, and the youngling grunted, demanding to know what was so funny.

“You don’t need to use the force, little one. You just need to let the man sleep once in a while.”

You posed it to him like a game.

Mando was quick, clever, never seemed to miss a trick- whether it was a bounty trying to give him the slip, or a little green child doing something he shouldn’t. But if Grogu could get him to sleep, then you and he could play whatever you wanted without getting into trouble. It was simple, really; the only way Mando would rest was if Grogu did, too. So Grogu pretended to sleep.

At first he was terrible at pretending. When Mando noticed his charge had closed his eyes, he would lean over to check on him, and the baby found the deception so funny that he couldn’t lie still for giggling. This, at least, seemed to amuse Mando, and he made it into a game of his own, lingering over the child and pretending not to notice for longer than was necessary. Grogu eventually learned to feign sleep, and you would wait until Mando had settled into his chair or bunk, finding a space in his armour where you could read him, before giving Grogu a signal to tell him that Mando was resting. Then the pair of you would sneak into the hull, where you would wear Grogu down with play, meditation and distraction until he really did fall asleep. You wondered what Mando thought of this change in his behaviour, how he would find Grogu asleep in a different place to the one he’d left him in. Once, his hands had passed through you as he picked him up, and you swore the man shuddered. He muttered something about ghost stories and took the Child to his pram.

You had been cooing over Grogu’s new seat in the cockpit when the shooting started.

“I’ll admit I had my doubts about this man,” you were saying, sharing the crate with Grogu, a simple but effective piece of DIY that allowed Grogu his own spot in the cockpit. “But I have to hand it to him, he’s doing a good job with you.”

Grogu cooed, ears twitching. Then the view outside turned red.

“Dank Farrik!” Mando cursed, hands flying over the controls. You had wrapped instinctively around Grogu, solidifying just enough to act as an extra seatbelt. He whined as blaster shots flew past you, the Crest picking up speed and weaving to avoid the fire. Someone was firing at you. Someone had found Grogu.

“Hand over the Child, Mando.” The voice came over the comms, and Mando grunted as a few shots hit the rear of the ship. He’d dropped out of hyperspace to save fuel and begin looking at planets to land on, somewhere relatively safe where he could stock up on supplies, let Grogu stretch his legs. You could tell he was regretting it now.

A shot hit the Crest and you were all thrown forward. Alarms started blaring. Something had flashed red on the screen in front of Mando.

“I might let you live.”

You’d grown strong enough to not be left behind in all the dodging and weaving, but you still felt like you could be thrown away at any moment. Grogu’s mind reached for yours, wrapping around you the way you had him, a silent promise to keep you there.

“Thank you, little one,” you sighed.

The ship was hit again. And again. Something broke off into space. Mando quickly began flipping switches.

“Hold on,” he warned, before flipping the ship, trying to get behind the pursuer.

“I could try something,” you suggested, but Grogu squeaked his objection.

Too risky in space. Stay.

You conceded and settled in.

“Come on,” Mando muttered to himself. Even under fire, he looked competent, already with a plan in motion, pushing buttons and steering expertly to avoid the worst of the bombardment. The attacking ship wasn’t a gunner like the Crest, and was relying on multiple hits to make up for a lack of firepower.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

That seemed to hit a nerve. You braced yourself as Mando grabbed at the controls, bringing the ship to a complete stop before throwing it into reverse, scraping along the bottom of the hunter and coming up behind him.

“That’s my line,” Mando replied, before firing.

The ship exploded. Mando guided the Crest around the worst of the debris and kept flying, piloting with only one engine- on the control panel, a screen was showing the outline of the ship, the left engine completely red. You gently untangled yourself from Grogu and moved to the viewport, catching sight of the engine. It was still attached at least, but it was heavily damaged.

“You okay?”

You turned at the sound of Mando’s voice, finding him glancing over at Grogu, who cooed.

“He is, thanks to your chair,” you said.

“The chair worked, then,” Mando said. You beamed. Grogu let out a gurgle, and a loud beep had Mando turning back to the controls and cursing under his breath. You returned to Grogu, who was looking up at you with a toothy grin.

“What?” You asked, happy smile flattening into suspicion. “Why are you grinning like that?”

Grogu refused to say. The ship continued to beep, and you watched Mando pressing buttons, intrigued. You don’t remember being a pilot, so most of his actions were lost on you, but you were mesmerised by his speed, how composed he was despite the blaring alarms.

“Losing fuel,” he said, and then the power went out. Lights, engines, everything.

Grogu laughed.

“Not the time,” you chided lightly, though you were amused by the quick look Mando sent him, as if he was surprised by the sound. He tried the controls again.

“Its all dead,” you said, hovering by his shoulder, concerned. “What happens now?”

No power meant no heat. You were floating aimlessly through space and it wouldn’t be long until the cold came, until Mando and Grogu stilled and their oxygen ran out, until—

Stop.

“Stop what?” You snapped, feeling panic clawing at what was left of you. Lost in nothing, your only company the distant stars—

Remembering.

“Remembering what? I remember nothing. I’m- I’m panicking! You’re in a dead ship and there’s no one around except maybe more hunters wanting to take you away and—”

The ship powered back up. You didn’t even notice Mando move, crossing the cockpit and pressing another button on the back wall, some sort of back-up generator for the engines. You had no heart, no lungs, but even without them, panic was an overpowering emotion, shattering you in the recycled air, rendering you useless. Remembering.

Come back.

A demand, one difficult to ignore. You tried collecting yourself back up, but it was still so dark and you were scattered like sand, so many little pieces of you. Grogu held onto the bits of you that neared him, and those that found themselves around Mando were disturbed again by the beskar, colliding and distracted until you could think of something other than fear, gathering yourself up instinctively to avoid the disturbance. He hadn’t even stopped to worry. There wasn’t one single ounce of panic in the room that could be traced back to him. Grogu pushed you toward him, whole and orientated again, where you could watch him work. You sunk into his gloves, dancing around his hands, sure and steady. No metal here, nothing to stop you, only leather worn soft from use and the blazing warmth from someone alive. Here, your fragmented memories were not shards of glass that cut you as they crossed your mind, but drops of water that evaporated with every shift of the controls. Grogu cooed, and you let yourself be lost in Mando for a moment, making his surety your own, leaving your own worries out among the stars.

A planet loomed ahead. It was all sand. On the nav-comp, it read ‘tattooine’. You think you remembered it, a desert planet on the outer rim. Not the safest. But it would be hot.

“This is Mos Eisley tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three five. Over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for Three five.”

Mando let the autopilot kick in and turned to Grogu, who had been watching you quietly. You stayed close as Mando reached for the child, quietly talking to him about resting after a long day. You agreed with him, letting Mando carry you along with Grogu into the hull, where he removed a pauldron to give Grogu a place to lay his head. Oh, how soft the moment was; big, strong Mando, cradling a baby on a rarely vulnerable shoulder and you curled around them both, humming a lullaby only one of them could hear. After a high-stakes chase you were all coming down from the adrenaline, tired out from the ordeal. Grogu fell asleep, even with the groaning of the ship and Mando swaddled him clumsily, setting him down in his bunk and shutting him in. You remained there with him, thinking on what you had just experienced. Remembering. But what exactly were you remembering?

Did you really want to know?

*

“You really just go with ‘Fire first, consequences later’, huh?”

Mando had only just lowered the ramp but his blaster was out, sending a warning shot at the droids that had approached with tools in hand. Someone was yelling. You gave him a judgemental look.

“I’ll let you deal with her.”

‘Her’ was a short, curly haired woman who was charging toward Mando, letting him know that he’d be paying for any damage done. You had no idea what his problem was, but it seemed that he wasn’t a fan of droids. You just stayed back and watched, not straying far from Grogu in a new place.

The mechanic was observant.

“Looks like she’s been in a shoot-out.”

You laughed, watching Mando’s helmet tilt and move in a way that told you he was frustrated. You liked this woman. She didn’t give a damn that this man was broad and armed to the teeth. You didn’t understand much about the damage she was talking about, something about carbon scoring and rotating parts and fuel leaks- but you understood that it was expensive.

“I have 500 imperial credits,” Mando said, handing them over. She didn’t look impressed.

“Well, that will cover the hanger.”

“You’ll get your money.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

No fear on her at all, just curiosity and general irritation about his conduct. Oh yeah, you liked her.

Mando left to go and find said money, whilst the mechanic was left with you and the Crest, and though Mando had specified no droids, she still called to them to fetch her things.

“You’re not allowed to work on the ship, but I’ll be damned if you won’t be useful!” She cried. She was shouting names of what could be tools or parts, but you had no idea what she was talking about, lost amongst mechanical jargon and the woman’s tendency to go on tangents even when talking to herself. You settled around the landing gear, studying the little scanner she was using and wondering what it was for- diagnosing problems? Heat detection? Who knows. It was interesting, though. Considering how Grogu was sleeping and Mando was gone, it was the only interesting thing you had to watch. So you did, and you listened- she seemed to enjoy narrating her work out loud- and learned what you could about how to manage the ship. ‘Not getting into gunfights’ seemed to be the main point, but with this lifestyle, that was pretty much the one thing that you could rely on.

Somewhere in between recounting a similar job and yelling at her droids to stop wasting daylight, you started inspecting the hangar, feeling secure enough to stray just out of the ship’s shadow. You could feel Grogu still, his sleeping mind always connected to yours, and it gave you time to interact with the world for a moment, dive into the ground and up the walls, prod at the droids to see if they noticed you. They did, but couldn’t see you.

“What are you three dancin’ around for?” The mechanic scolded, when the droid you’d nudged startled and jumped sideways into its peers, sending the trio into a skittering frenzy. You snickered.

“Sorry,” you said. Then prodded it again.

Something soft breezed across your mind and you returned to the ship, sensing Grogu stirring, and helped him out of the compartment. He looked around, ears drooping.

“He’s not here,” you told him gently. “He’s gone out.”

Grogu proceeded to show you the saddest walk you’d ever seen, half-asleep and upset, looking for Mando. It was unbearably cute and you wanted to scoop him up and squeeze until he laughed again. He reached the ramp and you stayed ahead of him, forming a protective shield when the mechanic spotted him. You didn’t like how she’d gone for a blaster. You wanted to knock it from her hands.

But Grogu just held up his little arms and the woman came forward slowly, handing her weapon to a droid and bending down to take him. She reached through you and you felt no ill-intent.

“Now now,” she said, hesitant. “Let Peli take a good look at you.”

Some people were softened by Grogu’s small and cute appearance, but Peli didn’t seem to be one of them. She held him at arm’s length, even as he squeaked and showed her his big sad eyes. Over her shoulder, you observed.

“Don’t bite her,” you said. Grogu made a rumbling noise. “Well I don’t know why you would, just thought I’d warn you in case you got the urge.”

“All right, there you go. Did that bounty hunter leave you all alone in that big nasty ship?”

You laughed, glad someone understood your feelings. Yes, Grogu was technically an adult in human years, but he was still a baby, and Mando had a habit of just leaving him unattended. One of the droids made a warbling noise.

“How do I know what it is?”

Grogu scowled.

“It is a baby,” you said. “He’s clearly a baby.”

“All right! Would you like some food, are you hungry? Fetch us something to eat!”

She began to walk him inside, shushing and talking to him and you let her, glad your youngling would be fed and occupied for a while. You sped after the droid that had skittered away to find food.

“Hey,” you called, bonking it on the head once more. “Can you hear me?”

Muffled beeping. You sighed.

“He likes frogs. You got frogs?”

Hesitantly, the droid held up a scrap of metal.

“…No. Frog. F-R-O-G—you know what, just get some meat. Like any kind, whatever this planet has animal-wise. He needs something other than ration packets. You hear me?”

The droid beeped and hurried away.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” you sighed to yourself.

 Without the proof that Mando could pay her, Peli was in no hurry to make repairs, and instead had designated herself chief babysitter. You let Grogu be fussed over and coddled whilst you sank into the ship, wondering if whatever you were made of could be compatible with the engines- if the ship ever went dead again, maybe you could power it enough to get the Crest to safety. The feeling of being stuck in space lingered in your every atom, an uncomfortable sensation as if you could still feel it, as if some part of you was still lost in the dark. You kept shoving it away, throwing yourself into the electrical panels and through the engines, dancing with the current and trying to melt into it. It wasn’t easy; it felt rather like throwing your soul into the galaxy’s most powerful blender, but after a few attempts, you could power the lights. If you really pushed yourself, you could keep the cockpit warm. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it made you feel a tiny bit better.

Mando returned with company, waking poor Peli from a nap, just as you had found your way into the comms system. You had snorted at the commotion, startling yourself into smoke when you heard the speakers in the Crest’s cockpit make a faint static noise. You checked the power- dead. The only place that sound could’ve come from was you.

Peli was taking Grogu outside, so you left the comms for later, instead diving after them.

Someone else was with Mando, sat astride a speeder bike and eyeing Peli and Grogu curiously. He was young, good-looking- you had no idea where he had come from, but you didn’t mind the view.

Ew.

“Shut up,” you huffed, swatting gently at Grogu’s ears. “I’ve been looking at a helmet for too long, give me a break.”

This man, Toro, was helping Mando- or, Mando was helping him. You felt uneasy for some reason, the same sense of urgency as on Sorgan, but there was no hidden shooter, no beeping tracking fob. You couldn’t place what it was, so you wrapped yourself protectively around Grogu, suddenly turning sour against everyone around you who wasn’t covered in beskar. Grogu’s mind tapped against yours, curious.

“Bad feeling,” you mumbled. “I don’t know why.”

He cooed, and let you smother him for a while.

It lingered and lingered, that nagging sense that something was wrong. You couldn’t remember if that was normal for you, or if the recent bad luck had just given you anxiety. Could ghosts even get anxiety? Grogu kept looking at you, prodding at you in concern, but you couldn’t explain it; you just didn’t feel right. You left the ship alone, let Peli do her work, keeping close to your youngling and making frequent sweeps of the hangar, snapping at the droids and eyeing everything and everyone with suspicion. Grogu was getting annoyed by your behaviour, you could tell, but you couldn’t stop. Even Peli seemed to pick up on a change in mood, leaving long stretches between her ramblings. 

The chill got worse. For several terrifying moments, everything went black and you felt you’d been boxed in somewhere solid, impenetrable, encased and petrified. It vanished and you were left compressed into a corner of the hangar, mind reeling with terror, all senses drowned out by whatever had happened to you.

When you came to, someone else was with you.

It was dark. It hadn’t been night a moment ago, and you reeled, reaching out to Grogu and feeling him reach back, from somewhere inside the Crest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where I—” You stopped, finding Peli, and Toro- but no Mando.

“He’ll be here soon,” Toro was saying, unconcerned with Peli’s look of suspicion. Grogu caught your attention from the ship, and you joined him in the hull.

Where did you go? You were so dark.

“I don’t know, little one,” you said. “But I don’t want to go back there again. What’s he doing here?”

I don’t know. He just arrived.

“He let you come back here alone?” Peli asked. Toro shrugged.

“He’s the expert. He told me to come and wait here.”

No. Why would Mando send him here? Alone?

“Maker, I should’ve stopped him,” you cursed. “He’s clearly up to something.”

You were shaken, and weak. Still, you approached Toro, finding a loaded blaster concealed under his shirt, a pouch of credits, and the smugness of a lothcat who got the cream.

“Grogu, you need to hide,” you ordered. “Now, before—”

Peli had moved for her blaster, and Toro had his gun levelled at her head. You instinctively shoved at Grogu, forcing him further into the Hull. He went and placed himself behind some crates, looking at you reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You’re just very slow.”

What now?

“Toro will be looking for you,” you guessed. “That’s got to be why he’s here.”

Mando will come back.

Of course he’d want Mando. He was right to hope for him. Considering how this man had walked right past you and created a hostage situation, Mando was the better choice for a rescue. You pushed that feeling of inadequacy away for now, instead looking about for options.

“We need to buy time; Peli is dispensable to him, its you he wants. If Mando doesn’t arrive fast enough, she could be in danger.”

Grogu’s ears drooped. He looked around too, before you saw a plan forming in his mind, quick ideas that made you marvel at his growing strategic skill.

“You want to make him think he’s already here?”

No, not quite. Grogu’s thoughts were messy, the quick succession of points that hadn’t yet been connected. Toro, out of time. Toro, afraid.

“But with no Mando to scare him, how do we… oh.”

Grogu looked up at you curiously.

“I have it. We need to get him in here.”

Then what?

“Then we haunt the hell out of him.”

It was easy to get him on board; he wanted Grogu, so of course he’d come looking for him. After that, the two of you did your utmost to make the man think there was someone else on board; Grogu fed you ideas and strength, and you messed with just about everything that would let you- lights, the vac tube, the doors and even the comms, which would let out a high-pitched scream like a feedback loop every time you turned it on and yelled into it. Toro initially blamed Peli, then ordered her to fix it, blaster raised and turning toward every new sound the ship made. Grogu was relishing in it; every few seconds he’d demand something else, whether it was for you to open the hatch or weapons store.

Turn on the Carbonite chamber, he said. You felt him wonder if you could shove Toro into it. You drifted over, but stopped before you were close enough to influence the mechanism. Darkness pressed in around you, compressing you into something that maybe resembled a body—

Grogu pulled you back with one tiny fist. He held you near him, so tightly that you couldn’t possibly drift away, clutched in his hand like a favourite toy. He kept hold of you as Toro demanded Peli hand him over, stating that someone was in the hangar and it was time to get this over with. You let yourself be carried, brushing against the creature you’d promised to stay with, so full of the world that you were calmed even in a vice-like hold. His energy was unlike anything you’d ever felt in a sentient being. He felt more like starlight. Like the force itself. Maybe that’s where he had come from.

Don’t go back there.

You didn’t know where he meant. But you promised anyway, and spread across his fingers and over his little tunic, a thin barrier to shield him. Toro’s weapon was pressed against Peli’s back as he pushed her toward the ramp, calling out to Mando, but it could quickly turn on Grogu.

Oh, you were relieved to see that shiny helmet.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh partner? Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

Even though he put his weapon down, the relief of seeing him didn’t fade. In fact, you gained confidence; Mando had a plan. He wouldn’t comply like that unless something else was up his sleeve.

“We need to be ready, Grogu.” You were snaking out of his tight grasp, pulling yourself into something substantial, reaching around your youngling. Grogu just cooed and squeaked.

“Cuff him.”

Peli approached Mando and you reached out, stretching a little to get a look at his hands. Not empty.

“Get ready,” you warned, ignoring Toro’s speech in favour of wrapping around Grogu. When the gun was pressed against his head you forced yourself in between, expanding so the child wouldn’t feel the cold metal on his skull. Not long, Mando will do something—

The light was brilliant and blinding, giving Mando time to move. Toro was not fast enough to recover and the blaster shot hit him in the chest, sending him over the side of the ramp. You gripped Grogu as tightly as he gripped you, ripping him out of Toro’s grasp and cushioning his fall, sweeping him up and stowing him behind a crate.

“Are you okay?” You demanded, crowding him in, reaching out with faint hands to check him over, fingers brushing skin. You relaxed, finding not even a scratch, and then paused. Fingers. You had fingers.

“What is that?”

The distraction made your fingers vanish, along with the rest of you, you assumed. Grogu peeked out from around the crate, cooing. Peli and Mando were watching him. Maybe, just maybe—

“What is what?” Mando asked. Peli, who had been reaching through you for Grogu, gave him an incredulous look.

“You mean you didn’t see that ghost carry him to safety just now? Are you blind?”

“Ghost?”

“Hell, I thought your ship had wiring problems when she started lighting up like that, I had no idea she was haunted! What the hell, Mando, you just pick up strange creatures for fun or what?”

Grogu made a gurgling sound and you felt like a fresh spring breeze. She’d seen you. Someone else had seen you with their own eyes. You nudged at the crate beside you, delighted when it shifted and Peli pointed accusingly.

“See? You see that, Mando?”

“I…” He had been removing the pouch from Toro’s belt. You huffed.

“Typical.” You nudged it again. Peli backed away.

“I don’t want no trouble with a ghost,” she said. “I’ll just check the little guy over, and hand him on back, okay? Let’s see- I bet all that noise was tough on your big ears.”

Grogu liked her coddling. You could’ve laughed at how he preened, except you felt pinned under the weight of Mando’s visor, fixed on the crate near where you stood. He stayed there for a solid few seconds, before turning to Grogu. Peli handed him over with a ‘be careful with him’, and you warmed at the bond she’d formed with him so quickly.

“So, I take it you didn’t get paid?”

Mando emptied the contents of Toro’s pouch into her hands. She gaped.

“That cover me?”

“Yeah, that’s gonna cover you.”

You had a feeling it would more than cover him, but you said nothing, deciding that she probably deserved the hefty tip for being a good babysitter and getting caught up in a hostage situation. You headed for a crate in her line of sight and shoved at it twice as a way of goodbye, before following Mando up the ramp. Peli ordered for her droids to remove Toro and Mando readied for take-off. In the cockpit, it was quiet, with Grogu nodding off in his little crate and you watching Mando begin pressing buttons, soothed by the healthy sound of the engine.

“So,” Mando said quietly, once the ship had left the atmosphere. “Is this ghost thing… normal for you?”

You began to laugh, whilst Grogu let out a sleepy little gurgle.

He’s got no idea.

[cloverthecuddlycactus]

Get to Know my Obey Me Oc

Potatolords picrew!

In my universe of Obey me instead of highschoolers it's college students and Orion is apart of the second group of ten human world students. Since Simeon and Luke live for so long they've been in the devildom since the first group. The students also go for the standard four years instead of one. One group of ten has to "graduate" before the next group can come too. All expenses are paid by Diavolo btw, and Barbatos helps him choose students

Name: Orion Karis Quarn

Nicknames: Ori, Bamboo, Rio

Species: Fae (demon/human mix)

Age: 27- ♾

Gender: Both male and female

Gender identity: Male, he/him

Height: 190.5 cm (6ft 3)

Strength: 7/10 (comparison to demons and humans)

Energy: Depends on the day either 1/10 or 60/10 😆

Health: 100%

Hygiene: 10/10 super anal about being clean

Best describing words: kind, brave, violent (short tempered), impulsive, agreeable, lavish spender (donates not just his money but time to worthy causes), introvert, collected, wild, persuasive, creative, ambitious, stubborn, honest, rude (doesn't mean it most of the time, he's autistic with adhd like me bc I have no idea how to write a neurotypical character. That'd be too boring)

Likes: Spicy foods, writing, crafting, gaming, and hearing the latest gossip from the animals

Dislikes: Squishy snot textured foods, loud crowded places (anxiety), and being around very unemotional people (he can feel and and mess with people's emotions but the not feeling them bothers him most especially if he can't tell how people are feeling he can't tell how to react)

Childhood/Background

Orion was raise as a child actor

He was cast for one movie when he was 7 and his mother mooched money off him for it for years so she wouldn't have to work

She was constantly bringing home men that beat her children and she thought they deserved it

She abused Orion and his brothers but Orion the worst bc he had both male and female genitalia and was the farthest from human looking in his natural form

She tried to get one or the other removed but bc he's not completely human you can't do that without killing him so he kept the uterus and penis whether she liked it or not

She thought him an abomination and raised him as a girl as "punishment" bc we all know how women are treated in society

He has two older and two younger brothers

His eldest brother was the worst to him, he's thrown him off a cliff and even attempted to drown him

The younger two would usually just tag along and laugh at him

Orion only stays in contact with his second eldest brother Aqui (Aquila bc all of them were named after constellations)

Aqui moved out really early, when he was 15 and never spoke to his family again until he took in a runaway Orion two years after he moved out

Orion ran away from home when he was 13 and accidentally found Aquila but was forced back with his mother until he turned 16

His case to fight for freedom became public as you can imagine from a child celebrity

That's also when the government had to come clean that not everyone in our dimension is human

During a court case Orion's mother (a witch) tried to use a mind spell on him to get him to agree to come back with her

He lashed out and showed his true form

After he was granted freedom from her he moved in with Aquila in a small apartment flat for about a year until he was able to get all his money and assets from his performing with his brother's help

After that they moved into a fair sized home and that's where the issues started

Orion's mental health really started to go down hill and Aqui was hardly ever home bc he didn't want Orion to feel like he was mooching off him so he was working all the time

Classic miscommunication that caused Orion to start drinking

He was still acting of course and making damn good money

They managed to figure this out quickly and got Orion help

He stopped acting when his last project aired in theaters on his 25th birthday

Orion has a mix of a few animals in his DNA that give him extra appendages. His animals are a Dumbo rat, lamprey eel, giant squid, and huntsman spider.

Because of this he has six eyes; each pair sees differently. The top set sees heat signatures, the second were the "normal" set bc they're in the spot humans eyes would be and these needs glasses, and the third and smallest and most spread set sees people's "stats".

The bottom most set can see people's strengths, intelligence, and magic float around them in their "aura" or their resounding "soul signature" whatever you like 👍

Orion also has four arms and thus four hands as well. They look and function like human hands.

He also has really long and droopy elf ears (he has A LOT of piercings on them).

Orion has a nose ring, Medusa, spider bites, and a tongue piercing on either end of his split tongue.

His ear piercings are ->

Left: 2 industrial, 5 low helix rings, and a tentacle that attaches at his lobe and as a stacked lobe piercing

Right: 2 industrials, 5 upper helix rings, two high lobes, and a lamprey eel mouth lobe piercing

Orion also has a rat tail and has the two feeding tentacles that are like a giant squids come out from his very lower back along with his tail. At the end of the spine pretty much.

He can produce spider webs from glands that he can pull from from behind his ears. He also cums literal webs as well, thankfully those aren't as sticky and easily cleanable.

He has three rows of very sharp teeth and a split tongue, he split his tongue in a fight with his eldest brother.

Orion has dark brown skin. His hair was very very dark brown but his entire scalp grayed by the time he was 18 so he dyes it a dark forest green.

His eyes are his mother's blue/green naturally somehow (he thinks she cursed him and honestly, prolly) but he pours a potion onto them to be a really pretty brown that looks like splintery tree bark if you look close enough. They're all different browns and at a distance in the sun look almost orange.

He has retractable claws, they used to hurt until he got used to them. His nails are super tough as well on both his hands and feet.

Orion chooses comfort over fashion a fair amount of the time but will not back down from showing people he is the hottest thing out there. He has to make ALL of his own clothes bc of how different his body is from humans.

Anything else you might wanna know just ask bc I've never done this before so I have no idea what people want to know about mah boi! I'll be happy to answer any of your questions!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Gift Giving.

Commissioned by the lovely @strawberry-cake-and-earlgrey​.

Word Count: 3.0k

Pairing: Yandere!Sugawara/Reader/Yandere!Oikawa

Synopsis: Your boyfriends rarely agree on anything. Oikawa’s always been the jealous type, and while Sugawara isn’t as competitive, he never tries to hide his preference for one partner over the other. But, they can put their petty squabbles aside every so often, especially if it means taking on their favorite burden - proving how much they both love you.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood, Lacerations, Knife-Based Violence, Non-Consensual Touching, Toxic Relationships, Mentions of Stalking, Implied Emotional Abuse, and Delusional Mindsets.

Sometimes, you wondered why Oikawa ever agreed to share.

He’d always struck you as the possessive type, the kind of guy who was too petty to let you split your attention between him and anything else, let alone another living, breathing person. Even if he still found a way to monopolize your time, dragging you away from your clubs and convincing your friends you had a good reason to isolate yourself so severely, he still had to deal with Sugawara. He could meet you at Karasuno’s gates every day, but he couldn’t go to class with you. He could brag about you to his team, insist on bringing you to every one of his games, but he’d always have to check with Sugawara, he'd always have to get permission, first. He could invite himself into your personal space, wait until you’re alone and helpless and vulnerable before he pinned you down and dug his teeth in, but he’d have to know Sugawara would already be there, smiling and laughing and smothering you more thoroughly than Oikawa would ever be able to. It had to eat away at him. It had to, at least a little. At least more than he let on.

It shined through, sometimes, if you looked closely enough. In the way he kept an arm around your waist whenever the two of you were together, or how he always found an excuse to remind you that he was the preferable option, the better option, even if he failed to denounce Sugawara’s love so blatantly. You could see it now, too, with his nails biting into your shoulder as he pulled you against his side, a tense grin pulling at the corners of his lips whenever you glanced in his direction. You hadn’t been surprised when he turned up on the gym’s doorstep, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and his timing purposefully engineered to avoid the rest of the team, but that didn’t mean you were happy about his sudden appearance. Not when you knew him and Sugawara so well.

You’d known something was wrong from the moment Sugawara caught your wrist and went on about how nice it would be if you stayed to watch him practice, from the second he volunteered to lock up and let everyone else silently assume you wouldn’t walk home without your responsible, hard-working boyfriend at your side. He was planning something. You knew he was planning something, but there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t attract attention, that wouldn’t frame you as the temperamental partner who couldn’t be asked to wait without throwing a temper tantrum. Especially now that Oikawa was here, the gentle guiding hand, the nudge towards a peaceful solution, the calm voice that’d coo and hush and offer agreeable explanations until he and Sugawara were deemed innocent and you relegated to the role of a bratty, ill-tempered child who should be more grateful of their ceaseless efforts. It amazed you, how willing he was to drop his poorly-masked hostility as soon as he and Sugawara were pointed towards a common enemy. It used to amaze you.

Now, it just made you feel sick.

By the time you reached the boy’s locker room, the lights flickering and the door creaking on its hinges as he pushed it open, there was a firm knot in the back of your throat, a blend of guilt and anxiety that left you biting the inside of your cheek as you stepped into the sterile space, freshly cleaned and just big enough to make you feel small, in comparison. Oikawa let you go, locking the door behind him, but you didn’t try to run. You didn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to hide, anyone who’d believe you or any safe-haven to run Oikawa turned his back. It wasn’t like you would’ve gotten very far, even if you did.

Sugawara was already sitting in front of you, straddling the wooden bench in the center of the room and smiling, his expression so careless, you could almost believe it wasn’t malicious.

Almost.

“What’s going on?” You asked, the question followed by a small, forced laugh. It was a weak attempt, but you tried to stay light-hearted, hoping they’d be kind enough to return the favor. “If I forgot about a date or something, you could’ve just told me. I don’t need an intervention.”

“You’re close, angel.” Oikawa opened his mouth, but Sugawara was faster, tapping the bench in front of him as he spoke. You moved to comply willingly, but Oikawa still felt the need to push you down to Sugawara’s height as soon as you were close enough, keeping a hand on your shoulder as you positioned yourself to face the more mild-mannered threat. Oikawa didn’t seem to mind, though. He didn’t waste time, slotting himself against your back, stringing his arms around your waist despite your attempts to shift into the comfortable space left between you and Sugawara. All it took was a change in his posture to make you go still, accompanied by a quick peck to the side of your neck. It was more of a warning than a reward, but you had to expect that, with Oikawa.

“I don’t blame you, honestly. It took you so long to come around, I don’t even know if we can count the first few weeks of our relationship as…” There was a light chuckle, a glance towards the floor, and you noticed he was toying with something in his right hand. If he felt a need to show it off, you couldn’t tell. “As a relationship, I guess. I almost felt like a stalker, back then.”

“He was a stalker,” Oikawa corrected. “Stealing stuff from your bag, leaving all those gushy notes, following you home…” There was a sigh from Oikawa, too dramatic to be taken seriously, and Sugawara groaned in return. “Don’t worry, though, I was way more polite. Whenever I followed you home, I made sure you didn’t notice. I know how touchy you get about your privacy, sweetheart.”

You didn’t have to be told. Not after that. Not as Sugawara barely hesitated before reaching towards the collar of your uniform, nimble fingers beginning to undo the buttons with all the impatience he’d managed to hold back, earlier. “Our anniversary.”

There was a harsh tug on the hem of your sleeve from Oikawa, a cheery smile from Sugawara. Wrinkled, white fabric pooled around your waist, and abruptly, you realized just how cold the gym could be, despite the two pairs of eyes burning holes into your skin. “And I was going to spoil the surprise,” Sugawara lamented. “I wanted to wait until we were somewhere a little more scenic, but you know how restless Tooru can be, don’t you? He thought you’d catch on, if we waited any longer.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t against taking you home,” Oikawa added, almost absent-mindedly. “But, this is more private. I didn’t want anyone interrupting us while we give you your present.”

You stiffened, at that, fighting the temptation to push Sugawara away as he wrapped an arm around your waist over Oikawa’s, pulling you closer until you were crushed against his chest. Grudgingly, Oikawa let you go, but not without a disappointed huff. “I-I really don’t--” You tried to speak, but your voice was shaking, trembling despite your best attempts to keep it even, to stay composed. “I mean, I didn’t get you anything, so a gift really isn’t--”

There was a small, almost inaudible click, the scratch of metal on metal. You felt something pierce your skin, just above the curve of your shoulder blade, and a second later, it started to burn.

It was a shallow cut, the blade thin enough to make the cut as painless as possible, but it was still a blade, it was still a cut, and it still hurt. You jerked back reflexively, but that only helped Sugawara carve the first line, stark and solid and agonizing as he dragged his knife through your flesh, only made worse by the way he sliced at the wound, barely bothering to draw back before forcing it under your skin again, never pausing for more than a moment. You whimpered, trying to wrench yourself out of Sugawara’s hold, but he only brought his unoccupied hand up, tangling his fingers in your hair and encouraging you to lean into him, to ball his shirt in your hands and try to ignore the searing pain in your back, the thick, hot blood dripping down your back, undoubtably staining the uniform they’d been kind enough to hastily shove out of the way.

There was a slight tap to Sugawara’s wrist, and after one more jagged line, he pulled away just enough for Oikawa to swipe two fingers over the open wound. You cringed, shrinking into Sugawara, but Oikawa didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t seem to care. Not enough to stifle the sound of his fingers sliding past his lips, at least, or to swallow the throaty moan he let out as he tasted your blood, sending a cold spike of fear down your spine. Sugawara remained unaffected, only letting out a quiet chuckle before continuing his work. “You’re so gross.”

“And you’re messy,” Oikawa retorted, drawing back, taking up your hips, instead. “I would’ve done both, if I knew you’d be so bad at this.”

It was a stupid thing to linger on. You were being flayed, you were being tortured, but some stubborn, shallow part of your mind refused to move beyond the idea that the scar might be ugly, that Sugawara’s hack job might not fade into something abstract and meaningless in a few weeks. If either of your partners caught your futile attempts to glance over your shoulder, neither felt the need to comfort you. There was a small hush from Sugawara as you whimpered, a tightened hold on your hips from Oikawa as you writhed, but somehow, their touching acts of concern did little to soothe your worries.

“It’s not like I had a chance to practice,” Sugawara muttered, his focus now renewed. There was a swirl, a series of jagged lines, and you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cracked sobbing. You hadn’t realized you were crying before you heard yourself, before you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. It made sense, but you still tried to will yourself to stop. Tried and failed, obviously. “And look, you keep embarrassing them. How am I supposed to work if you keep making the poor thing squirm?”

“Is that true, cutie?” You didn’t answer, clenching your eyes shut as Sugawara twirled the tip of his knife in a tight, slow circle, but Oikawa didn’t seem to mind. This time, when he leaned into you, kissing the top of your head, he didn’t pull away, even after Sugawara finished and your breathing steadied to a constant, wobbling pattern. “This is just for us. ‘s just for Koshi and I to enjoy, and even if his present is…” There was a deliberate pause, a kick to Oikawa’s calf. “Even if his is unique, you’re still gonna be our pretty little angel. As long as our gifts do their jobs, you’re always gonna be our angel, too.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as Oikawa held out his hand, Sugawara only hesitating for a moment before dropping a small, blood strained pocket-knife into his palm. You tried to stand, tried to get away, but Oikawa only had to snake an arm around your waist to keep you in place, pressing your body flush against his chest. “We only need a few more minutes,” Sugawara promised, his fixed smile sweet enough to make you think it might’ve been genuine. To make you think he actually might’ve cared, if you’d been brave enough to tell him to stop. “Bear with us, alright? Oikawa’s good at this kind of thing, it won’t take long.”

If nothing else, Oikawa worked quickly. Sugawara tried to be delicate, trading brief brutality for drawn-out precision, but Oikawa didn’t seem to follow the same statagy. He chose somewhere noticeable, somewhere sensitive, the dip of your collarbone, where you could see the hilt of his knife moving along the edge of your vision. Whereas Sugawara’s burnt, like a branding-iron being forced under your skin, whatever Oikawa was doing only resulted in a numb pressure, an awareness that something was splitting apart and you desperately, desperately wished it wasn’t. You tried to glance down, tried to see what he was doing, but Sugawara didn’t seem to care for that idea. Without hesitation, he caught your chin, tilting your head back and slotting his lips against yours. You might’ve been thankful for it, too, if he hadn’t taken his turn first.

The kiss was gentle, just as tender and considerate and synthetic as you’d come to expect from him. He wanted to distract you, clearly, to take your mind off of Oikawa’s knife and the thin incisions, but if anything, the softness of it only made the sensation more vivid, more unignorable. It only made everything hurt more, but you might’ve been giving him too much credit. By the time Sugawara’s touch began to wonder, his fingers dipping down to trace over the marks he’d so carefully engraved in your skin, you were tempted to say the distraction was more for his sake than yours. 

You never leaned into it, you couldn’t bring yourself to. It was all you could do to let out a scratchy, pained shreik as Oikawa finished, ending his carving with a long, winding dash that ran to the center of your chest, one that sent a fresh acidic wash across your skin every time you took a deep breath. You almost glanced down when Sugawara drew back, almost spoiled the surprise, but Oikawa was quick to press the flat of his blade against the bottom of your chin, forcing you to keep your head up as he pressed his mouth against yours, the kiss half as long as Sugawa’s but twice as forceful, as if he felt the need to get back every second he might lost. 

By the time it was over, you were gasping, the adrenaline fading and a new wave of tears building up in the corners of your eyes. Thankfully, your boyfriends allowed you a small moment of reprieve, but it was a fleeting sense of tranquility. Before you could calm down, before you could do so much as start to recover, Oikawa was already pushing you away, trusting you to steady yourself as he fished his phone out of his pocket. You stumbled, nearly falling forward, but Sugawara caught you, chuckling as you dug your nails into his sleeves. The sound was so calm, so cheery, you could almost bring yourself to ignore the shudder of Oikawa’s camera, the satisfied scoff he allowed himself as he looked over his work. You were confused, for a second, almost offended, but it didn’t take you long to remember the reason for his sudden distance.

Oikawa wanted to show off your gift.

Sugawara must’ve arrived at a similar conclusion. “Maybe we should wait,” He suggested with a noncommittal shrug. “It might be a little too much, today. We could wash off the excess, wait for it to scar… it’s not like I won’t be able to make sure (Y/n) doesn’t peek, in the meantime.”

But, Oikawa was already leaning forward, stringing his arms over your shoulders as he held his phone in front of you, already open to the picture he’d just taken. You didn’t mean to look. You didn’t want to look, but once you caught a glimpse, once you got a hint at the full image, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. It took you longer than it should’ve to recognize the sloppy scrawl, the lopsided text that’d been gouged into your back. You could still feel it, if you tried to. It wasn’t unbearable, but every cut seemed to ignite with a new fire as you looked over the uneven, jagged shapes. Letters, you realized, then a name. Koushi.

Koushi.

You felt like you were in a trance, like some unseen force was compelling you to lift your hand and drag your fingertips across the wound on your collarbone, one indented symbol at a time despite the fresh row of needles you pushed into your flesh at every point of feather-light contact. Neither of them made the effort to take another picture, but Oikawa cupped his hand over yours, keeping your hand on your chest, on the name that’d be etched into your skin for the next few months, if you were lucky. For the rest of your life, if you weren’t.

Koushi and Tooru. Sugawara and Oikawa.

Your loving, caring, devoted boyfriends. Your partners who couldn’t bear to see your attention stray.

The blood loss might’ve been a mercy. At least your mind was too clouded-over to really take in what this meant.

“It’s pretty, right?” It was Oikawa’s voice, but you could hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, over the all-consuming, all-devouring dread that was beginning to swallow you whole. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on, just to make sure it heals. We wouldn’t want you doing anything to ruin our gift so soon, would we?”

It was almost a relief when Sugawara spoke, urging you on with a whispered ‘tell him how much you like it’, his expression sympathetic but his eyes bright. He was remorseful, but he didn’t regret hurting you. He didn’t agree with Oikawa, but he genuinely thought he loved you, that he’d done something you might be grateful for. That was more than you could say for Oikawa. Possessive, jealous Oikawa. Petty, sadistic Oikawa.

Oikawa, who’d let another man carve his name into your skin just to punish you for catching his eye in the first place. Who’d sit back and watch you bleed, just because he couldn’t be the only person who got to say when you deserved to.

Your tongue felt heavy, when you opened your mouth. Your voice came out unsteady, your tone impassive, but you knew neither of them would care. Sugawara wouldn’t look any further than the words themselves, he wouldn’t want to, and Oikawa…

Oikawa just liked to watch you suffer.

“It’s beautiful.”

[beskar-cowboy]

A Close Call

Part Three of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: After bounty hunting in the jungle, Mando comes back to the Crest with many pent up... feelings. (6k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, smut, canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, blood, yearning, mutual pining, rough sex, the helmet stays ON, breeding kink if you squint cause its Mando, also no season 2 spoilers

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (which will be linearly in my masterlist) <3

The sweltering heat was heavy, drowning you in your own sweat as you walked deeper into vines, tall grass and thick foliage of the unfamiliar jungle.

The air was humid, the forest vast and dense, filled with shades of greens that you never thought you’d experience with your own eyes. You were seeing colours you had only previously dreamt of. It was such a stark contrast to the ice planet you had been on maybe a week prior to this. You weren’t sure which extreme you preferred but you were not the biggest fan of the way the humidity was making your hair puff out, curl exaggeratedly and stick to your neck and forehead with the sheen layer of sweat coated on every inch of your body. Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin as well.

Mando was a fan of that, however. Yet the helmet gave away nothing, as always. 

The moment you landed on the planet, he noticed the way your chest heaved, taking in the supple, fresh air for the first time. The look of wonder in your eyes, taking in the flora and fauna you could only have only ever dreamed of previous to this. You were very endearing, it made his heart feel heavy, tense, as if you were squeezing it in your perfect little hand, bleeding him dry.

You couldn’t believe this was your life now; travelling with a deadly bounty hunter, caring for him and his adoptive child day and night. What was even stranger, perhaps, was that you were having the time of your life.

No matter how cold Mando could be, how rude, closed off or just straight up silent he could get some days. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This was much better than your life on that dingey planet, working that dead end job in the scummiest bar in town. You tried not to think too much of your past, but you couldn’t help the few untamed thoughts that crossed your mind every now and then. You shrugged them off with relative ease, usually being whisked away in some task the Mandalorian asked you to complete, or by the cries of the Child.

No matter how hard the days could get, no matter how lonely you felt some nights, you were thankful for the loving affection of the kid, you were thankful for how much he seemed to care for you. And you cared for him in return. Not because it was what you signed up for, to more or less be his babysitter, but because you truly cared and maybe even loved the little green booger like he was your own. He was very sweet, kind, curious and reckless like Mando. You liked how they seemed so similar in some strange little ways, it made your heart feel heavy.

Heavy with some emotion you wouldn’t dare name because it would only fuck you up further, fuck up the missions, fuck up your tasks, fuck up everything. That sickening feeling you got in the pit of your stomach everytime you caught Mando talking to the Child, staring at him sweetly, catching the way he seemed to stare at you sometimes too. At least you think he was. Whatever, that helmet made it near impossible to ever tell what he was thinking, feeling or even just looking at.

No matter how little he was actually beginning to warm up to you, he was still extremely apprehensive and closed off. He had his moments of perceived kindness, gentleness or whatever it really was, but he always seemed to take five steps back when he realized he had been too vulnerable with you. 

You couldn't blame him though, he was on the run from people who were trying to take the kid from him, or busy chasing after bounties himself, he didn’t have time for… whatever it was you were feeling. Whatever emotion you were terrible at suppressing, you know without a doubt that Mando didn’t have time for such trivial, childish things.

You huff and look down to your side, the Child’s pod floating seamlessly along your side, the two of you just a few steps behind Mando.

The Mandalorian was tracking a bounty and he said there was a good chance he’d be on this jungle planet seeking refuge with a friend or something like that. You had literally begged him to come along, not wanting to spend another day alone in the ship with the Child. It had taken a few days to get here, and you desperately needed to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air. Mando was reluctant, very reluctant, but after enough begging and pouting from you he allowed for the two of you to come along, figuring it would be a pretty easy quest anyways.

Oh how he was wrong about that.

His visor display was showing multiple footsteps having walked in the same direction that the three of you were now walking. The footsteps were strange, seeming to be left by a herd of long bodied, four legged animals. Mando had no way of knowing if they were a threat or not, but he had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough. The Child’s safety and… and yours was not something he felt like gambling with today.

Mando stopped dead in his tracks and you nearly walked right into him, having been engrossed in a more or less one-sided conversation with the Child.

“Head back to the ship.” Mando commanded, his voice trying to give the sense that there was no room for discussion. He barely even turned around to glance at you, but you noticed his hand hovering over his blaster.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Your own hand now hovers over your own blaster, technically Mando’s but he had trusted you to wield it after that one stunt back on Batuu when you saved him and the Child.

“Animals. Too many of them, you’ll be safer on the Crest.” He turns to glance at the Child who coos back up at him, his ears turning downwards as if he too knows of the animals which creep up on the three of you.

“No, I can stay and fight. I’m not leaving.” You, I’m not leaving you, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.

You can’t see because of the hemet but Mando is rolling his eyes at you, at your stubbornness but also your resilience. How eager you are to stand by and help him almost blindly. He doesn’t doubt that you judge him or criticize him in your mind, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a negative comment leave your mouth. You’re always sweet to him. Sweet girl.

“Our job is to take care of the Child, make sure he’s safe,” He huffs, pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and suddenly the Child’s pod is floating away at a leisurely pace, back in the direction you’ve just come from. “Follow it back to the ship, close the hatch and do not leave until I’ve returned.”

You glare at Mando and how he’s given you no choice but to head back to the ship. There was no way you’d leave the Child floating unattend, and without Mando’s directions, you had no way of finding the ship again on your own. You sigh but turn on your heels after the pod, following its lead through the jungle and back to the Crest like Mando had programmed it to.

//

It’s been hours.

Or at least it feels like it’s been hours. You aren’t aware of the planet’s day cycles so you have no idea if it's been minutes, hours or days but it was dark now and you’d been trying to keep the kid occupied, distracted from the fact that his dad wasn’t here and you had no idea when he would be.

Luckily, the Child was in an agreeable mood so he was distracted pretty easily, playing with various shiny things that he usually reached for on the ship. You made him a couple of snacks with what you managed to find stashed away, he took a nap and you cleaned up the tiny mess he made. Overall, a pretty good day for him.

You on the other hand, were fucking stressed.

It was dark, really dark, and Mando hadn’t even contacted you on the comlink, not that he even did that before but you think that if he comes back- no, when he comes back - you’re definitely going to make that a new rule.

The Child was rocking sweetly in your arms, you had been trying to get him to fall asleep for the past thirty minutes and he was finally getting a bit dopey. Those big eyes of his seeming to get heavier, his blinks growing slower. His little hand was wrapped around your thumb and you quietly hummed a random song to him, maybe it was one your mother sang to you, you’re not quite sure but it seems to be doing the trick.

You can hear small disturbances outside the hatch and you use your hand which isn’t holding the Child to hover over your- Mando’s blaster. You lean against the wall, blaster in hand, hoping, praying it’s him.

Please be him, please be him, please be him.

The hatch groans as it releases its locks and opens slowly to the ever humid jungle. That familiar beskar glints and shines in the moonlight like a precious jewel. You exhale a much needed sigh of relief, Mando was back.

You tuck the blaster back into your holster as you watch him roundup the quarry into the ship, pushing him aggressively up the inclination. He stands wide, broad and big as he does his job. He’s tired and annoyed, you can tell. You can always tell, but he’s strong too, always strong.

The quarry’s hands are shackled, his face beat up and bloodied. Mando really did a number on him… 

The quarry’s eyes meet yours, take in the sight before him, a beautiful young girl cradling a strange little green baby. He seems confused, he looks back to the intimidating Mandalorian inquisitively. It’s the last thing he sees before he’s frozen into carbonite.

You say something something to him, to Mando. You sound worried, but he can barely make it out. He had seen the way the quarry’s eyes racked the length of your body, landing on the Child as well. Mando saw red, his adrenaline still pumping heavy and potent in his veins, coursing through his body from the chase, the act of hunting. 

So much so, that he hadn’t even realized he had come to tower over you, caging you in against the wall which you had been leaning against.

You look up at him with wide, worried eyes, you look flustered, lips red and swollen. He wants to touch you, he… he wants to do more than touch you-

The Child’s sleepy cooing breaks him out of his wicked mind. He looks down at the kid who reaches for him sleepily with his tiny hands, eyes half closed. He takes him from you, out of your motherly hold. Your hands brush and he wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“W-What did you say?” He finally asks, remembering you had said something to him and he heard absolutely nothing.

“I said your arm is bleeding, Mando.” Voice so small, gentle. 

Mando huffs, barely acknowledging it before he steps away from you, turning to the Child’s pod and placing him gently inside. It closes with a hiss. You suck in a shuddering breath.

Mando rummages around for a few moments before pulling out his tool kit, sitting down on the edge of his cot and pulling out his taser-like contraption. You watch almost dumbfounded, trying to piece together what exactly it is he’s doing. He reaches for the tear in the thick material of his sleeve, pulling on it and tearing it further to better show off his wound and his… his skin.

Flesh. Mando’s arm.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be looking, maybe you were breaking his creed by seeing part of his skin but you couldn’t look away, and he made no motion for you to do so either. So you stand transfixed as he begins to shoddily cauterize his tanned skin.

“L-Let me help you, please.” You take a step forward, towards him, hands reaching out.

“I’m fine.” He basically growls at you, his rough tone startling you, stopping you in your tracks.

So you stand by idly, watching him burn his own skin, attempting to close his open wound.

You only interject again when he starts taking longer breaks between each electrifying tase. When his hand starts to shake and his movements slow down, motivation and determination leaving him as he slowly accepts the pain of the deep gash on his arm, blood trailing down his toned bicep.

“Here…” You say quietly again, hoping he listens to you this time. You reach into the tool kit, pulling out his bacta gel before coming to stand in front of him, your knees grazing his bent one from where he sits on the edge of his cot. 

He seems to have listened, his movements having stopped, the taser held weakly in his hand. You take it from him, setting it back in the metal box before zeroing in on his bleeding cut.

You shudder at the sudden proximity, his pent up adrenaline and anger palpable, intoxicating. It lays thick and heavy in the air between your two bodies. Your hands shake as you gently douse the wound with the gel, trying to stay focused, trying to get the bleeding to stop. You fingers brush gingerly along toned, scarred skin and you try, you try so fucking hard to focus. To not let your fingers linger, not let them wander to regions unknown to any other living thing.

Mando groans as it begins to seep into the wound and you wince as well, feeling his pain as your own. You mumble a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ but continue to apply the thick substance to his bicep. 

His gloved hand suddenly shoots out and latches onto your hip bone, fingers grasping the clothed flesh in a deadly grip, as if trying to ground himself to you, to the ship, to ignore the throbbing pain. You didn’t realize it would hurt that bad, maybe it went deeper than you thought. 

When you’re finally done with the gel, you turn slightly to get some gauze to wrap the wound in. Mando’s touch never leaves you, his hand seemingly welded into your form. His thumb begins to absentmindedly rub up and down in soothing motions, you try to ignore the way it makes your heart pound but… but it's not really a big deal is it? No, Mando’s touched you before, what's so different about it now?

The air? The tension? The way he looks up at you, through that mask, begging to be seen?

God, you wonder what colour his eyes are.

You bet they’re soft, beautiful, kind. They probably give away how secretly gentle he is, something no one else would notice or dare assume about the deadly Mandalorian, but you know. You know because he’s been touching you more lately, especially since the ice planet. Just passing touches but still, you can’t imagine how much significance a simple touch holds for a man covered head to toe in armour, and who’s never shown his face to another living being in decades.

“Who are you?”

His voice startles you. It’s dropped several octaves since he last spoke, it felt like hours had passed since he last spoke- or more, growled at you.

“What?”

“What are you? H-How do you do this to me?” He helmet tilts to the side as he gazes up at you and your heart fucking pounds in its cage, trying to escape and expose itself to this metal man, expose everything you’ve been feeling since you met him.

“Mando-” You don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s not making any sense. Could the pain really be that bad? Making him this incoherent?

“You’re not real… you’re too good, to us, too good to the child… to me-” He was rambling. Mando was rambling. When has he ever spoken this much to you before?

Never.

“You’re good to me too.” You interject meekly.

“But not as sweet… not as sweet as you.” His words make your next intake of breath sharper than usual, no doubt he catches it by the way his helmet tilts up further. You wonder if he’s looking you in the eyes. It sure feels like he is.

“I-I don’t know what I would do if, if anything happened to-” His fingers tense on your hip as he lulls over his words, tossing them around on his tongue, afraid. “The Child… or you.”

“You keep us safe Mando.” You try to reassure him, but you’re not sure if he’s listening. His left hand joins his right one, both sides of your hips now engulfed in his large, strong hands. You throb everywhere, your body pulses for him.

Mando thinks about just letting his helmet fall forward, to let it rest against the softness of your belly but.

But he can’t. He’s too fucking scared. You scare him more than anything. More than any unknown animal in an unfamiliar jungle, more than any quarry, bounty chase, Mythosaur. More than anything, you scare him more than anything because this is the only domain Mando truly always fucks up. Feelings or whatever the fuck going on in his head right now.

“You take such good care of us.” He says, deflecting your words.

He pulls on your hips and you rock forward, almost losing your balance but your hands come forward to lean against his beskar covered shoulders, dropping the gauze you held. You shudder at the cool bite of the metal on your warm, overheating palms. Mando barely budged at your added weight, and you look down at him from where you now tower over him.

Your eyes rake over the sharp edges of his helmet in the low light of the hatch, down to his wound which still needs to be wrapped up but he was... Seriously distracting you for lack of a better word. You notice the heave of his chest, the heavy fall of his breaths like he’s having trouble getting oxygen into his body. And then you notice- you notice the bulge forming underneath his thick pants.

Mando takes you in as you do the same, watching as you finally notice his state, finally notice what you do to him. What you’ve been doing to him since the moment he met you.

“Take your pants off.”

You think your brain short circuits.

Because there’s no way that’s what Mando has more or less just ordered you to do, judging by his harsh tone.

“Wha-”

“Take them off or I will.” He groans, hands squeezing your hips again.

You whimper and bite your lip, trying to see through the pitch black T of his visor, trying to find the man underneath the beskar. You remove your trembling hands from his shoulders, standing up straighter and letting them travel down, down, down towards the button and fly of your utility pants.

“M-Mando, I-”  

“Don’t make me ask you again, sweet girl.” You whimper at the nickname, it wasn't the first time he used it but this was probably only the third time at this point. With his thumbs relentlessly caressing your hip bones, you shiver underneath his touch.

You had been dreaming of this for months now, dreaming of his hands on you, sexual or not, you were so deprived of intimacy, having gone months now only barely touching, grazing each other. You both needed this, both needed this more than fucking anything esle right now and you were no one to deny him of what he wanted.

Mando keeps the helmet trained on you as your nimble fingers pry the button open, admiring how easily persuaded you were by his thick, lust-laced words. He couldn’t believe he had managed to draw this out as long as he did, his urge to just tear your clothing away from your body and sink his raging cock into your tight heat the moment he entered the Crest was…. overwhelming to say the least.

But he had barely touched you up until now, and he wanted to work you up to it, no matter how much restraint that meant he had to have on his part.

The sound of your metal zipper sliding down below your belly button tests that restraint. He keeps his eyes on you even though he knows you wouldn't be able to tell where he’s looking. He knows you feel it, knows you feel the way his eyes burn holes into you, devouring you silently, pleading with you, please, please show me.

He feels your hands come to rest over top of his gently, as if you’re still nervous about touching him. You interlace your fingers with his and lower your pants, shimmying them down your hips and thighs together. It makes Mando’s breath catch in his throat and his heart pummel in his chest. 

Never had he undressed someone before. Never had the patience, never cared to. But with you, oh with you.

Maker, did he care.

Maybe cared too much, but now was not the time for such ill inducing thoughts. You were becoming more and more bare to him as the seconds passed. You only let go of his hands once your pants went past your knees. Pushing them down to your ankles, you stepped out of them, kicking off your boots as well.

There you were, standing before him in a black tank top and that fucking thong of yours… of course that’s what you had decided to wear today. Mando groans as his hands come up to touch you again, tentatively this time. He can’t believe you were allowing him this, letting him touch you, letting yourself be vulnerable with him when he wasn’t sure how ready he was to be vulnerable in return.

Maybe he could learn.

His hands travel up to your hips again, toying with the thin waistband of your panties, letting his gloved hand run along your pristine flesh that was once covered in ugly bruises. He-

He thinks he wants to be the only thing to bruise you. From now on, he made a promise to himself (and to you, secretly) that he was the only thing in this galaxy that could mark you up, claim you.

Mando’s hands travel back, reaching for the supple meat of your ass, clutching it in his large hands, kneading it before he pushes you forwards again, into him. You yelp as you land in his lap, catching yourself quickly as both of your knees rest on either side of his hips. You readjust and sit back down, your minimally clothed cunt coming to land on his hard bulge, you gasp, eyes wide as you look into his visor. He was so hard, he felt big too.  

“S-Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“What are you apologizing for now, hmm?” He asks tauntingly, helmet tilting slightly to the side, as if he were considering you. 

His gloved hands come up your sides, going underneath your tank top and brushing along the underside of your breasts, feeling the tight skin. You unintentionally rock in his lap, creating friction on your already embarrassingly wet center. Mando’s hands tighten at your sides, groaning as he tries to still your movements but. But it feels too fucking good to stop.

He brings a gloved finger to your lips, running the worn leather over the pillowy flesh as if to let you taste it. You look at him, confused.

“Bite.” He instructs, voice clipped, sharp. 

Without needing further instruction, your teeth latch onto the absolute tip of his glove, letting him slip his hand out of its leather confines, revealing to you the most precious amount of skin of his you’ve ever seen. 

Tanned skin, thick fingers, large palm, perfect. Him. The urge to litter the rough calloused skin in kisses, lick his entire hand, just put the whole fucking thing in your mouth was all consuming. Yet you sat there in his lap staring at his hand like it was a vase of water and you were a flower, parched for water. He asked you to do the same with the other glove and of course, you did as he asked. You quickly found yourself wanting to please him.

You stared at his bare, rough, strong hands in awe, watched as he let them peek underneath your thin top to skim along your silky smooth flesh, an expanse unknown to him. His fingertips brush over your nipples, feeling how the pretty buds pebble for him. He twists and pulls them in between his fingers, watching the way your face contorts in pain and in pleasure. It’s his new favourite thing, he feels drunk off of you already.

“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what you’re begging for, Mando isn’t really sure either. But he knows one thing, and it's that the sweet sound of your voice, begging for him, begging for anything, just so desperate, was enough to make him cum in his pants. His fingers dig into your skin, trying to cool his overheating mind, trying to slow down a bit before he actually does cum in his pants, before he’s even properly seen you.

His bare hands come down to your panties, toying with them again between his agile fingers.

“You want this?” He asks, daringly pushing your panties to the side, getting the smallest glimpse and your slicked up and drenched pussy. He thinks he could die right now, die happy, never want anything, ask for anything again.

“Yeah, yeah I do, always- have.” You choke on a hiccup, emotions welling in your eyes already from how fucking built up all of this is. You feel like you were both about to burst at the seams. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, even if it were to stop now and not progress any further, you couldn’t believe he had allowed you this much of him.

Mando wraps his arm around you completely, gripping your waist tightly to spin you around, pinning you underneath him in the tight space of his cot. You gasp, shriek at the sensation of it all, as he comes to rut against you, grinding his thick bulge into your cunt.

You notice how his arm has begun to bleed again, the skin ripping open and the deep red liquid trickling down what little part of his bicep was exposed, further proving his humanity, exposing the man beneath the beskar. You really felt like you could cry.

Lost in your whirlwind, Mando pulls off your thong, throwing it somewhere unpreciously behind him before doing the same thing with your tank top. Completely vulnerable, you laid bare before him as he hovered above you, covered head to toe, save for his hands, in beskar. That fact alone made you throb deep inside. The sheer power and size of him enough to get you off. 

You knew what little he had already decided to show you was all he could afford, you were so grateful for it anyway, that he was even willing to show you his hands, the little glimpse of his bicep. His skin was beautiful, but you couldn’t possibly grasp the words to tell him.

So you hook your legs around his backside and pull him to you, silently begging him to do something, anything. You would take anything he gave you, you’d even thank him for it at this point.

“Fuck.” Mando growls, bare hands coming to work at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them low enough to pull out his engorged, thick cock.

Mando was… he was huge.

This came hardly as a surprise to you, however. You would have had to be blind to not noticed how he walked. He walked like it was big, talked like it was big, fought like it was big. But fuck.

You were not prepared for that.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’ll-”

“It will.”

You moan and arch your back towards him, needing it now, needing that sweet burn and stretch that you know is about to come.

And oh does it come.

Mando thrusts into you without further warning, giving you no time or preparation to adjust to what he was packing. 

He makes you take it. He makes it fit.

The stretch burns, it bites and it knocks every single breath and thought from your body as he nestles himself all the way up against your cervix. Your body convulses in retreat, trying to push him away from the aggressive intrusion but your mind wants more, needs more. Needs him to fucking split you in half on his cock.

You scream and Mando growls, loud, his helmet falling forward and resting in the crook of your shoulder which meets your neck. His helmet is cold and your skin is burning hot, it creates a fog on his visor and he desperately tries to wipe it off on your skin, trying to look at you so up close. The way your eyes screw shut, squeezing tears out, watching the beautiful dew drops roll down your cheek so perfectly.

It hurts. Maker, does it hurt but fuck does it feel good. The pleasure overrides the pain more than you could imagine and you find yourself begging him to give you more even though he’s already started thrusting into you like he’s on a mission, a mission to sever you in half with his cock.

He was surely succeeding.

Mando watches you cry in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy with such aggressive fervour, like someone had a gun to his head. One hand on your hip and the other around your neck, bruising your skin in that beautiful way he always wanted, how he always dreamed of. He holds you in place so that his hips don’t drive you up his cot because they surely would from how fucking deep and hard he’s pounding into you. Stars, you think you can feel him in your stomach, in your throat.

The hand on your hip travels up to one of your bouncing breasts, kneading the sotf flesh in his palm and watching you wither beneath him. So desperate -

“S-so helpless.” He moans, watching your body bend to his will beneath him.

“Mando- oh my god.” You cry, hands and arms flailing at your sides, not knowing where to put them. Mando sees your struggle and takes both of your hands into each of his, pinning them above your head and using it to drive into you even harder somehow.

Your pussy squelches obscenely, trying to suck him in deeper, keep him inside forever. The only sounds in the cot are fucking lewd, skin on skin rhythmically slapping. You pray the Child can’t hear any of this from inside his pod, you pray he’s asleep.

“So fucking wet... You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” You nod your head so fast you think you’d give yourself whiplash.

“A-Anything, anything Mando- fuck.” That familiar coil was beginning to tighten in your belly, your toes curling, fisting gripping onto his, no doubt cutting off some of his circulation.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your chest arches up, up, up your breasts rubbing against unforgiving beskar. 

Underneath said beskar, Mando felt like he wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen into his helmet, his skin flushing underneath the heavy armour but the pleasure rolling off of you and into him would be enough to sustain him for hours, he thinks.

Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, the ridges of your inner walls so soft, warm, wet, inviting. You felt like home. Absolutely fucking drenched, no wonder you were able to take him whole with almost zero preparation, you had fucking wanted it that way. Wanted him to be rough like this.

“I’ll never leave- never leave this sweet pussy...” He moans, hips stuttering, rolling and grinding deeper and deeper and you felt your orgasm quickly approaching, his words were only bringing you that much closer.

“Please, I- I…”

“Cum for me ner mesh’la, need you to cum for me.” He groans, cool and sharp edges of his helmet resting on your cheekbone.

You envisioned the faceless man deep inside you, what his face must look like now, deep in the throes of pleasure only inches from yours. You pictured the tanned skin covering his entire body head to toe, flushed and splotchy, hot to the touch. 

Would his eyes screw shut? Would his mouth hang open, little pants, groans, moans slipping through swollen lips, only loud enough for the ears of his lover to hear?

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you try to look into his visor as your orgasm wipes your mind blank, eyes screwing shut, an endless stream of tears falling onto already damp cheeks as you moan and cry his name into the tight space of his cot.

Mando.

Mando.

Mando.

You don’t think you could recall anything if anyone asked you. Not the name of the planet you were currently on, not the name of the planet you were born on, the bar you used to work at, your old bosses name, your name. Nothing.

With two, three, four more thrusts, Mando’s hips still after he drills himself into the deepest and darkest parts of your hot cunt, spilling white hot cum into you with the lowest moan you think you’ve ever heard flowing deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sensation, that warm pleasant feeling of being absolutely stuffed full, somehow more than you already were.

He draws his cock out before pushing it back in, plugging you up with his cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside of you. You cry, bordering on overstimulation, his cock only softening in the slightest so the hard intrusion was almost too much for you to bear.

“Fuck Mando I’m- I don’t have the implant..” You whimper, suddenly worried, voice coming out uneven with your ragged breaths. 

Mando feels another surge of blood to his cock at your words, groaning as his dick twitches and thrusting into you a few more times…. For-

For good measure, he thinks.

Not that he would necessarily want that right now but fuck. Fuck did the mere idea of it make him painfully hard against his own will. You…. swollen with-

“Fuck.” He growls, pulling away from you a bit to better look down at you. Your eyes are shiny, lashes coated thick and wet with your precious tears. Lips swollen, chest flushed. You look worried, but beautiful. His. 

Mando remembers your old job at the bar…. Wouldn’t they have made it mandatory for all the girls to have the implant to prevent them from getting pregn-

“But- your job, you-?”

“I didn’t do that, I didn’t fuck them… just drinks.” You smile up softly at him due to fatigue, bashful nonetheless. 

Mando likes that, it puts him at ease in some fucked up way to know that those men in those types of places couldn’t get too far with you, even if they wanted.

“We can, I can get it for you on the next planet if- if that’s what you want?” He asks, hips still gently thrusting into you and you start to see stars behind your eyelids. You whimper, feeling his cum mix with your and gush back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs.

“O-okay… thank you.” Mando nods but says nothing, pulling his cock from your fluttering pussy. You gasp at the sudden loss, feeling terribly empty and used. More cum dribbles from you and you quickly cup your cunt with your palm, trying to stop it from leaking everywhere on his cot.

Moving quicker than you would have expected him to, Mando stands up straight and tucks his wet cock back into his pants before walking away abruptly. You, however, barely notice as you lay flat on your back, head staring up at the ceiling with eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, regain some sense of self after getting all of it fucked out of you.

You’re made aware of Mando’s return by the touch of a warm and damp washcloth to your abused pussy. You gasp and sit up on your elbows, looking down the length of you to see the Mandalorian between your thighs, wiping away the mess that both of you made. Together.  

You want to thank him again but you can’t find the words within you, all of them lost to you because of this sudden display of dare you say affection.

“Stay here, gonna put us into hyperspeed. Once we’re up there, go clean up.” Mando orders softly, nodding his helmet at you. You nod back, still breathless, still shaking.

[emilia3546]

The First Step - Nessian

It's been a while since Feyre and Rhys have been able to have time to themselves, so it's just as well that Nesta's willing to steal Nyx from them for a evening. 

*****

 Nesta had never been particularly good at singing, much to the chagrin of her mother, but she gently rocked baby Nyx in her arms as an orchestra sounded from her symphonia. He gurgled quietly, and she stood up, twirling around the room with him still in her arms, his eyelids starting to droop, until he was happily snoring. Cassian grinned at her, and changed the song to one of her favorites, an old love song, one she'd even heard in the human lands, the story of a queen cast out from her kingdom, forced to serve its conqueror.

Nesta laughed when the music lifted, announcing the arrival of a silver-haired, frozen-hearted prince who stole the young queen's heart. She kept dancing around the room with Nyx happily asleep in her arms all through the story of their fight to reclaim her kingdom. The music was as beautiful as the first time she'd heard it, and she didn't try to halt the tears as the final note sounded, ringing through the room, somehow capturing all the prince's icy rage, the queen's burning temper, and their combined hope for their kingdom.

She paused after setting Nyx in his crib, Rhysand's magic immediately rocking it gently to keep the child asleep. He was perfect, and her heart leapt at each little wriggle in his sleep, gods she wanted one, what had she been thinking? She could do this, she would do this. Nesta sighed as Cassian wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head,

"He's so cute when he's sleeping,"

"Yeah, and not crying." Nesta chuckled, leaning back into him as Cassian started to sway to the rhythm of the music flowing around them, she let him spin her around in his arms, and wrapped her arms around his neck, drinking in his happiness,

"It'll happen," he murmured, "Patience, sweetheart, it'll happen when it's meant to."

"I know, I just, I don't know, I'm just worrying that maybe it won't, that maybe we're not meant to have children,"

"Are you kidding?" Cassian slipped a hand into Nesta's hair, and she leaned back into the touch, automatically meeting his gaze, "You're meant to be a mother, when it's meant to happen, it will."

"Only if you do your job." Nesta teased,

"You know I've been busy, I wasn't supposed to be gone that long, you know that."

"I know, I'm kidding, but maybe I can come with you next time." She suggested,

"I dunno, Nes, the Camp Lords are shitty enough normally let alone with a female, and an evil witch on top of it." He furrowed his brows, considering her suggestion, and Nesta pushed on,

"All the more reason to bring me, I scare them, they'll be more agreeable."

"Or they might dig in." Cassian countered, "I don't want you in danger, if one of them decides to act on his hatred of you, I don't know what I would do."

"I'm not an easy person to kill, Cass, let me help, I can help, our work here can be done whenever, but Illyria, that's where it's happening, I don't want to run straight into a battlefield, but I do want to help where I can, I get bored when you're all gone."

"Okay, so long as you promise not to pick any fights while you're there."

"Pick fights? Me?" Nesta relented at Cassian's worry, "I promise, I'll stick right by your side if it'll make you feel better, but you don't have to worry about me, you saw to that." He nodded,

"I'll always worry about you."

"I'm not the one who's a reckless idiot, if anyone should be worrying, it's me, but I trust you to look after yourself, can you do the same?" Cassian froze, his face falling, and Nesta wrapped her arms around him, she knew he did, but he could just be so stubborn sometimes,

"I do trust you. I just worry, that's all, I know you'll be fine really." He tipped her chin up to meet her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, "Okay, next time I go to inspect a camp you can come as well, it might be a good opportunity to scout for Valkyries as well." Nesta grinned, and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him, it was only a soft brush of her lips, but Cassian gasped, "Not in front of the baby, Nesta! Honestly," he chuckled, and spun her around when the music picked up, keeping a hold of one of her hands as he tugged her against him, leading her around the nursery. It was by no means a proper dance, and Cassian had next to no sense of rhythm, but Nesta managed to follow him easily, laughing as he fumbled with the steps.

"C'mon,"  she quietly counted out the beats, showing him where to put his feet, and laughed again when he stumbled,

"This is hard, don't laugh at me."

"I thought Nyx was the baby, do I need to buy a crib for you as well?" She teased, and Cassian narrowed his eyes,

"Show me that again." Absolutely foolproof, and typical, threatening egos was so easy with these Illyrian males, but then again, it was one of the reasons she had wanted to find out about him to start off with, to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, the same smirk that was now plastered across his face as he successfully made it through the series of steps Nesta had been trying to get him to do. "See? I can do it,"

"Oh I know, but you're so easy to mess with."

"Oh really?" Cassian tightened his arm around her waist, and lifted her off the ground, in no way was he capable of executing a proper lift, but he spun around with Nesta in his arms, and raised an eyebrow, a gesture that Nesta was all too familiar with, and she flushed,

"What, now? What about-" she fell silent when Cassian flashed her that smirk again,

"You're so easy to mess with," he parroted, grinning at her annoyance, "You're so cute when you're angry," he crooned, and Nesta scowled again, rolling her eyes at Cassian's chuckle,

"Shut up," she glanced back across at the crib, sighing in relief as the front door opened, and Feyre's laughter lilted up the stairs. "Let's go, Illyrian baby," she murmured, dodging Cassian's attempt to grab a hold of her, "Too slow," she made her way back down the stairs,

"Nesta, we were wondering if you'd heard us getting back," Feyre grinned as she noticed Nesta coming down the stairs,

"He's all yours, sleeping now," she said, "How was dinner?"

"Wonderful, it's been so long since we've been able to go out properly, thank you for watching Nyx."

"You only have to ask, I'd steal him from you if I could, before long I'm sure we'll be swapping places,"

"Not too soon, I hope, two babies at the same time, now that would be a nightmare,"

"Well, it'll be two babies at the same time anyway, with Cassian included," Feyre chuckled again, and snorted at Cassian's indignant huff as he complained to Rhysand,

"You know, Nesta, I think you may be right, I'll be sure to think of all the tips for both babies, young and, very, very old." Rhysand glared back at her, complaining that he wasn't that old, but waited to wish Nesta and Cassian goodnight before following Feyre up the stairs.

Cassian laughed at his brother's retreating back,

"I don't know what you're laughing at, old man, you're just as ancient."

"Ah, but I'm young at heart, Nesta,"

"Yeah, five years old at heart." Nesta yelped when Cassian picked her up, and shot into the sky without any warning, leaving her squealing and clinging on to him as he flew back home.