#there’s a reason my ears are accustomed to picking up their stupid crawling sounds

[flippedorbit]

Deep cleaning my room <3

nature is healing

[madhyanas]

here be dragons

Part 1 of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: One use of a slur, aimed at the reader.

A/N: ahhhhh it’s a little late, but i finally finished this. now i can finally start posting this series in the RIGHT order, oh my god. check it out on ao3 here, if you want.

It’s late.

You lie in your cot, staring into the darkness. Unable to sleep, surrounded by the vicious tempest outside. It’s raining heavily; pelting down so hard you can hear it through the roof and feel it through the floor. Occasionally, you hear a boom of thunder, and the inn doors rattle and shake.

You’re glad you fixed the waterproofing this morning.

In a storm like this, you hold some half-hearted hope that a traveller will stop by. Someone soaked and freezing; desperate enough for you to hike up the price of lodging without turning away business.

Swindling a tourist here and there can’t hurt, in the grand scheme of the galaxy. You have to eat, after all.

The rich scent of waterlogged earth fills the room, and something about it seems unfamiliar. You’ve accustomed to the occasional downpour by now, having lived on Takodana for many years. But the lingering air of petrichor reminds you just how different home was — all dry deserts and salt flats, the odd dust storm. Certainly no lush greenery or blue skies.

As a lump settles in your throat, you miss the mechanic stand from your childhood. The slick smear of oil on your mother’s cheek as she gave the speeder a tune-up. The stripes on your father’s montrals above the welding mask as he soldered wires back together. When he was done, he’d always squish your little face in his palms. Smoothing his thumbs over the white markings on your face, near identical to his. The only symbol of your Togruta heritage, contrasted on a face of your mother’s colouring.

You sigh, and sit up. Now, you’re stuck here. Running an inn by yourself, out of business and in denial about it. You miss the feeling of freedom that came and left with youth; running through the streets, being swept up in warm, protective arms. Your mother rolling her eyes. Your father’s laugh.

Suddenly, a bang. You hear front doors slide open, and your heart leaps into your throat. The sound rings in your ears for a moment with its violence. Blindly, you grab the vibroblade from the table and scramble to the entrance. You’ve never used it before, and you pray the doors are just malfunctioning.

As you skirt through the narrow passageway, your stomach drops. No such luck. A large, silhouetted figure stands before the main desk, looming ominously as the wind howls outside. Maker, they’re huge. Far bigger than you, and a small, nagging part of your brain says they could kill you in a heartbeat.

It’s still dark. Frozen as you are, you haven’t turned the lamp on. In vain, you hope they might leave if no-one arrives. A bolt of lightning flashes outside, and the glare arcs off the stranger’s helmet.

Your eyes widen at the glimpse of a smooth, glass t-visor. A Mandalorian.

Oh, you’re fucked.

In that moment, they turn to you directly. The back of your neck tingles, and you realise they can see you. Their helmet turns down to the vibroblade in your hands, before returning to your face calmly. Of course. You don’t think you’re a very threatening sight, cowering in the doorway like this.

You feel remarkably stupid.

Hesitantly, you step forward and switch on the lamp at the desk with your free hand. Light pours out softly between you, doing nothing to calm your nerves. You squint, eyes adjusting to the brightness, trying to control the pounding of your heart.

“I am in need of lodging.”

You blink. The voice, low and rumbling, is scrambled by a vocoder. Male, from what you can tell, and the static scratches at your ears. He’s covered from head-to-toe in deep blue armour; rivulets of water drip off the steel, puddling on your floor. Some kind of pack rests on his back, and you try, fruitlessly, to ignore the glint of a trigger and scope.

Towering over you, you’d have to crane your head just to look him in the visor. You don’t have the nerve, in any case.

It occurs to you, faintly, that you could die tonight. It also occurs to you that the chances of an untimely demise would be significantly higher, if you keep gawking at him like this.

“Uh…”

“Lodging,” he repeats, sounding distinctly impatient. “Is there a vacancy?”

Maker, when is there not.

“Yes! Yes, there’s a— there’s a vacancy.” Fumbling for the log-holo, you set the vibroblade down in a cubby under the desk. Still within reach, and your receptionist autopiloting kicks in. “Uh, single room, how many nights?” You glance up at the shiny helm. The usual questions, but it feels… impertinent, asking for information. Like you’re violating his sanctity, or something, just daring to wonder. Especially about someone so clearly hostile. How does a faceless sheet of beskar manage to make your stomach churn?

“One.”

Of that, you’re grateful. One night, and you’ll be done with this. “Okay,” you reply, dragging out the sound. You sound nervous. He must be able to tell. “And, uh, name?”

He stares you down. It suddenly feels cold, frigid, even though his visage most definitely cannot change. It strikes you, in that moment, that even your sensitive nose can’t detect anything on him. The rain has washed it all away, except for a stubborn, smokey hint of blaster ammunition. Recently fired. A shiver runs up your spine.

Acerbically, he snaps, “Pick one.” There’s a rising heat behind the words, you don’t push your luck.

“I’ll— I’ll just put ‘Mando’,” you mutter, entering the moniker into the log. Once again, in the span of less than five minutes, you feel like a moron. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

But there’s one more caveat. You should probably forget it, just this once, but for some reason: “You’re not allowed to bring weapons inside. While— While you’re staying.”

A golden rule. One of the conditions upon which you were even allowed to run this place was your responsibility to maintain peace. (You often wonder what the Pirate Queen was thinking, believing you capable of breaking up any kind of violence.)

To your relief, the Mandalorian doesn’t explode with rage, or any such violent gestures. His shoulders are tense, but this — dealing with irritated, tired travellers — is familiar. He’s no different, you tell yourself.

“The weapons stay.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.” You blink, and your silence seems enough for him to continue. “I won’t be using them on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keep your distance, and there won’t be a problem.”

A threat. Perhaps he’s trying to reassure you, in some strange way, but it doesn’t stop the cold fist of dread from closing around your heart.

“I’m… not supposed to—”

“You have my word.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Despite the nerves wrenching your stomach, there’s an urge to stand your ground. To defend the principles of Maz’s territory. (Or, more selfishly, to rebuke how easily he’s trampling all over you.) You shift, ready to argue.

But then he moves, one hefty arm lifting upwards, and you flinch. He pauses, before fishing a leather pouch out of a pocket and dropping it on the counter. You hear the familiar clink of credits. The sound elicits an instinctual reaction, a lurch of hope. You lean forward with a frown, inspecting the offering.

You gingerly pluck it by the drawstring, and its weight is a pleasant surprise. The contents are promising — a fee far exceeding the cost of one night’s stay.

A prickling mixture of shame and embarrassment heat your cheeks. Oh, how quickly your righteous anger fades at the promise of payment. Again, the back of your neck tingles. A reminder, that the Mandalorian is watching.

Taking a steadying breath, you bring your eyes back to the visitor. “Should I… show you to your room?”

A beat, then he nods.

You step to the side and flick the overhead lights on, waiting for him to go first. But he continues staring, and your skin itches with the weight of judgement. You realise he’ll only follow behind.

You swallow thickly, keeping your gaze averted as you lead him inside. Your little bungalow inn doesn’t have that many rooms to begin with, so you keep them all clean and ready for a guest — that’s not the issue.

But you have to go the night knowing there’s an elite warrior, perfectly capable of silencing your heartbeat, staying two doors down. You have to sleep with that knowledge.

You realise the vibroblade still rests in your palm. It feels clunky. Foolish, in your inexperienced hand. The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps thud behind you, accented by the clank of metal armour. You clamp down the urge to rub the back of your tingling neck, and in some peculiar urge to reconcile, you half-turn to him as you walk. Slowly, showing him the weapon.

“Ah, I wouldn’t use this, you know. On you.” He’s crushingly silent, appraising you. He has to duck his head slightly to fit in the passageway, nearly filling up its width with his bulk.

You blather on, blindly spitting out words to fill the silence. “It’s just— all sorts pass through here, you know? This place has Kanata’s stamp of approval and all, but better safe than sorry.”

Still, no response, and you wince at just how green you sound. You swallow, having reached the doorway; you’ve led him to the quarters with the largest bed, having figured he’ll need it.

“There’s instructions to set the passcode inside. If you need anything,” you say, hoping he won’t, “I’m that door over there.” For one, awkward moment, you stand, feeling horribly out of place with the brooding figure at your side. “Well. Goodnight, then.”

You turn around, credits and blade in hand, ready to step into your quarters and get some kriffing rest, when the crawling, fuzzy feeling on the nape of your neck intensifies.

With one foot through the doorway, you hear him call out to you. “I thought no weapons were permitted.” A coarse noise crackles through the vocoder, and you realise it’s a laugh. You feel a cold sweat run down your back. “Is that blade just for show, then, little innkeeper?”

He— he sounds amused. Finding entertainment in your clear disadvantage. You feel sick, sick to your stomach, and slam the button to close the door behind you. Wetness springs to your eyes like clockwork, but the tears don’t fall even as you collapse on your cot. You’re pathetic, you think. Unable to stop him from belittling you, never mind barring him entry.

Sleep, though it eventually comes, is fitful and disturbed. Phantom helmets and mocking, modulated laughter fill your head.

In the morning, his room is emptied out. Bed made, fresher tidied.

No trace of the Mandalorian, at all. You’ve never been more grateful.

———

The second time you meet the Mandalorian, you’ve got your hands full.

“I’m not running a charity here.”

A Zabrak man has his hands planted on the desk, leaning into your space uncomfortably. Maker, guests like these test your patience.

It’s a poor attempt at intimidation. He’s taller than you, certainly, but gangly in a way that screams awkward, rather than lean. Scrawny, drawn out. Even the spikes protruding from his yellowish face are lumpy and faded. You wrinkle your nose at the faint, rank odour of sweat and booze. Overall, you’re unimpressed.

Besides, imposing figures don’t phase you much anymore. Not since that fateful encounter, nearly a cycle ago. You’d feared for your life that night.

Few were as large a threat as that Mandalorian.

The Zabrak hisses in your face, “Maz Kanata owes me a great debt. I’ll take it out of my bill.”

In your periphery, you can hear the telltale sounds of landing gear outside — a new arrival, but you can’t deal with that right now.

You blink slowly, and sigh. “Listen, this shtick you’re trying to pull? I’ve heard it before.” So, so many times. You’re not the only cheapskate in these parts. “You have a problem with Maz, you take it up with her. She doesn’t control my inn any more than I control the Castle.” That’s… not exactly true. But you doubt it matters to him.

Twisting his face unpleasantly, the man snarls, “I demand recompense, innkeeper. Return my credits, and we won’t have a problem.”

You recall being browbeaten at similar words. That night you cowed, frozen by the weight of mortality hanging over your head. But you have since hardened in the months that passed, and you steel your resolve.

Leaning close to the Zabrak, getting in his face, you speak through bared teeth. “You’re right. You get out of my inn, and we won’t.” Curling your lips into a disgusted half-sneer, “So I’ll be keeping my credits.”

“Insolent fool,” the Zabrak growls, and he moves to reach for something concealed behind his back. You jaw clenches — how did you miss that he was armed? — and you flinch backwards as he reveals a blaster. Before you can reach for your trusty vibroblade, the doors slide open with an innocent ting.

Standing there in the doorway, is your Mandalorian.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, huge as ever, ducking his head to step over the threshold. Armed to the teeth, as per usual.  He saunters forward slowly, purposefully. The swagger, the presence in his gait impossibly makes him seem… bigger? Somehow even more bulky than last time?

The Zabrak whirls round, only to balk at the steely-blue cuirass his chin comes to level with. He’s harmless compared to the warrior before him. You can only imagine how tiny you must seem. The Mandalorian keeps his head inclined down to the horned man, who’s now gripping the desk behind him, but his words are for you.

“Trouble, innkeeper?”

Maker, it’s been months since you heard that rumbling voice. It still knots your stomach, but less so, you think, than it did. You’re surprised he remembers you.

Your confidence with the pesky guest has not dissipated, however, and you find your words. “I don’t know.” You address the Zabrak calmly, “Is there any trouble, sir? It’d be a shame if things got… unpleasant.”

The wilting man cranes his head to you with a frantic look in his eye, and you feel a flash of pity. Ah, kriff. You’ve made your point.

Glancing at the Mandalorian, you make a subtle ‘back-up’ motion with your palm, half-wondering if he’ll take offence. But thankfully, he does as you request, and the Zabrak’s wheeze of relief is audible as he deflates.

“Takodana Castle,” you start, a little gentler than before, “Is three miles that way.” You thrust a thumb to the side. “One path, cuts through the forest. Can’t miss it.”

The Zabrak stumbles his way around the Mandalorian, never taking his wide eyes off the helmet. The armoured man steps aside silently, and it’s a wonder how he makes such a simple gesture seem so mocking. Saying that he’s the one in control, even if it’s temporarily at your behest. All in the way he shifts, the dangerous glint of his blasters in the light.

The memory of his laugh, hearty and sinister, echoes in your brain. Your toes curl in your boots.

Once he’s out of the door, the Zabrak gains some ill-founded sense of security. His wiry frame tenses, and he glares at you, spitting, “Watch yourself, halfbreed.” With a single, fleeting glance to the Mandalorian, he runs off towards the forest.

…ah.

You purse your lips, and look to the floor out of habit. Heat rushes to your cheeks. The slur is not unfamiliar to you. Your lack of montrals and lekku allow you to blend in, to lie low. But your markings reveal who you are. It’s strange; you think you’re proud of them. What they represent, who gave them to you. But the wave of shame that crashes over you sends blood roaring in your ears. For the Mandalorian to witness this? It’s a pitiful sight.

In the corner of your eye, you see him clench a fist, and you quash the sickness of your heart down with a vengeance. There are more pressing matters at hand.

“So. It’s, uh, been a while.” You cringe at the heavy-handed attempt to change the subject. Now that cursed Zabrak has left, it’s like all your bravado has sputtered out. And, really? Last time you saw the Mandalorian, a man from a culture of elite warriors, you thought he was going to murder you in your sleep. Been a while, indeed.

He plays along. “Well, I was in the area. Figured I should save the damsel in distress, while I had the chance.” He leans an elbow on the counter, resting his weight on it, and for a moment you’re perplexed.

The Mandalorian is… teasing you. Relaxed against your desk, standing close but not enough to be invasive. It’s a far cry from that shadow in the pouring rain, haunting your doorstep. “Although, from where I was standing, you didn’t seem to need much help,” he continues smoothly.

Compliments? Maker, if it were anyone else, you might even think he was making a pass at you.

But it’s him, and you give the helmet a strange look. It’s a little freaky, in all honesty. “I… see. What business do you have here, then, Mandalorian?”

The helm sags slightly in what you can only describe as a falter. It’s jarring. So incongruent with the persona you have crafted in your mind.

“I can’t just drop by?” You imagine your disbelief is evident on your face, because he sighs, a deep and raspy thing, before his voice sobers a fraction. “I have business with the Pirate Queen.” Your shoulders slacken. Of course. It’s a relief, in some way, to know that the purpose of his visit is so normal.

You ready the holo-log at your side. “Ah, sure. How many nights?”

He straightens and rubs a hand to the back of his neck briefly. You stare at the offending limb, entranced by such a normal, hesitant movement. It’s… It’s so very human, for lack of a better word.

“I’m not looking for lodging.” You blink up at his visor, frowning. “My work should only take a day, at the most.”

“Then…”

“I told you. Just wanted to drop in.” That doesn’t answer anything at all, and he elaborates, “I rarely visit Takodana, innkeeper. I thought I’d say hello while I was here.”

Your lips part. What? How… how can there be so much lost in translation? You’ve been afraid of this man, or a barebones idea of him, for months now. Like some kind of boogeyman, under-the-bed horror to spook children into good behaviour. And he comes to you with something like friendliness, with a smart one-liner and warmth in his tone?

You shake your head, dazed; reluctantly, you decide to give it to him straight. “I… I wasn’t under the impression that we were friends, Mandalorian.” He stills, and you keep going. “Honestly, uh, last time. It wasn’t great, for me. You— You scared me.”

‘You still do’ sits on the tip of your tongue. In the disarming haze of his amicability, you can’t tell if it’s true or not. You ramble in the face of his silence, if only to quiet the conflict in your mind. “I thought that you’d— I mean, I thought that I might. Y’know. Die, that night. I was tired, okay, and— and I didn’t know what to think…”

You trail off.

The Mandalorian stands before you, wordless. Your knees aren’t trembling, but there’s a worry seated deep in your chest. It’s interesting, maybe, that you don’t know who it’s for. Guilt begins to creep up on you, bitter at the back of your throat. Kriff. Just as you open your mouth to say something, his voice comes through the vocoder.

“I apologise. I was not… I did not know. It was never my intention to scare you.” His voice sounds hoarse, like the very thought of your fear repulses him. His words are not clumsy, per se, but there’s a rawness there that makes you notice how eloquent he usually sounds. The visor does not stray from your face. “I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry.” His shoulders are slumped, and he’s curling in on himself slightly. Making himself smaller, you realise faintly, and he presses a gloved hand to his chest. The helmet bows. “Ni ceta. I apologise, innkeeper.”

You blink rapidly, not knowing what to say. That’s… an awful lot to take in. You can’t remember the last time someone really begged for your forgiveness like this. You swallow thickly. Don’t cry.

The air seems muggy, somehow. Heated. As if all the truth that has burst forth carries a flame with it, burning the space between you. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his vambrace. The metal is cool against the warmth of your palm, and you’re careful not to touch any of the buttons on the control panel.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I appreciate that. It’s— it’s alright. I think.” You nod determinedly, as if to reaffirm your words.

Heartfelt apologies don’t spill out so easily from heartless men, surely. He’s worth more trust than you give him. And his stance — defeated, ashamed — no, it doesn’t suit him at all. The helm tilts back up to your face, and you shoot him a small smile. Some kind of impulse lurches in your chest; to comfort, to come together. It’s genuine, and there’s a rosy warmth to your cheeks that feels pleasant.

You slide your hand away from his arm to offer it in the air. It hovers boldly, an attempt to bridge the abyss. It takes him a second, but he clasps your hand in his. You shake firmly, and his grip is strong, yet not painful. Reassuring, in a way. You suspect he’s controlling it for your sake.

“Let’s start fresh, huh?” You give him your name, and he repeats it.

His baritone resonates in your ears; it sounds like molasses, dripping into chest and heart. To hear your name uttered with respect, reverence, in that clear-cut way he speaks. It is nothing short of a miracle, in a moment.

You reassure him immediately, “I don’t need yours, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.” You lick your lips nervously. “But I do need something to call you. Got a preference?”

He hums, and you’re grateful how at-ease he sounds. It’s better this way. “What was it I told you that day? ‘Pick one’, I believe.”

So. This is the Mandalorian. He’s got jokes.

You snort, more at the realisation than anything else, and his posture brightens. “If you’re sure.” You press your lips together, thinking of a name. The back of your neck tingles all the while, and the weight of his stare is welcome for the first time. “We could just keep simple? ‘Mando’ would work.”

“Original,” he drawls, not unkindly. “But fine by me.” You have no idea, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Alright, then, Mando.” It’s so surreal, chatting with your own personal nightmare after months, just to find out he’s kind of… sweet. Nice to talk to, in a way you didn’t know you needed till now.

———

You two make small talk for a while over the counter. Mild, lighthearted. You learn that Mando’s a much more nuanced soul than you first assumed. Thoughtful, contemplative — careful in the way he speaks to you. You’re not used to that kind of consideration, and it’s appreciated. He’s funny, too, in a crooked kind of way. Like a mismatched puzzle piece fitting in the wrong set, bringing a bemused, entertained quirk to your lips. He conveys wry amusement surprisingly well, despite wearing no facial expression to back him up.

Now that you’re not quaking at the sight of him, your curiosity emerges. Is it a pain, lugging so much armour around? Does he sleep with the helmet on? When did he get that ship, parked just outside? Is it painful, having such a pensive heart, but evoking fear with every step?

Mainly, though, you’re just happy. The blue of his beskar is softer to the eyes, now. It’s the feeling of dipping your toes into chill, crisp waters. Testing the mood of the current, of this new depth you have yet to discover.

Being friends. What a novel idea.

Mando turns to look out the window. The day is well into the afternoon; there’s still time before sunset. “I should get going,” he states, but makes no move to shift off the desk.

There’s a twinge of disappointment. “Oh. Right, your work.” You scuff the toe of your boot against the floor. What can you say, really? One day of budding friendship doesn’t give you the right to impose.

“Yes. The Castle is… eastward, you said?”

You hum in agreement with where his finger is pointing. A shame. You thought you’d have more time with him. “Three miles through the forest,” you intone glumly. “Can’t miss it.”

Would you have to wait a cycle to see him again? More? Would you be waiting here, stuck in your idyllic, but oh-so-small corner of the galaxy, waiting for your Mandalorian to return? You purse your lips; the image doesn’t agree with you. You don’t agree with it, rather.

Finally, he straightens, and the height difference doesn’t startle you, this time. (Impresses you, maybe. Makes something giddy flutter in your chest. But you can’t afford those thoughts, can you?)

Mando tilts his helmet side to side slightly, as if he’s considering something. Weighing the pros and cons, and the action is somewhat exaggerated. You pay no heed, picking at a nail bed idly. It’s childish, sulky.

“Three miles can be travelled by foot. No need to waste the fuel.” He turns to you. “Never been through these woods before, though. Might get lost.”

In your disgruntlement, you don’t catch the leading inflection. You sigh. “I don’t think a Mandalorian would have much issue with an uninhabited forest. You’ll be fine. Just one straight path; don’t stray and it’s easy—”

Mando bends down a little, and says your name seriously, prompting you to look up. "I might get lost. Could use a guide.”

Your lips part in realisation, forming a small ‘o’. That’s what you say, too, and heat blooms in your cheeks at his static-filled snicker. He thinks he’s clever.

“So,” you start swiftly, attempting to recover your dignity. “Is it my turn to save the damsel?” He turns to the door, and you step round the desk to join him.

“I can slay my own beasts,” he snarks, and the mirth you hear is lilting. “You can return the favour, for the dragon I just scared off.”

You huff. “Hardly a dragon, I think.” With finality, you flick off the electric lights and step outside into the clean Takodana breeze.  “Wasn’t really a rescue so much as pest control.” You detect the light, spiced scent of the fragrant tree bark nearby. It grounds you to this moment. Taking in a hearty breath, you do your best to put that stinking Zabrak out of your mind.

A few hours off would be good. You barely get any guests anyway, and Maz is the understanding type. Living for millennia must do that to you.

Mando says nothing as you punch the lock code digits into the door, and start to make your way towards the forest. You know the path to the Castle like the back of your hand, like the strokes on your face, but you have never walked it with company. You smile, unabashed.

There’s a first time for everything.

———

[note: if there’s any warnings you think should be mentioned, please let me know.]

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[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Secret

Chapter 7 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up! 

In which... honestly, more conversations, food, and a visit from Varric. Among other things. 👀

~7500 words. Only the first part is here; read the whole thing on AO3 instead.

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

Felassan joined Tamaris upstairs within the hour, and they spent the rest of the day wandering between his bedroom and hers and discussing how they would redecorate the house. Or at least, that was ostensibly what they were doing. 

In truth, they spent half the time discussing the house and half the time picking on each other and talking about This Shit Is Weird. Felassan had brought the book upstairs with him and was continuing to read it in fits and starts while Tamaris prowled around the upper level sneering at the gilded wallpaper and the gilded wall sconces. He stretched out on the beds while he read — both his own and Tamaris’s, without asking her permission first — and she couldn’t be bothered to tell him to get the fuck off of her bed. 

She also couldn’t prevent herself from imagining crawling onto the bed and straddling him, but that was an entirely different matter and not at all something Felassan needed to know. 

The next few days passed in a similar vein, and it wasn’t long before Tamaris and Felassan had fallen into something of a routine. She woke up a few hours later than he and ate the delicious breakfasts that he made, then cleaned up the dishes while he nattered at her about This Shit Is Weird. They wandered around the house making fun of the decor and dismantling the parts of the house that they could and discussing how they’d fix it up instead. They’d go up to the roof to smoke and enjoy some fresh air, and when they got hungry, Felassan would fix their meals, which they would enjoy on the roof as long as it wasn’t raining. 

On several occasions, Felassan became emotional about his uncontrolled magic or the five years he’d lost as a Tranquil, but Tamaris was growing accustomed to his unnerving bursts of laughter and magic and tears. She spoke softly to him to keep him grounded and she held his hands despite the magic that flickered across his skin, and each time when he returned to his usual self, the smiles he gave her were undeniably beautiful – enough to make her heart do a funny twist in her chest. 

Felassan wasn’t the only one needing help, however. As the days went on, Tamaris started having more trouble with her decision to quit drinking. Her morning nausea and headaches grew worse, and she became more irritable in turn. She started taking elfroot potion as soon as she woke up, and although it helped with the nausea and the tremors, it somehow failed to fully take the edge off of her aching head. Her fingers and her face felt like they were itching at night when she went to bed without her bottle of rum, which made it hard to sleep, and the lack of sleep only added to her headache and her irritation.

On their sixth day in the house together, Felassan was unusually quiet during breakfast. Tamaris took a gulp of lukewarm coffee and shot him a sideways look. “What’s with you?”

“You aren’t eating,” he said.

She grunted. “It’s nothing to do with your cooking. I just feel like shit.”

“I’m well aware,” he said.

His tone was not at all accusing, but Tamaris glared at him anyway. “Look, I don’t mean to be a bear, all right? I’m just—”

He interrupted her. “Easy, avise. I am not picking on you,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“No wonder your face is all twisted up like that,” she said grumpily.

He grinned, and Tamaris groaned and rubbed her face. “Felassan, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m such a bitch. I just… ugh.” 

He laughed. “Please, by all means, go on. I should like to hear what other unprompted insults you can throw at me.

She shot him a baleful look. “You don’t really want me to tear you a new one for no good reason.”

“I don’t want your vitriol per se,” he said. “But you’ve been… subdued.” He shrugged and smirked. “It’s a pleasure to hear your vicious tongue, even if the viciousness was sub-par and unoriginal.”

She groaned again and rested her forehead on her folded arms. She couldn't cope with banter right now. She didn’t have the strength. “Felassan…”

He let out another soft rolling laugh. “All right, I’ll take pity on you. Let me try something. May I touch you?”

Her belly jolted — in a pleasant way, despite her nausea. She tried hard to ignore it and shrugged. “I guess so.”

He stood up and stepped behind her chair. “Sit up straight.”

She sighed and lifted her head from her folded arms. “I hate this already,” she complained.

“That’s the spirit,” he said drolly. “Close your eyes.”

She sighed bad-temperedly and did as he’d asked. A moment later, his fingertips slid up the back of her neck.

Goosebumps instantly spilled down her spine. His fingers slid up along the base of her skull, and then his other hand joined the first, pressing smoothly into the nape of her neck and up through her hair until his fingertips were splayed on her scalp. 

He pressed gently on her scalp, then slowly dragged the tips of his fingers down toward her neck, and a shiver of heat and undeniable pleasure trickled down her throat and into her chest. She dragged in a slow breath, then released it shakily when Felassan started gently massaging her neck with one hand. 

The fingers of his other hand settled on the crown of her head, and his fingers burrowed delicately through her hair to press on her scalp in a gentle circular motion. “If I had my magic, I would use it ease your pain,” he said quietly. “This is a rudimentary fix, but it’ll have to do.”

Magic? He didn’t need magic for this. His hands alone felt incredible. The pressure of his fingers on her scalp was perfect, leaving trails of pleasure on her skin as his fingertips moved from the crown of her head down toward her nape, and it was enough to make her want to purr. 

She mustered the wits to reply. “You still have your magic. You just… need to… work on it or whatever.”

He chuckled softly. “A kind sentiment, but this isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“Very generous of you,” she mumbled.

“I’m generous when I want to be,” he replied.

“Hmm,” she murmured vaguely. When he began to massage her temples, she leaned her head back in bliss. 

Felassan continued to massage her head and neck, and Tamaris slid into a sort of blissful torpor. He claimed this to be a rudimentary solution, but her headache really was easing off and her nausea was swiftly becoming ignorable, replaced by a sensation that was far more pleasurable. 

His fingers combing slowly through her hair, the tips of his elegant fingers kneading her neck: this felt so good. No, it felt better than good. It felt… intimate.

Her belly swooped, and she drew a deep breath. It had been years since she’d been touched this intimately. She was casually involved Bull for about a year before the dissolution of the Inquisition, but their affair had never been more than just that — a release of tension, just like how he’d described sex with the tamassrans back in Par Vollen. They fucked each other and went back to their missions without batting an eye, and for Tamaris, that had been enough. In the wake of Solas’s rejection and then his departure, she’d been too raw and scalded to even consider anything more than the kind of pleasurable but perfunctory sex that she and Bull had shared. 

But this — this massage that was intended to ease her pain: it wasn’t sexual, but it was intensely sensual, and it was far more intimate than anything she’d felt in years. Felassan’s fingers were slow and careful and firm, and his touch was so incredibly deliberate. As Tamaris sat there at the table with her eyes closed, it felt like Felassan’s fingers were reaching something far deeper than her skin, plucking at something knotted inside of her that she’d been working hard to wish away. 

Her heart was beating in her throat and behind her eyes, but it wasn’t a headache. Her chest and belly were jangling, but not with nausea. The more his limber hands moved across her scalp and neck, the warmer and fuller she felt, and the more she also felt like she might burst into tears. 

He gently tilted her head to the side and smoothed his knuckles down along the tendon in her neck, and she gasped with pleasure. “Stop,” she blurted. 

His hands instantly left her. “Did I injure you? I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

Fuck, fuck, his voice was slightly breathless. Was he turned on too? This was bad. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected or intended when she’d woken up this morning.

But Creators, his hands… they felt so fucking good that she wanted to cry.

She swallowed hard and tried to control her voice. “No,” she said. “It was…” She faltered. She couldn’t tell him anything like the truth — that his fingers on her neck felt better than any of the empty orgasms she’d given herself over the past year. 

“It was fine,” she said lamely. 

“Just fine?” he said archly. “I should practice my technique, then.”

More practice? It was the last thing he needed. It was the last thing she needed if she was trying to stay out of his bed. She laughed despite herself, then regretted letting the laughter out; it sounded giddy even to her own ears. 

Felassan sat in the chair beside her, and Tamaris took two calming breaths before even trying to meet his eye.

Her heart thudded with excitement. He was wearing that infuriating shit-eating grin, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears were tellingly flushed.

She stared stupidly at him, and his smile curved even more mischievously at the corners. “Is your headache gone?” he murmured.

Smug handsome bastard, she thought. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of falling into his stupid charming trap, and not just because he looked so smug. 

She couldn’t fall into this — whatever this was. It was a terrible idea. His emotions and his sex drive were out of control, and she was a jaded mess, and he was making her feel things that she thought she’d lost for good with the mere press of his fingers on her scalp, and… gods, it was just a terrible fucking idea.

She turned away from him and took a bite of maple-flavoured oatmeal. “Yeah. Headache’s gone for now. Though I’m sure you’ll give me another before the end of the day,” she said snarkily.

He laughed, and the lilting sound prompted another unwelcome ripple of heat deep in her core. “There’s that whiplike tongue. You must be feeling better.”

She harrumphed and ate another big bite of oatmeal. Felassan propped his legs up on the table and picked up his mug of tea. “In all seriousness, if that was helpful to you, I can do it every morning if you wish. There were nobles in Arlathan who couldn’t even claim such an indulgent start to the day.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her as he sipped his tea. 

“Great,” she deadpanned. “Then I’ll definitely be saying no.”

His smile widened, then grew soft as he studied her. “The offer is genuine, Tamaris. Consider it.”

She swallowed her food, then shrugged. She couldn’t say yes, specifically because her traitorous body wanted nothing more than to say yes. “I’ll think about it,” she hedged.

“Good,” he said pleasantly, and he clapped his hands together in a businesslike manner. “Now what part of this mansion should we start systematically breaking down today?”

To her great relief, the rest of the day passed as normally as the past few. But that night when Tamaris went to bed, it was the first night all week that her mind wasn’t occupied by a longing for the sugary burn of rum coursing down her throat. 

Instead, the tempting thoughts that spanned her jittery mind were thoughts of the handsome, smiling, amethyst-eyed elf in the bedroom next door.

Read the rest on AO3!

[fandomlife-giver]

Beacon Maid - 3

Summary: So, you’ve invited us to a ball at the Trancy mansion? Very well. I’m happy to let you dance to my tune for an evening. Butler who does a graceful, subtle dance, one to which I am more accustomed to than you. Next time, ”Beacon Maid” Surely, you jest. If I couldn’t dance to that, what kind of maid would I be? One, two, three…one, two, three…

Pairings: Sebastian X Demon!Reader X Claude

@wintersdoll @naniky @danabuggxd​ @redryderdesigns​ @inumorph​

Word Count: 2291

Warnings: None

Your name: submit What is this?

If you ever find Lau at the bottom of a well just leave him there, or better yet throw a rock on his head. The mere fact that he had been analyzing your body from afar in order to cook up whatever humiliating monstrosity he had planned for you made you annoyed beyond reason. Even more so that your child of a master forced you into this position.

Dressing up has never been something you enjoyed. In fact there was a time when you found your way into the servitude of Julius Cesar. He greatly enjoyed putting you in various costumes for his own benefit. Now that you thought about it, he never really was a good master. But you were awarded handsomely for his soul so it was worth the humiliation.

Ciel does remind you of him in some ways. For example, it appears that your young master finds it greatly amusing to watch you wear the most ridiculous clothing and walk around in public with it. 

"Is there something you wish to say to me?"

Ciel raised an eyebrow at you since you had a firm look on your face that you had directed at him for over 10 minutes now.

"Oh it's nothing, master. It's just that a thought had crossed my mind."

He tilted his head in suspicion. “Well don’t tell me, I’d hate to know what goes through your head.”

A thin smile spread on your lips. “Of course sir, I’d hate to poison that innocent mind of yours.”

He narrowed his eyes at my sarcasm but couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. “If you think I have any trace of innocence left, you’re more stupid than I thought, Y/N.”

A smirk crawled up your face. “Well of course you’re innocent. Just look at your cute little face.”

His smile immediately fell once you reached out and pinched his cheek, pouting your lips as you leaned down to him. “Honestly, seeing you all grown up into a big boy. And yet, you are still so adorable.”

His teeth clenched as he stared into your eyes but he made no move to stop you.

For a second you were a little surprised and in the back of your mind you realized how if he remembered anything about the last year, he would've slapped your hand away without hesitating. Your relationship with him felt so pure again and a part of you was a little glad that he didn’t remember what you were because to him, you were probably the only real person he had left to love after that night. You were like a second mother to him, and no longer a demon. And that alone made him all the more precious to her.

Once he saw the small smile form on your lips he sighed in boredom. “Are you finished with mocking me?”

She blinked back to reality and chuckled at him. “Sure. For now, Ciel.” You put your hand down as you saw his eyes slide to behind you. You could feel it, both his presence and fiery gaze on your back.

You slowly straightened up and glanced over your shoulder at his overpowering presence. “Yes, do you need something?”

Adjusting his glasses, he grunted as his sight landed on Ciel. “Pardon me, Lord Phantomhive. My master requested I tour you around our wonderful Trancy Manor and show you to your temporary lodging.”

From the corner of your eye you caught Sebastian’s line of sight from where he stood with the servants and tilted your head in his direction, which was his cue to come over. Once he appeared, Claude’s eye twitched for a moment, but he still kept his gaze on Ciel as he talked.

“Our Trancy servants will show you around the premises. I have some other details that need my attention, I do hope you forgive me.”

Ciel merely shrugged it off. “I don’t care who it is, as long as I know where I’m going.”

A ghostly smile appeared on his face. “Of course. Excuse me.”

You watched him intently as he left the room and only looked at the servants he mentioned once you knew he was gone. From the moment you entered the mansion, you knew something was off. And when Claude lied about where his master was, since you could feel his presence in the building, you knew both he and Alois were still for some reason following your original instructions. What you couldn’t figure out was why, you had broken the agreement the moment you threatened Claude on your previous meeting and you hadn’t kept your end of the bargain.

‘What exactly is Alois planning?’

“Very well, Y/N, Sebastian, let’s go.” As Ciel was about to step forward, Sebastian suddenly blocked his path. You eyed him curiously until he locked eyes with you.

“My apologies master, but Y/N has other matters to attend to.”

Your eyes narrowed at his words. “Is that so? And what matters are those exactly?”

His smirk irritated you. “Since Mr. Lau is in charge of your dressings for tonight, the servants have volunteered to accompany you with Mr. Lau in town for a bit of shopping until it is time for the ball.”

Your eyebrows raised to your hairline. “I beg your pardon? I’m not leaving this property with Ciel still here--”

“Fine.” Your neck snapped in Ciel’s direction. He gave you a knowing look and waved his hand for you to leave. “Stop trying to get out of this. Just go, Y/N.”

You were at a loss of words. “But what if you need me, sir? Surely you--”

He rolled his eyes at you as he walked away. “As long as you make it back in time for this evening’s festivities, I don’t care where you are. Sebastian is more than capable of attending to my needs.”

The triplet servants marched forward as Ciel followed. As Sebastian moved to join them, your hand gripped his arm tightly. Your voice became darker, laced with annoyance.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Why don’t you want me with you? They can’t be trusted.”

He tilted his head in curiosity. “Well, I thought you’d see fit to stay out of their presence. You did break your arrangement with them, afterall.”

Your jaw briefly fell in astonishment. “Is this because of my plan? What, so you don’t trust me now? I only did this to be closer with Ciel, to protect him--”

“Sebastian!” Hearing the annoyance laced in Ciel’s voice, Sebastian released your hand from his arm. 

“Come now, kitten. No need to bare your claws. Who else will watch over the servants and keep them out of trouble?” With an infuriating smile, he left you there.

You stood there grinding your teeth as you watched his retreating figure. He thinks he can just keep me out of the way? I don’t think so.

“Ah, now that that’s settled…”

Your body tensed when Lau placed an arm on your shoulder and moved your hair aside to stare more intently at your features. “Why don’t we get to work, hm?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. “As lovely as that sounds, I’m afraid I already made preparations elsewhere. So sorry.”

As you turned to move away from him, his hand gripped your shoulder, forcing you to stay in place. A smile appeared on his calm face. “Nice try, love. Your master already made the deal with me so this is something you won’t be able to get out of.”

You rubbed your forehead at his persistence. “Yes, that may be, however--”

“Y/N! Pardon me Mr. Lau, but may I have a word with her alone?”

The smile that you gave toward your savior was so big that it made your mouth hurt. “Oh of course, Ayani.” You glanced back at Lau. “This does sound urgent, so if you would excuse me…”

Bowing her head toward him, Ayani began to lead you out of the room. You caught the sound of his sigh as you passed by him. Once Ayani brought you out to the hallway, she turned around to close the door, cutting you off from the lively room of guests.

She held an apologetic look. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

You shook your head as you chuckled. “Oh believe me, I should be thanking you for pulling me away. But nevermind that, what is it you wish to tell me?”

She bit her lip as she glanced down. “Well...I’d like to apologize on behalf of my master. I did inform him as you asked, and he seemed contemptuous until, well, once he saw Lord Phantomhive, he couldn’t pretend as requested.”

You smiled at her briefly. “I wouldn’t worry. I never truly expected him to be able to keep himself at bay.”

Her head moved up to you again. “You didn’t?”

Shaking your head, you shrugged your shoulders. “Of course not. Speaking from past experience, he seems to let his emotions control his reason. That’s why I told you, because I trusted you could handle it.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the compliment but it fell once a muffled scream was picked up by your ears. Your eyes widened at the sudden disruption and you raised an eyebrow once Ayani’s face went pale.

“You wouldn’t happen to have heard that, would you?”

She nodded her head at your ponder. “I did. It sounded as if the origin of it came from outside.”

The two of you shared a knowing look before walking further down the hallway until you stopped in front of a window, granting you a viewing of the back of the mansion. Your eyes scanned the entire landscape but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Suddenly Ayani’s hand shot out, her finger pointing downward. “Look, there!”

Glancing where she was directing your attention, you caught sight of who you assumed to be Claude, but you couldn’t quite tell due to his back being turned to you. You watched him intently as he turned and once you caught a glimpse of what was in front of him, your mouth formed into a line.

It appeared to be a person with a bag around their head, with Claude tying their hands together. There was fresh blood on the person’s clothes so you assumed that was what caused the scream.

“What in the...what is he doing? Is that a person?” Ayani pressed her hands up against the glass in disbelief.

Your eyes became narrowed once you caught sight of another, much smaller person walking up next to Claude, and he seemed to be throwing away a pile of clothes, quite aggressively as well.

“Who is that? He looks rather young.”

You slowly removed her hands from the glass, wiping it clean as you answered her. “That would be the head of this manor.”

Her head quickly turned in your direction. “Lord Trancy? But we were told he was away on important business…”

You tilted your head as you continued to watch them. “Yes, important business indeed.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “W-we gotta tell someone, they’re holding someone captive!”

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a third person off to the side. After a few seconds, your suspicions were confirmed and your eyes went wide once you recognized his bowler hat and you registered who it was. 

Flashback…

A small smile formed beneath the bowler hat that shielded his face. "Oh, me? Why, it's as if you don't know me at all."

He put his hands in his pockets. "I don't plan on going back. And I don't want them to come looking for me so..."

He shrugged and looked at you seriously. "The passage back to hell for London. I need you to destroy it."

What the hell is he doing here?

“I must go inform my master that it isn’t safe here!”

Your head shot up at what she said and you instantly grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “I wouldn’t advise doing that.”

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Y/N, something isn’t right here, these people are obviously dangerous and I refuse to let my prince stay here if his life is in danger.”

You placed your hands over her shoulders and forced her to lock eyes with you. “Listen to me Ayani, you will only end up putting him and everyone else here in more danger if you cause suspicion. The only way to deal with this is to find out what they are hiding.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Well, how are we going to do that? I don’t want to leave my master alone and unprotected.”

“Y/N, darling! Where did you go?”

At the sound of Lau’s annoying voice, you sighed and looked away until an idea formed in your head and you looked back at her. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll investigate this manor on my own. But Ayani, my dear friend, I’m afraid I may need your assistance.”

Her jaw clenched as her eyes became determined. “I will help you with whatever you need. Just tell me what to do.”

You smiled at her loyalty. “Thank you, Ayani.” You turned her around to let her see Lau and Ran Mao down the hallway as they searched for you. “You can start by distracting Mr. Lau and his companion. And anyone else if necessary.”

She nodded and glanced at you. “And what will you do?”

You released your hold on her as you began walking down the opposite end of the hallway. “I have some investigating to do.”

[mudsdale-fr]

Thanksgiving, part 2

-I’m going to be with Iubar, will you be alright?

I’ll be with Reg and her family, gotta help with dinner. Are you two going to have an entire dinner yourselves?-

-If by dinner you mean a shit ton of chicken wings and beer, then yes.

D: that’s not a dinner. Give me his address, I’ll send shaymin with some things.-

-Babe it’s fine. We don’t need that much food anyway.

But it’s TRADITION >:0 -

At least let me send some pies. I make the best pies.-

What kind does Iubar like?-

-Oh my god babe

-Let me ask

-He says sweet potato and apple

Okay I’ll have them ready by tonight.-

-Don’t you want to know my favorite?

It’s lemon. And you don’t get a pie because you’re not here.-

Ivory let out a sigh. He probably deserved that.

“I knew he was mad at me.” he  mumbled, petulant. Iubar gave him a sideways glance from his spot on the couch, flipping channels.

“Are you whining because your boyfriend won’t send you a pie?”

“No!”

“Yes you are. You know he’s teasing right?” he stopped on a movie long enough to give the explosions a polite consideration before moving on. He’d seen it already. “I’ll bet you $50 that a lemon pie shows up with the rest.”

They stared silently at some cartoon they landed on, hypnotised by its colorful stupidity. Before long Ivory held out his hand. “I’ll take that bet.” Iubar shook it.

“You’re an idiot.”

They settled on the cartoon, with houndoom stretched out between them, taking turns to beg each of them for ear scratches with sloppy licks to the face. He always sent Ivory sputtering. He noted with slight embarrassment how accustomed he’d gotten to tiny Bean and her neat little habits. She was a needy thing but also the size of a potato so you could just plop her on your shoulder or in the hood of your jacket to keep her happy.

Before long the dog’s big head settled into his lap, and he could feel the post-job crash creeping in. His limbs turned leaden and his eyes drooped. Then… nothing.

Iubar shook his head at the first few quiet snores. He’d be out for hours, that much he knew. Welp, he decided as he rose from the sofa. This is as good a time as any to go shopping. And maybe clear out the guest room.

Houndoom’s head perked up when he saw his master don his coat. His tail thumped against the couch cushion. Walk? Was there gonna be a walk??

But his master only held out a steadying hand, low to the ground. The command for stay. Oh very well then. He settled back into Ivory’s lap with a groan.

-

When Ivory awoke, it was dark outside and he had a throw blanket on him. The was a faint sizzling sound coming from the kitchen and the unmistakable scent of bacon that sent him leaping to his feet. Fuuuuuuck yes.

“Ivory, back from the dead.” Iubar waved a pair of tongs at him. Houndoom sat at a special chair set up just for him by the island, whimpering. He usually had something to do when Iubar cooked, but it didn’t seem like today he was needed.

“Hey man,” he sank into a barstool beside the table, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry for passing out on you like that.”

“No worries, I’m used to it. Wandering the countryside babysitting takes a lot out of you. Oh fine you big baby here,” he turned to the whining dog behind him, grabbing some yellow and orange bell peppers and impaling them on a spiked contraption set on the counter. “Roast these.”

Ivory perked up as he watched Houndoom work. It was an incredible thing to witness, this creature that his friend had raised from birth square his paws and release a steady and deliberate stream of flame upon the delicate peppers, roasting them to perfection. Rhys would love to see this.

Iubar snapped his fingers in his face, grabbing his attention.

“You home?”

Ivory yawned again. “Yeah, totally.”

Iubar shook his head and returned to his bacon, a half fond half amused smile on his face. One thing that had never changed in the ten plus years they’d known each other was just how useless Ivory was just after waking.

“Go get a shower, you smell rank. I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll do that.” He shuffled off to the bathroom. The was a half second pause before Lubar called back: “And go ahead and drop your dirty clothes in the washer!”

-

Iubar was smearing homemade aioli on toasted bread when Ivory returned, a towel draped over his head and wearing one of his shirts that was - and let’s be reasonable here- way too small for him.

“Dude… you’re going to stretch it out…” He let out weakly, knowing it was already too late. Ivory shrugged, saying how it was this or he walk around naked before he was waved off and a sandwich was pressed into his face as well a a small bowl of chopped vegetables.

“Keep it you mooch. Will you take this to the legendary sleeping in my guest room please?”

Ivory blinked in surprise.

“Wha-?”

“Thanks for telling me your boyfriend had a shaymin Showed up while you were in the shower, nearly gave me a heart attack and houndoom almost ate him. You didn’t hear the shouting?”

“Uh… no.” His friend simply shook his head and  assembled his own sandwich.

-

Shaymin was grooming himself  on the bed when Ivory walked in. His actions ceased the moment he noticed the man, and he gathered himself up primly.

“It’s about time!” He complained, cheeks puffed out. “That beast almost ate me!”

“Well in his defense, “ he set the bowl before him, smiling when the little thing immediately plucked a cherry tomato out and nibbled on it. “You are the perfect sized mouthful for a houndoom, and you were carrying delicious treats on top of that.”

That earned him the teeniest growl he had ever heard. So damn cute.

“I should take back the lemon pies and tell him you’re being mean.”

Wait.

“He made me a pie??” He brightened, face lighting up. Shaymin just ‘hmmph’ed grumpily into his salad.

‘Of course he did idiot! Why wouldn’t he? Not that you deserve it…”

Ivory picked up the little creature, ignoring his frantic protests and kissed the top of his head. Shaymin deflated, accepting his fate.

“You’re the best, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” He pressed more kisses on Shaymin’s head, who renewed his struggles.

‘Of course I’m the best! Who would ever say otherwise??”

“I dunno, people?”

“Stupid people,” Shaymin pouted, munching a carrot slice. “Your friend has good vegetables. Not like at home, but they’re still good.”

Ivory swelled in pride.

“Yeah, Iubar is awesome. Come on, I’ll introduce you properly.” he held out his hand, letting the pokemon crawl up his arm while he held the veggie bowl in the other hand.

“That beast won’t eat me?”

“I promise.”

-

After introductions were made, the four of them settled into their meals quietly. Shaymin seemed distracted however, his gaze shifting from Ivory to Iubar, then back again.

“Are you two mating?”

Both men choked on their sandwiches.

[themiddlelayer]

Ode to Denny’s

I’m beginning to think that the good days are actually worse than the bad ones.

Today was a good day. I woke up and felt reasonably rested despite the bizarre, vivid dreams. Those have become the norm. I did enough work during my work day that time moved at a reasonable pace rather than the draining crawl that I’ve become accustomed to.

Seeing the latest plague-related panic (Tyson foods chairman warns: ‘the food supply chain is breaking’ because of the company’s closing meat processing plants due to COVID outbreaks among employees) I decided that I should stock up on some more of my plant-based meat alternatives before the carnivores get desperate. Cookie mentioned that she had some shopping to do as well and after work she messaged asking about going together.

She picked me up and we went to Fry’s first. There was a dude in a kilt who we passed a couple times before he struck up a conversation about my Goonies tee-shirt in the aisle where I the cheese sauce should have been. It turned out Cookie knew him from the SCA. It almost felt like the kind of organic meeting in public stories we hear less and less of because of online dating. I introduced myself and he extended his hand instinctively before withdrawing it in favor of an elbow bump.

As we walked away I told Cookie that I couldn’t tell if he was cute… he was in a mask and mine was making my glasses fog up randomly… but he seemed really cool. At the register the cashier was a larger Hispanic dude with a flower tucked in his ear and a calm, warm demeanor. He and the masked bagger were dancing while we waited for Cookie’s payment app to load. I don’t remember the last time I smiled like that, and of course my smile was underneath the burgundy cloth mask that gives me ‘elf ears.’

From there we drove to Safeway, which is right across the street from Denny’s. That’s when it really hit me.

I thought about all the times I’d found myself sitting in a Denny’s booth eating pancakes and just talking… 

There was the night that Cookie and I saw the ‘non-binary pansexual polyamorous hipsters’ across the restaurant then walked out to see an almost antique looking car in the parking lot that just had to be theirs. We laughed so hard that night that my face literally ached!

My first date with Puppy was at the Denny’s in Benson where he scooped me into his arms and kissed me in the lobby. Once we were finally seated, he sat beside me with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face the entire time. My Beyond Burger was awful, the service worse, and the root beer made me gassy but that didn’t stop me from enjoying a lengthy goodbye kiss in the parking lot.

Viking and I met at Denny’s after his kiddo had gone to bed one night and he wanted to see me. He had called me on the phone the day after our 1st date just to hear my voice… the man really knew how to lay on the charm… So when he asked about meeting at 9:15pm after I’d just come home from Cookie’s house half-dead, I jumped at the chance. He ended up choosing my favorite thing off the menu- the salted caramel banana crème pancakes, and we shared them over easy, comfortable conversation.

When he walked me to my car, I threw my purse in, closed the door with my keys in my hand and initiated the kissing. We were out there, pressed up against my little car for so long that he joked that we were giving the employees hanging out by the front door a free show. When he tried to slide his hand into my jeans, I stopped him. He responded, “Just trying to see what I can get away with.” That was the last time I saw him.

That was the Denny’s where Cookie first met Tampa. She asked about me having, not only the plus one of MM to her wedding, but a plus two. She said that she immediately saw how well we clicked and how happy I was.

Later I would sit in that same section of Denny’s with two of the friends who had just helped me pack my things when I was leaving Tampa- Gaymer and his roommate the CosPlay Chick. They are two friends who consistently showed up for game nights and whose company I always enjoyed but somehow we never managed to make time to hang out, outside of scheduled events. 

I had a crush on Gaymer at one point and lamented the fact that he was strictly homo and not even a little flexible. MM got stupid drunk at a party at his place one night and I got really upset about their flirting… partly because I’d seen MM cross the line when shitfaced like that before and partly because of my crush on Gaymer. Still… Gaymer sat beside me on the couch at my housewarming party and didn’t seem to mind the lack of physical distance between us.

I miss just sitting in a booth at Denny’s. I miss their awful coffee and food that was so bad I didn’t even make it out the door that night with Gaymer and CosPlay Chick and instead paid the bill and went straight to their bathroom where I got sick. I miss the smell of the grease in the air and the feel of the glasses they put my Arnold Palmers in when I knew better than to ask for decaf. I miss the sticky syrup bottles they brought out when I’d order the French toast slugger… Eggs scrambled... Will you eat my bacon? And can we just call both coffees the 2 beverages that are included? Thanks!

It feels like a different world and it’s only been 6 weeks since I was last in Denny’s.

Safeway was another adventure in itself. They had all the usual vegan foods on hand, but still no cheese sauce. As we walked past the paper goods, Cookie exclaimed, “Oh! They have toilet paper!” Only she had to repeat herself because between the hum of the coolers and the muffling of her mask I couldn’t quite make out what she said. They had the ‘one way aisle’ signs and floor markings there. Another measure in place to assist with proper ‘social distancing’ guidelines.

I felt alive tonight. It was the feeling you get after a party where you’re not ready for the night to end so you end up sitting in a booth at Denny’s until all hours as conversation is slowly replaced by yawning. Only we couldn’t go to Denny’s. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Cookie had meat in the car and it was still in the low 80’s even though the sun had gone down… So I was left alone with the silence that I keep trying to fill with Letterkenny and Lucifer and Amazon music playlists with titles like “Feel Better,” “Cleaning the House,” and “Be Happy.”  The emptiness I keep trying to fill with chocolate hummus, jalapeno poppers, and my jar of jelly beans that weighed 4 lbs. (but is probably down to 3.5 lbs. or so by now). The loneliness that’s so big there isn’t enough self-love in the world to make up for it.

I sit on my couch sometimes and just remember how it felt to have other people in the room… Gaymer sitting beside me while we played board games. Puppy with my feet in his lap while he tied intricate shibari between my toes. Cookie drinking tea with me while we watched Grey’s Anatomy.

I remember Nomad falling asleep in my lap on the couch in Vail the night that two and two became four… the texture of his hair between my fingers while he snored and shuddered with his arms wrapped around my waist. I think about being on the couch in Phoenix curled up with Olive in our fuzzy onesies while we binged ‘Russian Doll’ until after 2am before climbing into bed where our Java Bear was snoring loudly… but not quite as loudly as Olive.

I imagine how it might feel to have Jersey here in Arizona. I try to remember how he smelled and the way his lips felt when we had that awkward goodnight kiss in the parking lot at Savage Mill in Maryland. I wonder what his cheek will feel like with my hand cupping it… How much stubble will he have?  What will the back of his neck feel like as I reach up and pull him closer so I can feel his heartbeat against my chest?

When we chatted last night, he told me that he had a dream about putting his hand my back and another about having his mouth on my hip bone. He kept saying that it sounded weird but I totally understood. My dreams are always about touch these days- sometimes sexual, but other times just about the feel of skin and the pressure of a good hug.

When Cookie hugged me goodbye tonight I almost burst into tears. We are not meant to live like this.