#this was supposed to be like. list of ideas vague concepts. this is a whole fic outline at this point

[waywardsalt]

unorganized ganonbeck brainworms going strong so now im thinking about ssbu ganonbeck cuz thats where it all began and its also just a really good ganonbeck premise

i mean, off the bat, ganondorf is a main playable character (i think y’all call em ‘smashers’? idk) and linebeck in ssbu is a master spirit so theyre both likely going to be known across the board by other spirits and smashers, so… they’re known. they can’t exactly fly under the radar and are generally visually noticeable, too.

i think ssbu ganonbeck is at its funniest when they’re trying to keep it a secret.

i mean, there’s probably hints in the beginning, linebeck going out of his way to watch ganondorf fight, ganondorf being seen talking with linebeck more often, other legend of zelda smashers and spirits having their own complicated feelings about these specific people seemingly getting to know each other better.

(im specifically interested in reactions from… idk specifically villains associated with ganondorf or… ANYONE canonically associated with ganondorf lol. linebeck just has toon link on his side)

the beginning stuff probably ramps up to slightly surprising stuff, linebeck seeking out ganondorf more often despite what people might assume of him, going as far as asking him to get drinks or something, and ganondorf just being oddly interested in what linebeck has to say over some others that make more sense and occasionally brining up things that linebeck has told him, this going all the way up to the two of them being noticeably flustered around each other, clearly signifying something-

and then to onlookers things appear to taper off back to just being friendly.

before things taper off, other spirits and smashers begin to take more notice, keeping an eye on ganondorf and linebeck out of curiosity, but once things appear to settle on just simply being friendly that attention goes elsewhere.

(of course, behind closed doors both literally and metaphorically, at that point ganondorf and linebeck start dating, but due to the prior attention decided it would be best just to keep it under wraps, out of irritation towards that attention and out of some sense that the knowledge of them dating wouldn’t go over well for some of the spirits or smashers, plus [mostly on linebecks end] worry over others making a stir over how odd the pairing is)

so time passes but people also start to notice that ganondorf is… less of an asshole? he seems to be in a better mood more often and while no one is really upset about that, it is curious and worth looking into.

it takes about a week for a group of smashers and spirits to (correctly) deduce that ganondorf is dating someone, and keeping it a secret. they can’t just ask ganondorf, so now there’s this little investigation group trying to figure out who’s caught ganondorf’s eye, and linebeck is removed from the suspect list because of course not, he’s more likely to be afraid of ganondorf and why would ganondorf be romantically interested in some random guy like that, they clearly dont have anything in common- (the group does not know about linebeck’s history of possession [he prefers to keep it secret], he still uses his old facade around the majority of people, and it is not common knowledge that he’s kind of a freak)

ganondorf and linebeck catch wind of the investigation and figure out their own set of excuses and hiding spots and every possible method of keeping things secret, so its practically a game to them as the investigating smashers and spirits go off on a wild goose chase the moment they eliminated linebeck as a suspect.

not every smasher or spirit cares about this investigation (they’ve seen enough relationships pop up and don’t really care about this new one) so in the midst of this mess, ganondorf and linebeck plan their next meetup based on what the investigation group are doing (without accounting for an uninterested party) and wind up getting walked in on by a group of smashers not involved with the investigation

linebeck and ganondorf end up being massively relived that the group that found them wont say anything (i always figure like. lucina (shes seen enough relationship shit to not care rn) cloud (its Not His Business) and sheik (really just wasnt interested) are the ones who find out), and the discovery group leave with exactly one rule: do not let toon link find out.

cue more ganondorf and linebeck figuring out ways to keep things secret, this time with a small group who do know, but they inevitably slip up a few more times so more and more people are in on it until the fact that they are actually dating gets out.

eventually, things flip; ganondorf and linebeck are no longer trying to keep their relationship a secret from everyone, everyone is trying to keep it a secret from toon link.

[soulprompts]

THE SURPRISING HERO ( A PROMPT LIST! )

hello my beloveds!!! an absolutely incredible nonnie sent in a request for prompts based on the idea of someone becoming a vital part of saving the world through unanticipated events, and i hope i managed to achieve what they wanted in this list! basically i got a tonne of inspiration from comic book movies and the more fantastical vibes of high fantasy franchises, and i was going to make these more amusing, but i think there's something so hard-hitting about the concept of being thrust into greatness and heroism when you feel you aren't ready for it! anyway! enjoy, and as always: DO NOT ADD TO OR EDIT THIS LIST, AND DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN!

FROM THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i’m not supposed to be here. i’m not like the rest of you; i’m not special, or blessed, or gifted. i’m just… me. “

“ you’ve got to be joking! i can’t save the world! i’m just an ordinary person! “

“ it’s funny. all these years, i’ve wanted so badly to see the world. now… i think i’ve never wanted anything so much as to go back home. “

“ so that’s it, then? i’m just supposed to sacrifice everything to save the world, all because some ancient prophecy says so? “

“ i still can’t quite believe we were doing laundry yesterday. now our biggest chore is traveling across the world to save it. “

“ i miss home. i miss how safe and boring and fine it all was. i never would’ve wanted adventures if i thought they’d be as scary and dangerous as this. “

“ they’re right to be angry, you know. everyone has a purpose here; i’m only joining you all because of some insane twist of fate. “

“ surprised? don’t worry, so was i. i don’t think it’s a normal occurrence for people like me to be part of massive quests like this. “

“ look. i’m not the chosen one, alright? i don’t want any part in any prophecy or ancient dictation. i just want to live an ordinary, safe, boring life. “

“ you think i don’t acknowledge what’s happening?! every mistake i make has costs, and those costs are often the lives of innocent people! “

“ you know, last year my idea of a grand adventure was going up the mountains for a picnic with my friends. funny how fast things change, isn’t it? “

“ i’m not a hero! i don’t know how to fight! heroes are special and unique and trained, and i’m none of those things. “

“ everyone looks at me like i’ve got the answers, but i don’t. i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “

“ you ever stop to question the solidity of this prophecy? because if the wording is that vague that it could name me as the savior of the world, then maybe we ought to revise it. “

“ this is stupid! putting the fate of the universe on some million-year-old prophecy! “

“ i’m not what you think i am. i’m not a hero. i’m sorry, i know you want me to be one, but… i’m just not. “

“ so you’re telling me, because i happened to overhear some weird out of context conversation, that the safety of the world relies entirely on me? “

“ don’t you see how daft this whole thing is?! i’ve got to save the world now because i happened to take a wrong turn on my way home! “

“ why can’t i just give you guys what i found, and you can go and rescue the world yourselves? “

“ i want to clarify that i’m not a coward. okay? i’m not running away from this. but i’m not exactly save-the-world material. so thank you for the opportunity, but… i think i’ll stay at home. “

TO THE UNEXPECTED HERO:

“ i get it, you know. it’s a huge responsibility for someone who’s only just realized what’s at stake. “

“ the others think i’m utterly mad for even considering you for this task. but the fact is, you’re the only person i genuinely believe to be capable of fixing this mess. “

“ would you like to know the mark of a true hero? it’s courage. not an absence of fear, not an ignorance of it, but rather, the choice to persevere in spite of it. you’re still here. that makes you one of the bravest people on the planet. “

“ don’t let anyone else tell you what you are and aren’t capable of. everything happens for a reason, and it wasn’t dumb luck that put you in our path. “

“ i don’t believe in prophecies, personally. i think the universe is far too chaotic for them to survive thousands of years. but i do believe that you being here is not a coincidence. “

“ fate only accounts for part of what happens in our lives. the rest of it is all choices. and despite how scared and inexperienced you are… you’ve chosen to stay. that tells me an awful lot about you. “

“ how selfish can you be?! running away from this destiny, this task! the world will fall into darkness if you don’t step up, and here you are, hiding from your fate like a coward! “

“ you need to learn to ignore the opinions of others if you’re going to stand a chance at doing this. this is the cost of being a hero. people will judge, not based on truth, but on a limited perspective. “

“ don’t be stupid. we’re not special or talented either; i was trained from childhood, i can fight men twice my size, but that’s not the mark of a hero. “

“ if you like, i could teach you how to fight? you may find it useful. even if it’s just to comfort yourself against these ridiculous self-doubts. “

“ heroes aren’t always massive muscle types. the inventor of new defense measures against attacks, or someone who discovered a cure for a disease, or perhaps someone clever enough to use new fuel sources in the winter… heroism isn’t always found in warzones, you know. “

“ fine. don’t do it for the fate of the world. do it for your family. your friends. do it for the ones you’ll return to once we settle this for good. save this world, not for the world itself, but for the ones you love, so that they may live on. “

“ you should know some things. most people, if you somehow perform outside of the very specific expectations they have for you, will be very quick and harsh in their judgment. it’s not something one can avoid. but you can learn to rise above those critics. remember. they don’t know the real you. “

" fear is normal. okay? we all fear things. the real killer is when you try to fight that fear. you're no lesser a hero for fearing things. expect it. accept it. embrace it. and once it's with you, work with it to fight even more. "

" you keep saying you're not a hero. tell me. what exactly is it that you believe a hero to be? "

" people make the error of assuming heroes to be golden, flawless, immaculate in both thought and strategy. it's never the case. heroes are the most flawed of all. that's what makes us admire them so. "

[inbarfink]

Among the various readings and interpretations of What the Hell is Up With the Ending to the DHMIS Web Show - one of the more interesting ones (from my perspective, at leas) has always been that it’s all a metaphor for repeating patterns of trauma and/or abuse. 

As in, most of the narrative of the DHMIS Webshow has been some sort of surrealist metaphor for Roy being an overcontrolling and manipulative parental figure for his son and his friends

And then the ending shows them finally escaping his influence -

Only that without a frame of reference for just how screwed-up their upbringing really was and without any healthy way to process their various traumas, they end up being in danger of just replicating his abuse on their own. Either on each other or maybe on the color-swapped characters who can, like, represent their own children or something. 

And so the vague ending of the Webshow is an open question, yes, the trio might’ve gotten physically away from Roy’s influence - but are they free from it mentally?

Or are they doomed to snap back into their old familiar world?

And the interesting thing about this is that like… that could be what the Web Show is about on a metaphorical level. But in the TV Show, with its greater emphasis on interpersonal conflicts and the characters - the idea of our main trio unknowingly replicating the abuse they live under is not just something we can hypothetically ruminate on. It’s something we can actually see, something we can actually feel.

Like, the first thing that made me think of Yellow and Red’s interactions with Stain Edwards.

This is basically the closest the Three of Them can get to being parental figures within the confines of the Format. He starts out as such a sweet and curious child-like being, his title for himself is literally ‘the Forever Boy’. And, well…

Red and Yellow are just so uncomfortable with his curiosity and thirst for adventure that they basically immediately try and stomp it right out. And that’s like a whole big thing about DHMIS, isn’t it? The way that children’s edutainment and the education system actually curbs children's curiosity and desire for learning so they can better memorize easily-digestible simplified concepts and Respect Their Authority Figures. 

You know, it’s the whole thing with…

And that’s kinda how Red acts with Stain? He’s a lot less violent and more subdued about it - but he also discourages the little guy from asking questions and wanting to explore the world. 

And he is trying to push him into fitting more into the Format. And, like, managing his life like the Trio’s own life is managed by the Format. First more generally into what being part of the DHMIS main trio is supposed to mean (‘just sit here and something will happen’) and then eventually literally turning him into something he didn’t want to be. 

And from our more familiar perspective, it’s clear that Red Guy really just genuinely thinks at this point that sitting passively and Waiting to Be Taught At is how things are Supposed to Be and can’t really imagine things going any other way. He is honestly just trying to get Stain to understand how their life is supposed to work. (Well until it starts becoming about making a new Duck) 

And it’s also clear to us how much Red Guy is motivated by just unaddressed grief about Duck and wanting to avoid conflict with Yellow Guy, who's a lot more explictly lashing out at Stain in his grief

"What's the matter with him?" "Nothing. Just don't look at him." "What? Where can I look? I can't look at him, can't look over there..." "No, if, if you want to look at stuff, just tell me and I-I'll make a list. Of where you should or should not look..." "Seems like a weird system..." "Yeah, well, you seem like a weird little...thing with...and you don't even... the other guy at least had his own clothes"

But looking at it from Stain’s perspective, taking aside our understanding of Red’s character and motivation. This is just an authority figure giving him a nonsense set of rules and then lashing out at him when he questions it. Never giving a deeper explanation than ‘this is how it’s supposed to be’ and basically punishing his curiosity.

Kinda like, well, how the Teachers tend to interact with the trio.

And then there’s Yellow Guy who’s just totally lashing out at Stain through the whole thing, because, again, he can’t process the grief of losing Duck. Because his environment did not give him the tools to properly process that trauma and he has no healthy frame of reference to grief and that’s kinda...

Yeah, that’s just what I was talking about. Stain’s subplot in ‘Death’ is just Yellow and Red having not interrogated their abusive environment and not really dealing with their trauma and thus repeating the patterns of the Teachers on their new child-like figure.

Which then culminates with either Duck killing Stain in the name of preserving the status-quo of the format (“there’s only supposed to be three of us”) or with Stain having internalized so much of what Yellow and Red (but mainly Red) taught him about what he’s supposed to be that he was willing to kill in the name of the Format - and then slotted in perfectly in the unadventurous, unquestioning role of Duck.

And this lil narrative is especially interesting if you believe any variance of the David Theory. Because Yellow and Red were mainly motivated in their mistreatment of Stain by their Grief about a ‘dead’ family member. Which could mirror Lesley's trapping and mistreatment of the trio and her own motivations. 

But I think this idea of mirroring and repeating patterns of abuse are reflected in more than just this one episode. It’s also reflected in the way Red and Duck tend to mistreat Yellow.

Because while Yellow doesn’t slot as neatly into the Child position like Stain did- his simplistic naïveté does mean he often plays a Child-like role in our favorite Forced Family dynamic. And the way that Duck and Red can often condescend to him can… very well mirror the condescending way the teachers address all three of them.

Especially when you also consider the similar manner both the Teachers and Red + Duck react to Yellow being fully charged in ‘Electricity’. They are all so nervous about Yellow breaking away from his supposed ‘role’ as the Stupid One. 

And they especially all seem so very insecure about the idea that Yellow might be smarter than they are.

And that’s, you know, also an aspect of children’s education that tends to actually harm children and their curiosity. This desire for ‘respect’ towards authority figures and this egotistical need for teachers and parents to always be smarter than their kids - causing them to subtly or bluntly punish children for just being clever or inquisitive. 

It’s, you know “I’m the adult, you are the child. I am supposed to be the Smart and Knowledgeable one and you are the one who must be taught. And you need to play your role!”

Again, that seems to be the whole thing in ‘Time’.

Here it’s a lot more subtle and less openly hostile, but Yellow can tell that just like that Insurance Teacher,  Red and Duck’s egos have also been hurt by the fact that they might not be smarter than Yellow Guy anymore. And he considers going back to the role he’s ‘supposed to be’, even though being fully-charged seems to feel better for him (‘this doesn’t feel wrong’), just for them. 

That’s almost literally a child giving up on a pursuit of knowledge just to placate his parental figures. 

And then, you know, his refusal to do so and his assertion of his own ability to make decisions for himself (his own maturity, "they're not in charge of us anymore" "Maybe they never were") is directly what leads to him ascending and disassembling not just the trio’s dynamic but the very structure of the Format. 

And I think, it’s not just that Red and Duck’s treatment of Yellow mirrors the way the teachers treat the Three of Them - it might be a result of it as well. With how condescending the teachers are towards them in general, bullying Yellow is their way to assert some sort of maturity and intelligence for themselves. It's super-fucked up, but this is how they internalized expressing what ‘intelligence’ is supposed to look like. And they have no frame of reference for a way of feeling smart or in control that doesn’t involve shutting someone else down. Because that's what literally every authority figure does for them all the time.

Now, do I think that means that our trio is doomed to mirror those patterns? That they will always inevitability repeat the horrors they go through on each other and others? Well, just like with every ‘cycle of abuse’, it can always be broken. But it will take some actual understanding and self-awareness and personal healing from the trio. 

And without this, they’re not just trapped within the Horrors physically, but also spiritually as well. Without it, no matter if they do manage to run away, on some level, their journey will always end up back at home....

[kindlingkeen]

Heyo Keen, I have come to pester you once again. Your post about the Jason amnesia thing got me thinking about young justice (I started watching it recently, it’s very good) and the whole red hooded ninja plot (rip)

I have no clue if you’ve seen the clips (if you haven’t then: spoilers below)

-

Particularly the bit where he’s fighting Nightwing and there’s this whole moment where he says “Gray…son” and he’s told “your memories are returning”.

Anywho. personally I really loved that whole scene/idea even though it was real small. (Also the red hooded ninja design is banger imo) Just the idea of brothers so close yet not even realizing it & the whole amnesia/catatonic thing where seeing Nightwing helps him remember. Also iirc in this he takes care of Damien? (I’m not that far in the show yet so not 100% on that) which is really sweet. Super looking forward to where it goes if anyone picks up the show again.

Do you prefer the whole amnesia/ninja plot or the pit/Red Hood one? I love both and don’t really have a favourite, but I know some people lean pretty strong towards one or the other.

Hey friend! Please pester away! If it takes me a while to answer your asks, it’s only because I’m giving them serious consideration.

I haven’t seen Young Justice, but I’m vaguely familiar with the red hooded ninja story line via art I’ve come across on tumblr and a few fanfics. There’s one in particular that comes to mind where Ra’s contracts Slade to take over the LoA, and Slade interacts with Jay (I can’t remember the title or author, so if anyone knows what I’m talking about, drop a link so I can tag it properly). The first time I read one of these (without noticing the YJ tag listed in the fandoms), I was like ‘what tf is going on here—ohh, Jay with sword, yeah, okay, let’s do this.’

I am deeply and unhealthily attached to the pit/Red Hood story arc for Jason. It’s the storyline I know best in both the comics, dc alt media, and fandom worlds, and it’s the clearest characterization I have of Jay in my head. Part of my process for writing is to set certain ground truths for myself/the story based on comics canon, and then I build outward from there.

That said, the red hooded ninja concept pushes so many of my buttons, namely Jason being under Talia’s wing, Jason and Damian meeting in the League, Jason as a ninja assassin, Jason with a sword (errghhh it’s all sooo good). I also like the younger Dami/older Jay dynamic. Although, technically one of the alt endings to the A Death in the Family movie was Talia giving Jason baby Damian, so I suppose you could wrap that into a Red Hood storyline.

I’m working my way through the 90s Batman: The Animated Series (it’s my fav ‘it’s 10 pm and I’m too tired to do anything productive so I’m just gonna watch comfort TV’ pick right now). Maybe once I get through that, I’ll move on to YJ. 🙂

Thanks so much for the ask! 💙

[sapphos-darlings]

https://www.tumblr.com/sapphos-darlings/675496447908675584/imagine-that-when-you-were-born-your-entire-family?source=share the issue is, i kinda was raised that way. my parents were happy to have a daughter. i was given the toys i wanted, and i liked both "girly" and "boyish" ones. i was praised for my curiosity, creativity, pursuit of knowledge. i was called a leader type. my period was celebrated (and when i got my first period, my mom bought me a huge pizza). yet i am still traumatised by femininity standards. it's great when your parents treat you with kindness, but there will always be people who don't. not to mention that, for some reason, my mom was all i described above, yet still forced feminine appearance on me when i was a teenager (makeup, hair, clothes). the issue runs so deep it's horrifying. i also have adhd, and i was pretty much the "boy" standard, loud, hyperactive, disrespectful towards teachers... but for some reason, that didn't give me an early diagnosis...

Hello, Anon!

I've been expecting and sort of hoping for a message like this! The thing is, that post is one of my (as in, by mod Lavender) most popular posts, it circulates a lot whenever someone finds it, and it's also sparked a lot of commentary. But despite this, I personally don't consider the post a very succesful one.

I've been reading the tags and comments, and many have shared their experiences, not very different from yours. Stories about how no matter how great the home was, there was still the wider world with its prejudices waiting; that getting a good and loving upbringing didn't undo gender stereotypes pushed on female people outside the immediate family.

The post has genuinely moved some women, which I'm happy about, while others have been deeply frustrated, some even offended and angry. I suppose when a post like that gets a lot of notes, that's inevitable.

But the reading the post has been getting isn't one that I was aiming for.

My original idea was to imagine a girl growing up in a matriarchy. Matriarchy would have its own set of norms that would be just as accepted and natural as the current ones we live under. So what would a society where the girls are a priority look like? That would mean no concept of patriarchal femininity. I think she would be valued for her inner qualities, encouraged to explore and learn a wide range of skills, and free of fear and shame targeting the female body and sexuality. She would enter adulthood ready to live her own life to its full potential, without being weighed down by expectations of servitude or fear of being out of line. So seeing so many readers focus only on the personal level, I can't help but feel that my original intention didn't come through like I had hoped.

While writing, I was thinking of various things I've read about how girls and boys are raised differently. On such thing was a study that showed how adults are more likely to pick soft toys for female toddlers, while male toddlers were given stuff like building blocks and toy cars even though they all had the same selection available to them. I vaguely remember the study pointing out that heavier toys made with hard materials and moving parts are more interesting and help develope fine motor skills, whereas plushies don't provide the same benefits. And of course, socializing boys to take interest in mechanical stuff, being creative, and taking initiative starts already at this stage, while girls are directed towards playing the nurturer and being cute. So, in my mind, the points about how a family would raise the girl, what kind of toys she gets, and how the teachers and peers would react to her growing up, connected to society as a whole, not simply to choices made by an individual family.

Many women in the tags and comments have shared, like you, that their family gave them pretty much all that my original post lists, but that didn't mean they were immune to societal and cultural influences. Which I definitely agree with: it is a very valuable insight to just how much power society outside of family units holds. How just one family - or even just your mother - can't undo what the society and culture as a whole pushes.

And because I agree, I thought I had succesfully imagined that it's not just the family that celebrates the girl, but the culture as a whole. The culture would be what guides the family, instead of the family desperately going aganst the culture.

In the end, I'm happy that so many women have been so moved by the image I painted with that post. I'm also glad it's sparked so much conversation, and even debate. My original intention didn't come through like I wanted to, but that's fine. For some time I've thought about adding commentary to the post itself, but ultimately decided not to interfere with it, but leave it to the community as it is. Regardless of what I intended to do, I think that the conversation the post sparked is so valuable it deserved to unfold without me cutting in to explain myself.

So thank you for your message, and for this opportunity to say something about it! Thank you for sharing your experience, it's all very valuable to women as a whole.

-Lavender

[fllagellant]

8, 16, 36 and 48 from the fifty oops list pls!

OFC MY FRIEND thank u for asking : }}

8. What is the difference between me1 and me3 Shepard? Do they notice, or does someone have to point it out?

Cycii is vaguely aware that he has grown a bit more stern, but besides that it would have to be pointed out. Me1 Cycii is very small, in many ways of the word. He doesn’t feel like he should be a Commander, he thinks Anderson should still be in charge, he doesn’t feel comfortable as a biotic so he focuses on Any Other Skill Possible but still doesn’t feel right doing that either. He desperately tries to keep everyone happy, even if he doesn’t really agree with their actions or decisions. Me3 Cycii is willing to take up space. He’s allowed to be a person, he’s allowed to exist without Anderson present, he can disagree with people and he doesn’t feel shame as a biotic anymore. He’s willing to take the helm as a Commander but he’s also a person outside of the Alliance now too. Tl;Dr He grew a backbone and got confident. A win!

16. What additions did Cerberus give Shepard?

Hmm bullet point list

- Stronger finger and hand joints, due to being an experiment gone kinda right, Cycii was born with far more powerful biotics than he would have normally had. Due to this, he would end up with fractures and breaks in his hands because of how difficult it was for him to control his own biotics. When rebuilding, they chose to go farther than just “ No more arthritis “ but make it so it was near impossible for his biotics to cause such damage to Cycii again. This did not get rid of the aches in his arms and hands, however

- Fucked Up Eyes also known as cybernetic eyes that give him better vision ( can’t have cataracts if we just give you mostly electric eyes ) and are supposed to help him have better reaction times and higher focus . Instead , he finds himself straining his eyes a bit too often . Not to mention , the Reapertech within the eyes are highly reactive to being exposed to more Reapertech . Hence why they loose their colour. Ahh the colour pigments get broken down a bit too easy.

- Reenforced Spinal Cord, so you know how many times Shepard gets tossed around and throw back into metal and walls ? Yeah all Cycii got from those was spinal disc fractures. This has the same effect as the finger and hand joint reinforcements. Issue is, it restricts how far he can bend forwards or backwards.

- More Biotic Power. This is why he can reave . Not bc I think reave is cool . But bc Cerberus did it . A flawless lore reason

- Also, of course, the sheer amount of synthetic muscle used to remake a man.

36. What was going through Shepard’s head, when they met Sovereign on Virmire?

Nothing good! Cycii was already struggling hard with the mere concept of a Reaper. The idea that a galactic extinction event was going to happen within his lifetime is not something he was really mentally ready to process. He already dealt with things like psychosis and hallucinations in the past, so it was another layer of trying to keep everything in order. If he convinced himself the whole Reaper thing was just based in hallucinations and not being properly medicated, then it was manageable. Then, Sovereign happened. And now there is a terrifying bit of proof that what is happening is, in fact, real. Cycii could barely talk to Sovereign, half of him telling himself that this isn’t real and that he needs to get a better grip on himself. The other half was just, terror. The bandaid was ripped off and all that part of him could fathom was “ It’s Real.” He was the first human to scream cry breakdown at a Reaper so at least he has that .

48. How does Shepard feel about paperwork?

Usually, it’s a welcomed break from things. He’s allowed to sit, alone, and write down what had happened or write requisition requests or whatever may need his attention. It can be an annoyance when it’s from Hackett, but he does it all the same. Self care is sitting in your dimly lit cabin writing about the mission on Tuchanka, possibly with quiet company.

[wild-at-mind]

Talked with some of my friends from [redacted activist group], they are all cis and middle aged or older. We were getting coffee and chatting and someone brought up kids in schools being taught about gender identity. And I was like :S but pretty soon I downgraded to :/ I guess, because it became clear that while all of them didn’t really understand it, they clearly wanted to.

The first thing that kept coming up was a fixation on how many genders there are, I said well, infinite, and one of them said no there are 8, and another was like ‘no, there’s 12′. I said why so specific and one of them said they had seen a list of x many. I was trying to figure out how to explain that the specific number/names for genders people use doesn’t necessarily matter. I think this is harder concept to grasp for outsiders to this world than we realise. I wanted to say that each name for a gender may be used by different people to mean vastly different things, and by the same metric people can invent their own, and a small number of those made their way onto the list, but I was kind of worried it might make things seem more vague and confusing. The whole thing had the same energy as when people google ‘what is the difference between bi and pansexual’ and wanted a solid definite answer when there just isn’t one. But I do sympathise because people like solid answers for things! I know I do. x means this and y means that, that’s awesome! Simple messaging is great but we just don’t have it by design. I’m not really sure what the solution is but empathy for people who come to these ideas in good faith but confusion is important I think. The whole thing came up because one man mentioned that a friend of his had a child who was doing a lesson on gender stuff during lockdown, and because it was home learning his father had seen the some kind of list of genders and been confused by it. I was a bit :S again because it sounded a bit like some right wing idea telephone thing, and we all know how often ‘my friend’ is actually ‘someone online said it’. This is in England and I think there has been a curriculum addition for primary school children about gender identity, which some right wingers who pretend to be feminists are very ‘concerned’ about, so I have no reason to believe it’s an entirely made up boomer facebook meme. The gender identity stuff in these lessons is taught alongside early sex-ed stuff that no one should be obecting to-teaching kids which parts of their bodies are private etc. (Personally, I think it’s great for self esteem to teach kids that their interiority and identity matter from a young age, as someone who only found out their interiority mattered at like 25.) I think it can’t be underestimated how weird and confusing the whole supposed ‘feminists vs trans people culture war’ sounds to outsiders when they go in with no knowledge. It’s not as clear cut right and wrong as people within it seem to think. Another man said it seemed like the two groups were talking past each other. His wife talked about remembering a time when women’s spaces didn’t exist and had to be fought for, and not as a ‘keeping trans women out’ thing. She didn’t say the last part, that was my added thought. I’m continually thinking about how things that are transphobic dogwhistles now had a completely different context going back only a few decades. And I feel like if we don’t learn the history of our movements, this will all be forgotton. These movements still matter, even if in the present they wouldn’t work. We all exist in the world these movements built. (For the record, I’m not exactly sure what she meant by female only spaces in this context. Presumably not changing rooms or toilets as that would make gender neutral bathrooms some kind of weird regression. It is true that the feminist tactic of consciousness raising was focused on bringing women together, that was probably before her time but maybe she’s referring to something similar.)

Her husband talked about his nephew, who is genderfluid, picketing to have a university professor fired because she did research on sex and gender. (He didn’t say the professor’s name so I can’t look more deeply into what this research actually was, or judge if her approach seemed benign or deliberately in bad faith.) Anyway this guy said ‘I just don’t understand the need to do that-’ and his wife cut in like ‘haha when we were younger we were working to deplatform people for supporting the regime in South Africa!’ and he was like ‘...yeah that’s true. I see so much of myself in [nephew].’ It was sweet. (Also great reminder that deplatforming is not something millenials or gen z invented despite what you might hear.) I said that as I got further into my 30s I was losing the very black and white sense of morality I had in my 20s rapidly. I feel more and more that we need to meet people where they are, unless they are actively malicious or acting in bad faith. I didn’t go too far into my own identity. I’m completely closeted outside of certain circles, and until I come out officially as far as I’m concerned talking about my own gender identity is like talking about my religious belief would be if I had one- too personal for casual conversation. I have no idea how they see me- I imagine as a woman with short hair who never wears anything feminine. It doesn’t bother me currently but maybe it will change if I ever come out. People who are outwardly ok with GNC people can suddenly become all weird with the concept of pronouns changing- I imagine because it asks something from them, however small.

Anyway I don’t know what the point of writing this was, except to try and express that I think maybe some older people who don’t happen to have a trans relative need some gender identity 101 classes- this is completely not facetious. There are many people trying to understand and I wish people in the know would differentiate that more from malicious lack of understanding.

[mimzy-writing-online]

You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

[bedrock-to-buildheight]

Ender stuff

Need a place to put all of these for the master post, so. New ender stuff will be added to this as I make them

Enderman

Is a creepypasta, so they don't follow either normal logic or mc logic. They'll always notice you looking w/o a pumpkin, regardless of distance or that your skin has visible eyes at all

They are based on horror stories so their whole purpose is to scare you.

Has the intelligence of an octopus, and is treated roughly the same way aka while some refuses to farm them it's not a super popular opinion, and usage of enderpearl is still widespread

They avoifld pumpkin headed things because that's either an iron golem who can and will kill them, or a snow golem, Horrible Beings made of frozen Water

Enderpearls don't come from the enderman itself, it's the egg form of the parasitic endermite, which in turn is the larval form of shulkers

Ender dragon

Is not supposed to be a thing. She escaped the ideas chamber, unfinished, with half of a feature list and some vague conceptions of "purpose". The Company has gotten better with containing these things. The red dragon never made it out.

Nothing she does end properly because it's not supposed to begin in the first place, so her egg will never hatch, she never dies for good, and the world doesn't End as long as she's still in it.

She'll never figure out what is her purpose (becuase unlike real life, these creations serve actual purposes. It's a story, after all). Which is ironic since her purpose is to be the end of a survival experience

Does not require sustenance or have Regular Reptile Behaviors. Or innards. She does burst into light and experience orbs after all. Very much an unfinished creature.

The present of you in the End made her and the rest of the center End island spawn, they aren’t always there. If you just don’t go to the end then there’s no ender dragon

If you loads the End, then leave it like that until that dimension falls apart completely, then she’ll just die with it

Response to being called Jane, usually in the form of charging you

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Synopsis: You go on a date with Fuegoleon, a man, who dresses smart, but is being vague about a lot of things. Like he can’t tell you something. Through an event, you learn that he is a leader of a biker gang, and is using the money he’s making with his company to fund it. But. He can’t mix these two worlds. Too much at least. Perhaps you are the one to entice this mysterious, gentlemanly and alluring man.  

Pairing: Fuegoleon Vermillion x f!reader

Type: Biker!AU mini series

Warnings: eventual smut, suggestive themes, sexual themes, otherwise general/angst/fluff at a canon typical level

Chapter length: ~1.3k

Tag list: @spark-gem @just-a-fuegoleon-fangirl​ @hybridanafrost​

Chapter 3: Fuegoleon Vermillion

All I can do, is stare at him.

Because this… I can’t believe it. Or, if I’m perfectly honest it did cross my mind that he could be lying about his identity on our date. Because not much is known about the CEO of the Lion King Enterprises. He seems… more of a concept than a person. So, if you had enough funds to feign being him, you could do it.

So, I still don’t really know who he is. Or what he is. Which is why I probably shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.

But. I can’t help it.

Because I certainly didn’t expect him, the man who wore a suit, talked business and had pleasant conversation about current affairs, to be the leader of a local motorcycle gang. It’s like night and day, and it just… seems like a start of a bad joke.

And he… he stares right back at me.

He’s holding his helmet, and his hair, of brilliant copper, still frames his exquisite face. His features, they are caressed by the shadows around, making him look as if he’s wrapped in a mystery I can’t resolve.

“Oh, good evening,” he greets, and I can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh, that sounds like half of a scoff.

He stays quiet, and so do I. Because… what is there to say? What possible explanation could he have? That he really is living the closest thing to a double life? That he is both a CEO and a biker gang leader? It sounds ludicrous.

“I didn’t recognize you,” he continues after the brief silence, and I raise my hand to my temple and let out another chuckle as I shake my head.

“So, why did you stop?” I can’t help but ask.

“Because you’re a lady walking home alone at night,” he explained. “You look like you could use a ride home,” he clarifies.

And he does sound sincere. His tone is laced with what feels like an apology. It’s soft and quiet, but firm enough to tell me that he is genuine in his offer. There are a lot of emotions in his tone, but none make me feel alarmed. Even if this whole situation probably should.

My eyes are to the side, one of my arms is wrapped around myself as the other covers my mouth. And I’m still shaking my head in disbelief.

“First I’d like to know who you are,” I tell him, because I really am not in the mood for this. I’m not too far from home, and though the offer is tempting, I could still very well just walk home.

He lets out a sigh, and his eyelids fall in a slow blink. “I have told you the truth. My name is Fuegoleon Vermillion, and I am the CEO of the Lion King Enterprises-“

“Then what is this supposed to be?” I ask and motion to his motorcycle.

And he pauses for a while, evaluating on what to reply. But the thing is that he can either tell the truth, or lie. And one of those options will yield a better outcome.

“And I am the leader of Crimson Lions.”

I let the hand on my temple lower down, and hits my thigh with a smack as I turn around. Shake my head again and sigh.

I think he’s telling me the truth. Not that anyone would believe me if I told them.

And he does seem sincere with his wish to help. He does. He really does.

So, I turn back to him.

“I don’t… really know what to say to that…” I admit. Because I really have no idea on what to tell him.

“I don’t expect you to necessarily say anything,” he tells me. “But you are free to decline the offer.” He moves his hands to the side, as if he was carrying something, but the motion carries through, and his hands are soon back together, holding his helmet.

My eyes fall to his bike. And the offer is tempting. It might be a foolish choice to make, but my intuition is telling me to trust him.

I want to trust him, and I know he’s not going to wait all night to hear my decision. So, I sigh again, for what must be the thousandth time this night alone, and I nod. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to take it up.”

“No, no,” he assures me. “It’s no trouble at all. Just… hop on, and tap my shoulders when you want me to take a turn. Right for right and left for left,” he says and gets onto the bike, putting on his helmet.

For a moment I’m happy about having worn pants today, but the thought is quickly subsided by the idea of my body being pressed against his. I’d be wrapping my arms around him, and trusting him to carry me home without a scratch. I’m trusting him not to fall over.

He starts the engine and turns his head to me. And I know that he’s waiting.

So, I take the few necessary steps closer and climb on.

“Hold onto me,” he instructs and I do as he tells me.

I press my body against his broad frame, and let myself slide closer to him. There’s a faint, floral scent coming through from his hair; the smell of lavender. But I don’t get to focus on it as he takes off.

The machine, the motorcycle, the roaring beast is purring between my legs, sending vibrations to my core, as I still am pressed against the man in front of me. And he feels warm, so very warm in comparison to the cold night air. So, warm and secure. Like I could just press my head against his back and let the scent of lavender carry me to sleep.

I almost forget to give him instructions. Almost. As if I’d just want him to keep driving. Just keep going. It’s almost like I’d want to keep feeling those vibrations, that roar and warmth spreading from underneath me, and I move along with every movement his body makes.

It feels so natural. It feels… like the journey is at its end too soon.

I tell him to turn as we reach my house, and he pulls to the driveway. The engine is still running, and he’s waiting for me to get off.

And… I do. But I don’t start walking to the house. Instead, I look at him. And he looks at me, even if I can’t see it.

There is a pause as we share a gaze, during which he can see my eyes, but I can’t see his.

Then he turns the engine off, and takes off his helmet again.

“I’d like to see you get inside your home, safe and sound,” he tells me.

I hesitate for a moment. Because there’s something I feel like offering to him. But I’m not sure if it’s the smart thing to do. Though, I suppose, agreeing on him dropping me off, wasn’t something that on paper would have seemed like a smart choice.

“Would you…” I begin, still evaluating the decision I’m making. “Like to come in for a nightcap?”

He blinks, and pauses, taking in the words, the sentence and the offer. And then he smiles. “No thank you. But… I appreciate the offer.”

I nod. And take a half of a step to turn around and towards my front door. “Well…” I still utter, supposedly against better judgement. “You have my number. So… feel free to give me a call.” And with that I just walk away. I walk to my door, giving him a last glance over my shoulder.

He’s again wearing his helmet, but… he’s waiting or me to get inside.

Safe and sound.

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart. 

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong. 

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends. 

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table. 

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided). 

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is. 

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you. 

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it. 

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it. 

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf. 

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open. 

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense. 

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood. 

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified.  How dares he?

What does this fucking mean? 

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that. 

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear. 

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you. 

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses. 

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone. 

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you. 

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet. 

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake. 

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot. 

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you. 

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one. 

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?” 

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt. 

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination. 

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious. 

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar. 

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“ 

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure. 

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes. 

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere. 

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands. 

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back. 

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment. 

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp. 

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him. 

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?” 

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense. 

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been. 

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!” 

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth. 

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed? 

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those. 

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming. 

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too. 

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it. 

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?” 

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.” 

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything. 

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it. 

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.” 

“Great. I don’t care.” 

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you. 

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”. 

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it. 

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia​ @btstrasht​ @jkbangtan7​ @taehugger​ @kaepjjangiya​ @daggerbeneathmygown​ @cuteipat​  @jinsalpaca​

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

[beskarhearts]

Sigil (Din Djarin x reader)

Connection series Pt. 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, super small mention of family members passing away, small mention of sex

Word count: a little over 3.8K

Summary: Din runs off in the middle of the night, leaving you very annoyed until he reveals why he left.

Notes: I hope you all enjoy this next part! Let me know what you think. I am also going to start a Tag List for this series so let me know if you would like to be a part of it!

Tag List: @ilikethoseodds @dindaddy​ @poguesvixen

Previous Part ____ Next Part

___________________________________

You are going to kill Din Djarin.

Okay. Maybe not kill him. That is a wee bit of an exaggeration. But you were definitely going to grill him once he got back from wherever he was.

First, Din had landed you on Navarro, avoiding all questions about why he was there and simply stating that he had “Mandalorian stuff” to do. You would like to think you knew Din pretty well at this point and while he was quiet and still getting used to having a person who cared about where he was going, “Mandalorian stuff” was vague, even for him.

You had tried pestering him about it with questions (”What is Mandalorian stuff?” “Are you part of a cult and that’s why I can’t know?” “Can the kid and I come?”) You hoped that would just annoy him and make him tell you what he was doing. But nope. 

So you guys had landed on Navarro that afternoon and you had expected Din to leave and do whatever secretive “Mandalorian stuff” he had to do. But he didn’t. He just sat around with you and the kid, and when you asked him why he wasn’t doing his stuff, he said it wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow.

Ready until tomorrow. What did that mean? Was this some new weapon? Or maybe new Mandalorian armor? You had no clue and you spent all day wondering about it. You weren’t a very patient person and the curiosity was killing you.

So instead of Din doing whatever he had to do, he had stayed inside the Crest with you and the kid. And that part was kind of nice. At one point, the both of you were sitting on the floor of the hull of the Crest, watching the child as he waddled around with a toy, babbling nonsense. You both were sat so close to each other and you just knew that if Din wasn’t wearing all the body armor, you’d feel his body heat and your skin would be touching his. You two had talked for hours about this or that. Not anything of much importance. Just silly little conversations.

“What’s your favorite food?” 

“Does it ever stink in that armor of yours?”

“Are you going to admit yet that I am your best friend?” (He had grumbled to that one and you couldn’t quite make out the words, but you took it as a yes.)

It had been like that for hours and it was so nice, so normal. Like you two weren’t always running away from something. Like you three were just a family.

But that thought, the thought of you three as a family, led you down a bit of a rabbit hole. You could safely say at this point that you and Din were friends. Very close friends in your opinion. You could easily say the closest friend you had ever had. And while you knew you were his friend, you still weren’t sure where you fit with him and the child sometimes. You knew him and the child shared a special bond and even though the man never referred to himself as the kids’ father, you knew deep down that he look at him as his son and would do anything to protect him. And that warmed your heart because you were sure love was a hard emotion for a man like him to feel or express, especially a man sworn to a creed that strips him of individuality and expression. But you knew without any doubts that he loved that little green creature with all his heart. And while the kid couldn’t speak, you could see how much he loved his father: the way he reached out for him, cooed when he entered the room, and how his big eyes looked up at him. The two of them were a clan. They were a family.

And in his clan of two, his family of two, you didn’t know where you fit exactly. You knew the child was fond of you. And you cared for the little guy deeply, knowing you’d do anything to protect him. You loved to talk to him when Din was busy, sharing little smiles and giggles that neither of you necessarily understood. You don’t know if the kid understood the concept of family, though you wouldn’t be surprised with how smart he was, but you would like to think he saw you as family. And you wouldn’t dare try to overstep your boundaries and refer to yourself at the kid’s mother or anything, but you felt this maternal bond with him. When you held him in your arms, you felt more connected to him than anybody else. Except Din.

Din was harder to read. You knew he cared for you. He had proven that time and time again. And some times the respect and compassion he showed you was overwhelming. You couldn’t think of anyone besides your family who had made you feel so seen, so safe, so... loved? But you had been wracking your brain over one thought lately, especially ever since yesterday evening when his fingers had danced along your skin. 

Was this just a friendship? Because if it were up to you, you’d consider the Mandalorian family. But you didn’t know where Din stood. What did he see you as? Because you hoped so badly he saw you the same. And maybe there was even a smaller part of you that you had stuffed away, that hoped maybe there a little more. That he had grown as fond of you as you had for him.

But right now you were not feeling very fond of the man of beskar and you were only thinking (and worrying) about where he was. 

He had said his “Mandalorian stuff” wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow, so he couldn’t be there. He hadn’t mentioned meeting anyone else or stopping somewhere, and even if he had, why would he do it in the middle of the night?  You had checked outside all around the ship and where you had landed. You checked the cockpit, thinking maybe he had decided to leave Navarro. You even checked the refresher, hoping he was taking a weird midnight shower. But you just felt yourself get more and more annoyed when he didn’t turn up anywhere.

The two of you didn’t live the type of lives where one of you could just disappear. He was a bounty hunter, one who probably had a few people who wouldn’t mind killing him. You also had a whole Empire who weren’t particularly fond of him after he took the child. And the Mandalorian and you had mostly confined yourselves to the ship since you joined, but you couldn’t imagine he would leave without telling you.

You paced around the tiny ship, wondering where to go from there. You could go into the city with the kid, but that was risky, and you were a way out from it, meaning if he came back while you were gone, you’d be putting him in the same position you were in. Serves you right, you thought. But he didn’t take the kid and you knew if he came back to ship and the kid wasn’t there, he’d probably kill anyone he saw until he got him back. Taking him into a city you didn’t know also wasn’t the greatest idea.

But you were lost. You didn’t know where you were really, where he was, how long he had even been gone for. Your mind was racing. Maybe he was meeting someone he knew here, like a friend. But why would he meet a friend in the middle of the night and not tell you? Unless it wasn’t a friend but a woman or companion of some sort. Oh Maker. Were Mandalorians even allowed to be in relationships? Or have... sex? 

Now that was not the right thing to think about because now you felt sick at the idea of Din’s hands, the hands that had touched your skin, touching someone else. 

Nope. Nope. Nope. You couldn’t think about that right now. So instead your mind moved on to something even worse. What if he was dead or had been attacked or something? You would of thought that you would hear something like that but you also thought the sound of the door opening would wake you up, but it didn’t. The only reason you had woken up was because the child started screaming. Usually Din slept with the kid close to him so he would deal with it, but when the kids screaming continued on and on, you knew something was wrong.

But then all your worries vanished and were replaced by annoyance and anger.

Nevermind, you decided, you were going to kill him.

The door to the Razor Crest lowered and you watched as the Mandalorian walked inside, his helmet looking directly at you. You stood completely still in the middle of the hull, feeling the anger radiate off your skin. And you hoped Din could feel it too. “You son of a bitch.” you hissed.

Din walked in, closing the hatch again, and then had the audacity to stare back at you and say nothing, with his cocky little hip jutted out like always. His visor stared straight back at you, like he hadn’t disappeared for who knows how long without telling you. “You are supposed to be asleep.” he said clearly through his mask, his voice deep and distorted.

You scoffed. “Din Djarin, you are unbelievable. So, it’s okay for you to run off in the middle of the night because I am supposed to be asleep?!” Your words echoed in the ship and you felt your heart racing. You were furious but you also felt relief at the sight of your Mandalorian back in the ship, back to the place you now called home.

“Calm down-”

“Ohhhh, buddy, do not tell me to calm down. For all I know, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere. Somebody could have been looking for the kid.” You watched as Din didn’t move an inch, his hip still cocked out and it wasn’t until then that you noticed a small pouch in his right hand. You waved your hand at it wildly. “Oh, sir, you better hope to the Maker that whatever is in the bag was so unbelievably worth it because I’m not even close to being done yelling at you. Is that the ‘Mandalorian stuff’ that wasn’t ready yet? Let me guess, it was magically ready in the middle of the night?”

“If I had told you I was leaving, you would have insisted on coming.” He said with a sigh escaping his lips. You imagined underneath the helmet, he was probably rolling his eyes at your dramatics. 

“Yes! If you had told me you had to leave the ship in the middle of the night, I would have come because I’m here for you! You wouldn’t let me leave on my own and I won’t let you either! ” You felt your heart clench at the idea of him by himself. You know he lived a whole life on his own before you came along. You know he was an incredibly skilled bounty hunter - the best as far as you were concerned. But if something had happened and your presence could have helped in anyway and you weren’t there… You don’t know how you would have lived with that plaguing you.

“Listen, I had to go get something and you couldn’t come with me, sweet one.” You got even more annoyed at the use of the nickname because it almost, almost made you melt. 

“Oh, don’t use that cute little nickname now.” You shook your head and pointed a finger at him. “What was it? Some super-secret Mando thing that I couldn’t possibly see because of your precious damn creed? Cause I am just a mere normal human and I couldn’t be exposed to something so-”

“Can you stop talking for a minute?” He interrupted roughly, annoyance dripping off his modulated words. You finally stopped talking, stiffening up as he walked towards you. “It was for you. I was going to give it to you in the morning, but since you are so eager to know, here.”

He tossed the pouch in your directions and you caught it in both hands. It was small but there was a little weight to it, more than you expected. You look down at the pouch, the strings of it drawn together so you couldn’t see the inside. You looked back up at Din as he stepped towards you a little more, his helmet angled down to look at your expression of shock you saw reflected in his visor. You felt the anger you had for him mere minutes ago dissipate and gaped up at him. “What is it?” you felt yourself stupidly mutter, even though the item was in your hand.

“It is a…” you heard Din pause as if searching for a word, until he finally settled on one, “gift.”

“You… you got me a gift?” Your chest filled with warmth at the idea that this man left in the middle of the night to go get you a gift to wake up to in the morning. You suddenly felt stupid for yelling at him (although he should have warned you). You hadn’t been given a gift in so long. You weren’t a material person and you assumed Din wasn’t either, so if he had gone out of his way for a gift, it must of been for a reason.

“If I knew a gift would make you stop talking, I would have gotten you way more by now.” A husky breath was let out, one you could tell was a laugh passing through the modulator.

The corner of your lips quirked in a lopsided small smile, but you playfully narrowed your eyes at Din, staring into his visor like they were a pair of eyes. “For your information, you would be so dreadfully bored if I stopped talking.” You heard a small hum through his helmet, not necessarily agreeing with your words but not arguing against them either. It was moments like these where you felt little connections form between you and Din. They were small but you know he didn’t experience moments like these with other people often, nor did you for that matter. “Is this the ‘Mandalorian stuff’ that wasn’t ready?”

“I couldn’t tell you that it was for you. Then you really wouldn’t have stopped asking me questions. You are very persistent.”

You let out a chuckle. “I know. It’s part of my charm.” You flashed a smile at him as he shook his head. You looked back down at the bag that was still clasped in your hands. You were happy about the gift, but it was also awkward. You haven’t been given a gift in so long. You didn’t really know what to do. 

You looked back up at your Mando and noticed he hadn’t moved, still looking down at you. He’s waiting for you to open it, idiot. You suddenly realized you had been standing with the bag in your hand for a while when you began to fumble your fingers to the strings, drawing the pouch open. You reached a couple fingers into the small opening and felt a rope of sorts. You latched onto it and pulled it out.

Your breath caught in your throat immediately as your fingers held the object up for you to see. It was a rope tied off in a loop, with a charm of shorts attached to the bottom. But it wasn’t just a charm, it was a sigil, identical to the one worn around the child’s neck. It was a horned creature, a kyrbe is what you recalled it being if you were right. It was a beautiful silver grey color that look eerily similar...

“It’s... is it beskar?” You gasped out, looking back up at the visor and seeing your own stupid, gawking expression looking back down on you.

“Um, yeah. I took a bit from my old armour and went to the armorer. She was able to make it for me...” his voice trailed off but he still looked down at you, standing in the same position. If he didn’t have the helmet on, his face would be so close. You’d probably feel his breath fan down on your face, you’d be able to reach up and touch his cheek...

“But, beskar is valuable. You could’ve used it for something important.” You were almost whispering at this point, looking back down at the necklace in your hand. You weren’t one for dresses or jewelry but the item had become one of your most prized possessions in a matter of seconds.

“I did.” was all the Mandalorian responded with. 

And with that, your heart melted. You looked up at your Mandalorian with pure adoration in your eyes. “Din, I...I don’t know what to say...”

“I just...umm...” If the moment weren’t so special, you’d want to chuckle at the mighty Mandalorian stumbling over his own words. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his do so. He was always so clear and direct. You heard a loud sigh escape his mouth and he dropped his hands from his hips to his side. “Listen, I don’t know much about family. I lost my parents when I was young and after that all I knew was the creed. But, you and the child... I think you are the closest thing to a family I’ve had. You mean a lot to me. ”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at his confession. You knew Din didn’t do this often. You don’t even know if he had done something like this for someone ever before, besides the child. You couldn’t see his face but you saw Din. You saw the human being he was behind the armor and the man he was. And he was such a good man. A kind, smart, caring man who did so much to make sure the child and you felt like you belonged.

“I gave the child a necklace like this because we were a clan of two. But, now we are a clan of three.” He didn’t need to explain the importance of that sentence to you. You knew immediately what it meant and that his clan, your clan, was a family. It was small but it was full of respect and... love.

“Din...I...” you looked at him standing before you and did the only thing you could think to do in the moment when any words you could think to say felt so dismal. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and yes you were met with cool beskar metal against your skin and clothes. You pressed your face against the beskar plate on his chest and closed your eyes, trying to commit the moment to memory so you could look back on it during dark times.

You almost worried for a second that you had stepped too far and ruined the moment, until you felt two arms wrap around your body. They were strong and wrapped around your back, pressing your body against him and you swear you could hear a small hitch in his breath through the modulator. In that moment, you stood in the middle of the small ship that had become your home, with your arms wrapped around the only person in the world who you’d learn to trust and open yourself to since your family passed away. 

You held on tightly to the man and he did the same. You had wondered what it was like to be held by him and now you knew. It was one of the best feelings you could think of. He was so strong and he felt like it. He felt like someone who could console you and who you could lean on.

“I absolutely love it.” You whispered it under your breath, not even sure if he heard it until you heard a small “good” whispered out by Din.

You eventually pulled away from Din, wishing you could stay hugging him but not wanting to make him uncomfortable. You looked back down to the necklace, rolling it in your hands when you noticed an etching on the back. “Cyar’ika?”

You looked back up at the helmet that still faced you. “Oh, I had her etch that. It means friend in Mando’a.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling confusion fill your mind. “I thought friend was burc’ya.”

“Since when do you know Mando’a?” You couldn’t tell if the words were said with sarcasm or with an air of discomfort.

“Sometimes I hear you talk to the kid in it. I like to listen to it...” you suddenly clam up, feeling your confession bring heat to your cheeks. “It just... sounds nice. I-I like the sound of it.”

You both fall silent, standing inches apart from each other and not saying a word. Nobody moves until you pull the necklace around your neck, not sure what else to do. You feel the cool metal against your chest, and it reminds you of the man standing before it. It makes you feel warm and fills you with a sense of belonging. Having it against your skin, close to your heart... it makes all the sense in the world to you.

Dins finger reached out slowly, grabbing the necklace real quick and you felt his fingers brush your chest. He held it in his hand, looking down at it, and let out a little hum. “It looks good.” 

He let it drop back down and you smiled up at him. “Who knew you had great taste in jewelry?” 

Another laugh escaped the man’s lips. “We should probably go to sleep now.”  You see the man of beskar turn, walking towards the refresher when your words suddenly stop him.

“Wait, you never answered my question. What does burc’ya mean then if cyar’ika is friend?” You feel so much confusion. You swear you heard Din say burc’ya once and when you asked him what it meant, he said friend. You don’t think you’ve ever heard cyar’ika before, the word seems foreign.

“We’ll talk about it later. Good night.” He turns again.

“But-”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Fine but you are telling me later. And it better not mean something like pain in my ass or ‘one who never shuts up’.” You quirk your eyebrows, letting out a small laugh at your joke.

Din let out another sigh. “Goodnight, sweet one.”

“Thank you, Din. I love it.” You say before he slips away, clutching the sigil in your palm.

You see the Mandalorian pause but he doesn’t turn back to look at you again. He just says “I’m glad” before disappearing into the refresher.

You looked back down at the sigil on your neck with a soft smile. It was so nice to feel a part of something. A part of a family. But it wasn’t just a family. It was Din. Your Din. 

This was man who made you feel things you hadn’t felt since you were a girl. A man who made your stomach flutter and your hands shake. A man who showed you gentleness and compassion. A man who gave you a warm feeling in your chest when you saw him.

And you realized something.

This must be what falling in love feels like.

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2   ||   chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage. 

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

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“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

 You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing. 

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more. 

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit. 

 On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him. 

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound. 

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide. 

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

 You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more. 

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you. 

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.” 

 Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control. 

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way. 

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him. 

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

 Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him. 

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink. 

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

 Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked. 

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right? 

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.) 

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)  

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?” 

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

 The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly. 

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye. 

Wonder what’s happening?

 Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks. 

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

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 Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity. 

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety. 

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists. 

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been. 

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around. 

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day. 

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.  

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head. 

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind. 

The view was still nice. 

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow. 

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop. 

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

 Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled. 

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable. 

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet. 

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?” 

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state. 

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky. 

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

 It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind. 

 “I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.” 

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars. 

 Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold. 

 You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

 “Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.” 

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him. 

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light. 

“You’re... not?” 

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

  Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

  Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die. 

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

 Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved. 

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks. 

He’s around because he wants to be. 

But not because you’re special to him. 

 His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you. 

 You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably  eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

 You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

 Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

 “Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes. 

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats. 

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it. 

 On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion. 

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything. 

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

 (The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

 Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

[bogkeep]

Hey! I'm the one who asked the poorly worded art process question. I'm here to give it another try by being more specific. The problem is . . . that's hard. Because that was about a specific as I can get, since I kind of want to know everything about how your art works.

Big things, like how you come up with ideas, or how you design characters. But small things, too, like what tools you use for drawing, how you balance between traditional and digital art, and how you decide what color to use for your unique and beautiful line art.

I want to be more specific so you can answer, but the question in my head is too vague and broad for me to be specific about it. So . . . here are some subquestions of my question, I guess! Maybe that helps?

Sorry this is so weird, and thank you, your art is amazing

first of all, thank you so much <3

and yes, this is far more answerable! i hope i can satiate some of your hunger for insight without writing a whole book.

HOW DO I COME UP WITH IDEAS?

this is obviously going to be very different for everyone. i very rarely have to dig for ideas or sit down and brainstorm, unless of course i am trying to achieve something very specific, like fulfill art contest criteria or working on a commission. my brain is very visually wired, so a lot of my ideas literally just pop up in my head (i know of several artists with aphantasia - some people don't have any visuals in their head at all and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE AND I AM IN AWE OF THESE ARTISTS), sometimes i see a character or character design and im like HNNNG i need to draw them, or i just... have a concept i really want to Exist and i'm going to figure out how.

my biggest problem is that often, when i get an idea i want to DRAW IT, NOW NOW NOWNOWNOW, and that's just Not Feasible. sometimes because i'm Literally In Bed, sometimes because i have too many things i need to do or draw first... but i need to clear up space in my head, because my Urge To Draw will be like, beeping and whirring until i satisfy it... so i write it down on my TO DRAW-list! it's a real list that exists on my phone and i have to use it frequently. if i keep scrolling down i start finding weird notes that i have NO idea are supposed to mean anymore, but that's fine. i can't satisfy every Art Urge. sometimes i need to let them pass.

HOW DO I DESIGN CHARACTERS?

this one might vary a bit, but it can often be boiled down to "i sketch around until i figure something that Works." many of my characters, especially my older characters, became characters by accident when i kept drawing them over and over and i was like Ah I Like Drawing You... You Exist Now. that's how sparrow spellcaster happened, at the very least. this could happen because i had school and i would focus in school by doodling/sketching while listening to class. since i no longer go to school, pretty much all of my new characters are far more intentional. Timian and Vinta specifically exist as a result of a "favourite character fusion" challenge, and a lot of iphimery characters started with a Purpose rather than just harnessing the vibe of something i drew multiple times without thinking.

it helps to write down elements or tropes i want to include, like "sturdy-looking" or "VILLAIN OF EVIL SCARY MAGICS but it's a little girl and the dark magic is bright lightning and not shadows" or something. it can vary from a tiny visual detail to their role in the story. whatever i want to Achieve. my Intent. because my brain works so visually, i just really need to sketch somethign repeatedly until i nail it and can be like Yes That's It.

sketchbooks look a little messy but that’s what they’re for.

WHAT TOOLS DO I USE

for digital art, i’m currently using an ipad pro and procreate. i use a lot of the brushes that came installed, like Mercury is my primary lineart brush, and Moorilla is my primary sketching brush, but i also buy a lot of custom brushes on the hunt for More Delicious Textures (DAUB has a lot of good ones, especially if you want some that imitate traditional art). i have also used Huion and XP-pen tablets and generally recommend them, as well as clip studio paint as an art program (i love it very much and if it wasn’t subscription-based on ipad i would still be using it).

for traditional art, mostly just whatever sketchbook i have + my trusty mechanical pencil. i mean i have two: one with softer lead (it comes out darker) and 0,7 mm thickness, and one that’s 0,5 and harder lead for more light sketching, or if i’m going to line it with ink.

i also have a trusty pentel brush pen that i love DEARLY and feel bad for not having used in a while for reasons i will get to.

when i work on calendar pieces traditionally, i like to draw lines with ink - i use a dip pen with exchangeable nibs - and then color with watercolors. i have several sets because they’re all slightly different and i want the Range.

i sometimes travel with a little sketchbook in my bag and an assortment of pens, so that i can sketch Anytime, Anywhere. i think doodling with a pen can be very useful because you gotta become comfortable with the mistakes and imperfections and keep going anyway. if i doodle at work that’s the tools i have -  regular ball pens and a bunch of paper lying around.

HOW DO I BALANCE BETWEEN DIGITAL AND TRADITIONAL ART?

currently, i... don’t, really. it was easier when i had school, and i would just doodle freely and then maybe use some of my sketches as thumbnails or concept ideas. it’s harder now that i need to intentionally sit down with my sketchbook, and tbh... the ipad works very well for sketching. it’s so CONVENIENT and i have WORK all the time and my time to create art has become much more limited than it was. i miss going to my weirdo art high school where we would try out a whole bunch of different tools and methods. sure, yes, i had to paint with Acrylics My Beloathed, but getting to play around in different mediums is VERY valuable.

i genuinely want to be able to make more time and space for non-digital art again, but i just don’t have the ability to right now. it’s also different now that i’ve moved away from my parent’s place - i used to have an enormous desk and my mother has a large collection of art tools and there was a lot more storage space for whatever i created. digital art is very convenient and very accessible. ah well!

HOW DO I DECIDE ON THE COLOR FOR MY LINEART?

i usually line in black or a very dark color, and when i’m done coloring + shading i might play around with the colors and see what works. if you lock the layer you can just throw all the spaghetti at the wall you want. i decide on whatever fits the piece. i tend to be pretty fast and loose about it too, sometimes you can probably spot parts of my lineart that have slightly mismatchy color, but it’s like... done is better than perfect! i don’t have the energy to overlook every single pixel of my piece or else i would drive myself utterly mad.

HOPE THIS ANSWERS ANYTHING AT ALL!! THANKS FOR ASKING!!!

[thegreymoon]

Hi, I'm reading 2ha currently but I've stopped atm because I'm at the part where it's explicitly stated that wanning fell in love with mo ran when moran was 15years old? Is it true? That wanning has had a crush on mo ran when mo ran was just 15 while wanning was 30+? Isn't it grooming then?

LOL, no offence, anon, but I had a little chuckle at the idea of CWN grooming anyone 😂 He is just not capable!

OBLIGATORY WARNING: SPOILERS!!! 

The fact is, this book has a list of warnings as long as my arm that includes all kinds of obscenities, including mutilating and cannibalizing children, treason, torture, murder, genocide, sexual slavery and all flavours of non-con and rape. There are plenty of legitimate reasons to be uncomfortable and not touch it with a ten-foot pole, however, grooming is not one of them. 

When the mentions of this novel first crossed my dash, I checked out the summary and was immediately put off by it being a teacher/student relationship, which is a particularly squicky power imbalance for me and something I usually can’t click out of fast enough. However, when I actually sat down to read it, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that 2ha actually subverted the power dynamics. 

First of all, grooming implies a predatory intent. It involves manipulating a minor into entering a sexual relationship. All key elements that would make it grooming are missing in this case. CWN has no predatory intent (or any intent, for that matter, unless it is to protect Mo Ran, teach him well and watch him prosper), he is incapable of manipulation and, honestly, sex does not really occur to him as more than a vague theoretical concept and something he knows other people practice, but which is certainly not a possibility for him. 

In addition, in the context of the society that they live in, the taboo of their relationship is not the age gap, but the fact that they are master and disciple, which, again, makes all the sense to me, because of the inherent power imbalance between a teacher and a student, and the sacred obligation they both have towards each other (but especially CWN towards Mo Ran). 

Another important thing: loving someone, and even finding them sexually attractive, is not inherently predatory. Acting on it is. There is a reason why the “But he wanted it!!” and “We’re in love!!” line of defence is laughable and gross in the context of large power imbalances, be it age gaps or teacher/student relationships. No matter how horny the teenager is, as an adult, it is your responsibility to make sure that no lines are crossed, and CWN absolutely maintains that boundary. Before the time skip, there is not a single instance of sexual contact between them that was not initiated (or forced upon CWN) by Mo Ran.

When it comes to CWN’s feelings towards Mo Ran, yes, they are soft, and yes, they are deep, and yes, even idealistically romantic, but everything about them is just so... innocent. All it ever amounts to is, ‘If I had a better temper, and if I was more beautiful, or if I was not so old, then maybe I could hope he could love me!’ But he never ever acts upon it. He does not think it is even an option for him. In fact, the book makes a point of underlining that he makes sure not to burden Mo Ran with his feelings. 

There is absolutely no grooming going on here, CWN keeps his love well hidden, to the point that for the longest time, Mo Ran thinks he does not even like him. In addition, CWN is ashamed of his feelings. He is well aware of the master/disciple taboo, he thinks his feelings are dirty and inappropriate and he does his absolute best to suppress them, to the point where these thoughts don’t even get the chance to fully form before he squashes them. 

Another important thing to mention here is that CWN was was raised by a monk and that his cultivation path was one of abstinence. Left to his own devices, sex with Mo Ran (or anyone else, for that matter) would never have happened. Another sad aspect of this whole thing is that CWN is utterly inexperienced, he has no idea how sex between men is even supposed to work, until Taxian-jun gets a hold of him. In his second life, the only reason he has any sexual thoughts at all is because of his explicit dreams involving adult!Mo Ran, which are not really dreams, but memories of a very thorough sexual education forced upon him by Taxian-jun. It is also important to note that CWN is very ashamed of what he thinks is a product of his own dirty mind and that he takes extra measures to make sure that he maintains an appropriate distance between himself and Mo Ran. 

I think it is no coincidence that CWN’s sexual attraction towards Mo Ran comes to the forefront after the time-skip. It is pretty clear that CWN is suddenly all hot and bothered and cannot control his boners only after Mo Ran has fully grown into an adult. It is obvious that he gets hard for the adult man in a way he never did for the boy. Another important aspect of the time-skip is that a lot of Mo Ran’s character growth and maturing (mental and emotional) takes place during this time, apart from Chu Wanning, which creates this huge dissonance in CWN’s brain and also eliminates the inevitable squickiness that would have resulted from him lusting after someone that he personally raised to adulthood.  

And all this is without even getting into what TXJ did to him when he captured him. CWN was so unwilling, it took a lot of time and extended torture before TXJ forced him to cooperate in bed. Even Mo Ran 1.0 was extremely predatory towards CWN, though he did eventually grow himself a moral compass after the time skip, and though the instincts to just hold CWN down and take him were still there, he had learned the importance of consent. When it comes to their sexual relationship, there is not a single moment where Mo Ran was not the one pulling all the strings. 

Anyway, TL;DR Chu Wanning never did a single thing wrong in his entire life. 

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 8: Change of Heart

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4550

Warnings: None

A/N: As always comments and feedback are appreciated! I hope you all are still enjoying the fic so far!

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Diavolo’s face was a welcoming sight to Solomon that morning as he left his room. He beamed the moment their eyes met and crossed the room in order to meet him. “Good morning! I trust you slept well last night?” his booming voice was almost too loud for Solomon, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“As well as a scholar can, yes.”

Well, books hadn’t been the only thing keeping him up last night. His dreams hadn't been too terribly helpful. If only he could have a little peace of mind while he slept. Maybe he’d crash tonight after his little outing. Asmo was rather high energy and Solomon had no doubt that he’d most likely be worn upon their return. Maybe he’d even sleep for a day. That would be rather nice the more he thought about it.

Diavolo nodded, “I will admit, it took me a while to get used to things here as well. It’s easy to become homesick, but Lucifer and I take visits back home every now and again. I promise it will get easier.”

“Were they all as welcoming to you as they are to me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t here with the late king,” Diavolo shook his head, “Or maybe he would have liked you a little better than me. You aren’t the one who wanted to marry Lucifer.” That’s right, neither Azazel nor his brother had wanted Diavolo to marry the crown prince. From what he could gather, it sounded like Azazel still wasn’t fond of the union. “The point is, it takes them a while to warm up to people, but they will soon enough.”

Hopefully. Solomon seemed to be making way with the family, so he could only assume they’d start to like him soon even if just a little bit.

“In any case, how have things been with Asmodeus?”

Ah.

Oh.

“I know he was excited by the fact that you took the whole ‘Lilith’ thing well, a little melodramatic, but still happy,” Diavolo continued, “He’s been talking about how his eventual wedding would be the ball of the century ever since Lucifer and I got married.”

Solomon hadn’t even talked to him about the wedding. He’d been so caught up in learning about Arcadia that the wedding seemed more like a concept to him than an actual event that would occur soon. When was the coronation? How much time did he have left? Why had it not been more focused on his radar? Now that he thought about it more, he didn’t have a single clue about what any of his wedding plans were going to be. What food were they preparing? What times was everything occurring at? What was he supposed to wear? Were people going to witness their union? They were only a few of a long list of questions that Solomon should have known the answers to, and yet he didn’t.

It seemed like whenever Solomon solved one problem, another one arose. For whatever reason, it never occurred to him that their union would be a big event. Lucifer's would have been since he was the crown prince, but his? A small ceremony to seal them together would have sufficed. Did it really need to be big?

"He certainly has been dreaming for a while now hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Diavolo nodded, “He has rather vivid dreams, they’re not always big in the grand scheme of things, but they’re very specific.”

So that probably meant that Asmo was hellbent on what he’d said to him last night. No matter how he tried to change the direction of his thoughts they always came back to the outing he was supposed to have today. Solomon knew love couldn’t be forced and that love was a rare thing to occur within an arranged marriage, but would Asmodeus accept that? Surely he had to know this small fact. Perhaps he was just in denial.

But why?

Why not just accept what life had given to them and be excited for the opportunities that it could provide?

“Has he talked to you about it?” Diavolo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“His ideas. Surely you’ve heard some of them.

Solomon's blank expression must have said all that Diavolo needed to know. His face fell slightly. Solomon couldn't read the expression well. At first he thought that perhaps it was confusion. Disappointment? He couldn't place his finger on it. What he did know was that it made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Oh. I see," the pause between them was only a second too long, "You should spend more time with him. He's a kind person. Just a little-”

“High energy?” Solomon finished. Kind? Well if him ensuring Solomon that he’d fall head over heels for him was considered kind, Solomon would agree. This was the first positive thing he’d heard about his fiance the moment he’d stepped onto the grounds. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really hadn’t heard too many good things about Asmo, only the things that he couldn’t do quite right. What could be the truth?

“Well yes, but I may have a soft spot for him,” Diavolo continued, “He was one of the few who made me feel welcomed here. ‘Anything for my big brother’s husband’ he’d say. We spent a lot of time chatting and sometimes he’d offer to take me to various places in Arcadia. All when Lucifer was busy of course.”

Maybe he had been a bit more well behaved because Diavolo was more than willing to spend time with him. Solomon was a busy man, he had research to do among other things. He couldn’t just drop his research at any time. Nonetheless, he could still contribute to the conversation. “Forgive me for saying so, but I find that a little hard to believe. Only because you seem to have a soft spot for most people you come into contact with.”

There was that booming laugh.

“Am I truly that easy to read?”

“Only a little.”

Diavolo was a genuine man. Solomon had to wonder if he had some sort of magic of his own to cause people to loosen up around him, or was he just that charismatic? Either way it made his marriage to Lucifer feel even stranger to him. How could there possibly be anything there deeper than the arrangement? Then again, according to Azazel, Diavolo seemed to have more of an influence of the crown prince.

What allowed someone to become that close?

Well, Simeon had some influence over his own decisions, but their relationship was different. Solomon would have had to been naive to think the two were equivalent. Diavolo and Lucifer had something beyond a close friendship and Solomon could see it even if he was rather confused by it.

“I think Lucifer might be your favorite person though,” he wanted to see what he said. He wanted to see how Diavolo talked about Lucifer. In a way, it was a roundabout way of him wanting to know more about the elusive eldest.

Diavolo seemed to melt right before him, his eyes turned gooey and warm and his body relaxed. “Perhaps, he’s a wonderful man and stunningly beautiful. The most ethereal being I’ve ever seen, sometimes I doubt that he’s human,” he sighed, “He’s intelligent too and an absolutely capable ruler.”

“You admire him.”

“I love him,” Diavolo corrected, “I’d do anything for him, I’d give my own life for him.”

Solomon didn’t know why those words threw him off. Giving up your life. Would Solomon do that for anyone? He wasn’t sure. He had people that he wanted to protect, yes. But giving up his own life? Thinking about that wasn’t something he wanted to do at the moment or later. It was a morbid concept.

“Asmo is quite smitten with you,” Solomon was vaguely aware that Diavolo was still talking, “He was completely fine when he left, but when he came back he was spellbound. I think it was good for him to have a little joy.”

It was easy to forget that the family was dealing with two deaths: the King and their sister. There had also been supposed assasination attempts. How much tragedy followed the family around?

It didn’t mean that he was going to give in to Asmodeus’ every demand, but he would try to keep those things in mind.

“It feels good to see him lively again, he was so anxious when it came to pretending, I know I was relieved that you took it all well.”

“I’m happy he’s not anxious anymore as well, I was worried I was doing something wrong. I’m glad to know that that wasn’t the case.”

Diavolo’s hand grabbed the handle to the door to the caverns as he turned back to Solomon, “We should talk more, I heard you’re going to have an outing today and I’d love to hear more.”

***

“Will you ever be on time for any meal?” Asmo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe one day,” Solomon hummed, taking a seat, “But I did show up.”

“If you showed up early we could spend a little time together before everyone else got here.”

Solomon noticed that Asmodeus wasn’t looking at him. Following his gaze, Solomon saw that he was staring at Lucifer and Diavolo. Diavolo had his hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. He leaned down close to his ear and said something that made Lucifer smile ever so slightly and chuckle. He mouthed the word sit, and Diavolo took his place next to him. It was incredibly tender. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but Asmo’s fingers gripped at the table.

“I might be able to come sooner if someone wouldn’t mind teaching me how to navigate the castle.”

He noticed Asmodeus nod slowly, but he didn’t look towards him. What had gotten into him? What about Lucifer and Diavolo had him so fixated? Unfortunately his little novice charm didn’t give him all of those answers. Did he dare reach up to see what he was feeling? It could give him an idea of how to steer the conversations.

His hand wandered towards his chest. But before his fingertips could brush against the pendant, Diavolo’s butler entered the room. “Breakfast will be out shortly, but I do have tea ready.”

Barbatos started at the head of the table, pouring tea for each member and setting out small biscuits. When had been the last time he came to breakfast? He came to other meals sure, but most of the time Simeon brought it back to him as he often slept through it.

“Welcome your majesty,” Barbatos said, pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, “It’s lovely to have you join us this morning.”

“Oh thank you.”

“Your scribe seemed to be getting tired of you missing meals.” Wasn’t he the bold one? “Anything in your tea?”

“No thank you.”

Barbatos nodded and moved on to Asmodeus.

“No cream or anything? Really?” Asmodeus leaned over to look at his cup.

“Really. I stay up rather late, and sugar makes you crash.”

“Then what about sugar rushes?”

“It’s a temporary rush. It won’t last in the long run.”

Lucifer had taken his tea black as well, so why was it so intriguing to Asmo that he might drink his own in a similar fashion? It was almost like it was some sort of secret or big surprise to his fiance.

“You really are a serious guy aren’t you.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean you no longer want to go out?”

“No!” Asmo jumped in quickly, eyes going wide, “No we’re still going out. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

“I didn’t suspect that I would, You seemed rather determined.”

“Well good! You shouldn’t think that you could get away.”

Solomon snorted. He looked around the table to each of the members. Levi wasn’t fighting with Mammon like they’d been on the first day he got here. While the two of them weren’t talking, they seemed to be getting along better. Satan was focused on a book from his library, one that he’d have to remember to ask him about later. The twins sat silently. Well, Beel sat silently, Belphegor was asleep. Solomon also noticed that unlike the rest of his siblings, he was dressed in black. Had he been dressed in mourning attire when he arrived?

“Husband!” Asmo sang waving his hand in front of his face, “You should be paying attention to meee.”

“He ain’t your husband yet Asmo,” Mammon chuckled, before Solomon could even get a word in, “And he won’t be if you scare him away.”

“I won’t scare him away!”

A few of the other brothers snickered from around the table as Belphie opened one of his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, “When you met him you weren’t you.”

Solomon heard a bit of an edge to his voice. It wasn’t playful like Mammon’s had been.

“Enough,” Lucifer held up his hand, “It’s too early for this. We’re going to have a nice breakfast as a family or else I’ll banish you from Arcadia.”

“Aw come on Luci, you wouldn’t banish your baby brother would ya?” Mammon asked, leaning a little closer and batting his lashes.

Lucifer only narrowed his eyes, “Don’t test me.”

***

“Mammon runs the treasury, Levi is the head of the navy, Satan holds the records, and the twins split agriculture. Belphie takes care of the animals when it comes to stuff like milk and eggs and Beel takes care of crops and beef,” Asmo had been talking the entire ride down to his sector. He counted off each one of his siblings on his fingers as he named them off. He’d chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder with Solomon instead of across from him. Not that he was surprised. Asmodeus was rather clingy. “Lucifer as the head stays in the center and oversees all of Arcadia. He wasn’t always the welcome committee, but he had to take over. Luckily he has Diavolo for that now.”

Solomon shifted trying to give himself more room only for Asmo to follow him, “And what do you do?”

Asmo grinned, “Oh showing interest? Well, if you must know, my district takes care of little self care items. Lotions, perfumes, flowers, pretty things. Honestly mine is the best. Sure the other things are important I suppose, but what is life without beauty? My district is the most beautiful and therefore it's the best.”

Well, that seemed a bit shallow. Was looks the only thing he really cared about? All of the other things he had listed were equally important. How could he undermine them for the sake of his own? Every element came together to make a community. No one aspect held everything together alone.

“You’re going to love it. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you here sooner! Well I kind of can, after all I wouldn’t have been able to if- Well, you know.”

The carriage stopped and Asmodeus immediately seemed to perk up. The carriage bounced with him as he waited for the chauffeur. As soon as the door opened, he took Solomon’s hand and walked the two of them out. The first thing he noticed was a few timid townsfolk peeking out from behind their doors or windows or even stared from their stands.They seemed fixed on Asmo. Of course Solomon remembered that many of them most likely stayed hidden or on a low profile because of the death of the king along with the threats. It was nice to see some other life around. A royal being around probably put them at a higher risk.

“Hello my adoring darlings!” Asmo sang, “I’ve decided to treat you all with a visit today, and I’ve brought my soon to be husband to see all of you! Make sure you show him just how wonderful you all are!”

Solomon caught the sweet scent he usually associated with Asmo wafting from one of the shops. So, they did come from here. How frequently did Asmo visit? Slowly people emerged from their houses and stands and continued to go about their days. Asmo grinned at him and took his hand.

“Come on, I want to show you around.”

Asmo spent most of the time talking about himself. Asking if Solomon thought he looked pretty, if his town was the best one he'd ever seen. That was the last thing he really remembered as he started to tune Asmo out at that point. There was so much he could take of this man just talking about himself. He figured that he might learn something about his fiance, but it turns out he was wrong. Did Asmo seriously think that this would get Solomon to like him? He knew what Diavolo had said, but still.

Was he really that nice?

Or was he more like what he'd heard Azazel describe?

Whatever the case, he was trying too hard to impress him.

Asmo led him towards the center of the square and turned to face Solomon, “If I can get some musicians together, would you like to dance with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the best dancer,” he could at social events if he had to, but it wasn’t something that he would do in his free time. The idea of there being a possible audience also made him nervous. He stepped back and looked around, "Perhaps another time."

Asmo's face fell slightly, but he let Solomon step back. It almost seemed as if he was trying to think about what to say to convince Solomon to change his mind.

"I think I'd like to meet some of your people and to look at the products they create," Solomon continued, taking note of the plant life around him. Each of them seemed to have some sort of pink tint to them. At least the color themes seemed consistent.

"Of course."

The people were seemed rather intimidated by him. Not that he blamed him. He was an outsider king and a rather prominent figure at that. He was going to marry their prince. He took notes as they wandered. After all, he was going to have a say when it came to this place, he should know more about it.

Asmo’s chattering eventually dulled with each increasingly listless response Solomon gave and he scribbled away in his notes. Perhaps he finally understood that Solomon needed to focus, that he needed quiet if he was going to make any progress in his studies. He paused in his strides when he came to a patch of flowers surrounded by tiny metal arches.

They smelled impossibly sweet, almost as sweet as Asmo's perfumes. What were they? They weren't anything that Solomon was familiar with. He was certain they didn’t have them back at home. This was something he could ask his fiance about. It was only when he turned to ask him did he realize that Asmo wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen actually.

His eyes glanced around the area. Surely he couldn’t have gone that far? Was he really that upset by the fact that Solomon wouldn’t dance with him?

He plucked one of the flowers and started to try to retrace his steps to find his fiance. This was supposed to be a date between the two of them. Of course he would lose his fiance here. Of course his fiance would run out without telling him. Of course. Of course it had to be this way. Of course his fiance couldn’t have been reasonable. Of course-

There were children laughing.

Children?

“You’re doing so well!” his fiance was standing among them, engaging in their little games. This was a different side of him. They were all in a little circle with their hands linked. Sometimes the children would break the chain and run around before finding new spots.

He wasn't striving to impress them, perhaps because they were children (and easy to impress).

He's a kind person.

Diavolo had said he was kind. Solomon had been skeptical. The more he watched, the more he realized that perhaps he’d been wrong. He’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he hadn’t been as level headed as he thought.

Watching him laugh and play with the little ones was certainly an experience all on it’s own. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Solomon also had another realization.

Asmo had a different type of worry plaguing his mind. He’d been nervous that Solomon would reject him because he wasn’t Lilith sure, but after he’d been worried that Solomon wouldn’t be impressed with him. His worries transformed and were presenting themselves through a different outlet. Solomon hadn’t been paying attention because Asmo was smitten with him, which was the minimum that he needed.

He could be good to him.

He could be kind to him.

It seemed like Solomon hadn’t been doing the best job at doing those things the more he dwelled on it. To put it frankly, he’d been ignorant. Solomon couldn’t even say that he wasn’t completely unaware of how he’d been acting. He hadn’t been terrible to Asmodeus, but he certainly hadn’t been good or kind either. He could have been better.

One of the kids must have tripped or something, because the next thing Solomon knew he heard sobbing.

“Oh darling, it’s alright, hush now. It’s only a scrape,” Asmo’s voice carried to Solomon’s ears. It was soothing, it felt safe. It lit something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Whatever it was, Solomon knew he enjoyed it. His voice alone could convince the tension to leave his body and place his mind at ease. It felt like if Asmo said it was alright then everything had to be alright. Slowly the sobs settled and the child buried their head into Asmo’s shoulder. Slender fingers ran through their hair in an attempt to sooth them.

Solomon realized that this was a third face he had never seen from his fiance before. How many more could he possibly have? What more did Solomon have left to discover?

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. No thought ran through him, only an action that he chastised himself for.

Asmo jumped ever so slightly and turned to face him. He seemed surprised to see Solomon there, more surprised than Solomon thought he should be. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked.

“Your reaction to the rabbits.”

“Ah well,” Asmo laughed slightly, “You still thought I was someone else then, and I’m not exactly capable of giving you children in that sense. I do love the little ones though, they’re the cutest little things.” Asmo poked the child’s nose earning a soft little giggle, “Aren’t you all?”

He stopped for a moment, scrunching up his brow before turning to Solomon, “What brought you here? You seemed… busy in your own little world.”

Oh, so he’d been ignoring him, and unfortunately Solomon knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been aware of this. He was just more aware of it than he’d like to be at the moment.

He cleared his throat before holding up the flower, “I had been curious about some of your plants and wanted to ask you a few questions, but I see that you’re busy right now.”

Solomon glanced at the rest of the children standing behind him and thought. He was curious about the game, and he hadn’t been giving his fiance much mind as of late. “Would you mind if I watched your game?”he asked.

It was fun to watch them play. The way the children interacted with the fifth prince was adorable to say the least. At some point, they’d managed to talk Solomon into playing. There was no better way to learn than to participate. He wasn’t great at it, but the children seemed to enjoy him fumbling about squealing with absolute delight. Asmo had even joined in, and oh Solomon had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his laugh.

When it came time for the children to return to their families for lunch, Asmo led him into town to meet more of the locals. They showed him their wears and how they went about making their soothing lotions and sweet perfumes. To his surprise a few of them had also been magic users. They didn’t have strong magic, but it did help with relaxation, recreation, and with what plants the little town did have. In other words, it seemed like it could also be utilized for healing in the form of muscle relaxants or even helping in the production of certain medicines.

They all also seemed to enjoy Asmo.

This hadn’t been what he thought it would be at all. In fact, Solomon was enjoying their little date. Watching Asmo interact with the people of his sector was certainly more enjoyable than him trying too hard to impress him. Solomon liked this side of Asmo. He was relaxed and his eyes were soft and tender. There was a beauty about him that was being reflected outward.

For the first time, Solomon truly felt like he was getting a glance at his soul.

“Your majesty?” a young woman approached Asmo, violin in her hand, “Would you like music?”

Solomon wasn’t sure what possessed him to look up in that moment, but he realized how many eyes were on them. No. How many eyes were on him. Then he remembered. Asmo would be giving up his position in marrying him. That meant that Solomon would now have say over anything that happened. For the first time what that really meant hit Solomon. Asmo would no longer have control over his sector, and his people were worried. They didn’t know anything about Solomon, and neither did Asmo.

He wanted him to love him.

He wanted him to respect him.

Asmo was just as scared, and Solomon had been stupid enough to miss it all.

“On any other day that would be lovely my dear, but I’m afraid my-”

“You mentioned wanting to dance earlier,” Solomon cut in, bowing ever so slightly, “Consider this my apology for being so rude and ignoring you.”

Joy radiated from the prince. Solomon could feel his warmth buzzing all around them as they headed back to the center of town.

This didn’t mean Solomon was in love.

But this did mean that he was going to try harder.

He was going to give the prince what he deserved and show him that he didn’t need to worry.

Solomon would take care of things.

The music started up, the woman with the violin leading in a few other instruments as they joined hands. Solomon wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter to Asmodeus. It was such a simple want.

Ah. Yet how quickly a fairytale-esque picture can shatter.

Solomon didn’t even register hearing the whistle of the arrow as he pulled Asmodeus in close and it scraped his sleeve, barely missing his fiance.