#fic series: petals for armor

[saradika]

— JUST A TASTE

[bleed for me masterlist] | [fic preview]

vampire!boba fett x f!reader

rated e - 8k

tags: vampire!au, blood/blood drinking, vampirism, longing and pining, biting, masturbation, chosen mates (instead of fated mates), teasing, fingering, brief edging, mind-meld, implied aphrodisiacs, piv, marking

a/n: I thought it would be fun to write a halloween one-shot for Boba, in the same world as bleed for me. This is with a different Reader, so there are some references to the series, but you don't have to read to enjoy!

When Fennec Shand appears in town with her new red eyes, everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before the Daimyo will be seeking a new Companion.

Luckily, you think you know just how to make sure he picks you.

Heat still lingers in your neck, your cheeks, as you slip from your tiny cottage to rush to the town square.

Cursing yourself for almost being late to the ceremony - a long table already in place within the old tavern, moved to the middle of the room. The old wood and stone ceiling blocking out the setting sun, making it safe.

He’s there. Your eyes find him right away - all that green against the shades of brown and grey.

The Daimyo.

Positioned at the head of the table, that helmet fixed in place. Looking like a ruler with the way he sits - so strong and straight-backed in the velvet chair, brought out just for him. It sends a shiver up your spine as you slip to the back, to give your own offering.

A small goblet, brought from home. The carvings in the wood smooth, burnished from the press of your fingers over the years. Curving petals worn down at the edges - traced over with your thumb, again and again.

It’s dull, next to all the gold and glass. The candles glinting off the gifts that line the long table - an ache still throbbing in the crook of your elbow, as yours joins the flight of others.

It's warm, in the tavern. Fuller than you've ever seen - bodies packed together. Your back presses against the thick wooden wall, standing on tip-toe to see over the pair in front of you.

Wanting to watch when that helmet lifts.

The tanned skin beneath, those red eyes that flicker in the candlelight. It's a rarity to see him this bare. Something precious that you tuck away, as your eyes rove over every detail.

You think he must be starving, from the dark shadows under his eyes. You can count back two months as to when Lady Shand had stopped walking through the marketplace in the day. Appearing again in her oil-blackened armor - a new, deadly quiet about her.

Everyone had known she would turn.

It had only been a matter of time.

Secrets were hard to keep, in a town as small as this.

You still had some. Others had theirs. Most you did not care about, but when it came to the coven of vampires, in their looming castle at the top of the tall hill - it had always been a fascination.

How beautiful - how benevolent - they are.

A hush settles over the crowd, as the first cup is lifted. Restraint shown in the tip of the glass, the single bobbing swallow of his throat as he drinks.

He could gorge. He could swallow every drop, but there's a carefulness in the way he moves.

Continuing the old tradition of the town - one that the Mand'alor had not followed. But after hearing of his searching - the path that had been so set for him - none of you could begrudge his choice.

The first goblet is placed back down.

His methods are unknown - he had arrived at the castle with Lady Shand by his side, already his Companion.

Would taste from each one?

Or stop, if one is pleasing to him?

Your odds are not in your favor, with the amount of offerings. Nothing stands out about your goblet - you had no gold, no bronze. Only an heirloom and yourself.

Fifth from the end, of a line of people who all had their own reasons to want to uproot their lives. Fortune. Pleasure. Running to something, or running from.

But did any of them see him for who he was? Like you did?

You don’t really care that he was a Daimyo, not really.

He could be anyone - a lesser lord. A commoner, like yourself.

Your wishes would stay the same.

It was what he had done, that had made Boba Fett a fixture in your mind.

To him, perhaps it had been a small thing.

Not worth remembering, in the life of someone who has lived for so long, with such experiences. Barely a blip, compared to the stories you'd heard.

Bounty Hunting and Rancors and Sarlaacs.

But to you, it had meant everything.

He had saved you.

Not in such a way as the Mand'alor had done for his Queen. That sort of saving would be written in song or word, someday, with the way the story was whispered in the streets.

There had been no witches, no fated meetings. No burned towns for Lord Fett to pull you from, to whisk you away to safety. No enemies torn apart, in revenge.

But it had been no less chivalrous.

It had been early in the day, and luckily so. Mid-morning and he would not have been out, not with what he was.

A few weeks into Spring, when your little stall in the market should have been blooming with your home-grown flowers, baskets of vegetables from your leased garden.

A late frost and a family of hungry rabbits had you far behind. On goods to sell and your payment for your use of the space. The few coins you had from the week before clutched in your fist as Lord Gorian Shard had loomed over you, demanding more than what you could spare.

Cutting down your promises to pay him back, if you could just have another week - a day, even. Deaf to your pleas.

You knew what you owed, but it hadn't been fair. Everyone knew he charged far too much for his stalls. But you had been desperate then, almost as much as you had been now.

A shadow had loomed, as every last silver and copper had been shaken from your coin purse. Tucked away into deep pockets, the pitiful amount added to what he already carried.

"Is there an issue here, Shard?"

The voice had cut through the morning haze was one you thought of often, the low timber. Slicing, like a knife.

You're sure you looked pathetic. Shard's hand gripping your forearm, pinching. The half-filled stall, the dust covering your tunic - swiped across your forehead from the back of your hand, while setting up.

But, the grip had loosened. And for the first time, the Merchant had lost some of his aloof, elitist air. A flash of worry crossing his features, as a Mandalorian had approached from the shadows.

His face had been covered, since dawn had broken - but there had been no mistaking him.

Boba Fett.

"No issue, my lord." Gorian Shard had smiled, his voice changing from the sharp tone he had used with you, "Just business, I assure you. Far too small for someone as busy as yourself, I'm sure."

There was a rough buzz from the helmet, the sound of a hum.

"How much more is owed?"

It became clear he had been listening. You hadn't looked to the shadows, and your heart had sunk. Embarrassment creeping around you, tightening like vines around your ribs.

“Fifty more gold." Shard had sniffed, making a show of checking his pockets.

Another hum, "A little early to be collecting payments, isn't? The quarter isn't for another month."

Shard had frowned, "I collect monthly, thank you."

Silence lingered then, for a moment too long. That worn green helmet flicked you way - your eyes only able to hold it for a moment, before they dropped. Examining the worn toes of your boots, wondering what he must think of you.

"Give us a moment."

You had thought he meant you - getting ready to step away, to give them some space.

Not expecting the helmet to snap towards the Merchant, as another order was growled out, "Did you not hear me, Shard?"

He had been too happy to oblige, quickly finding another debtor three stalls over.

You had also not expected the soft pouch of leather to be held out, pressed into your hands from Lord Fett's own belt.

Far heavier than your own, and you had immediately found the strength to meet his gaze again - to hand the gift back.

"I can't accept this." You had protested, "It is far too much, I can't pay this back."

He had considered you, for a long moment. You had wished you could see his face - your own reflected back at you. Pinched and worried and tired.

Pivoting gracefully, as he turned to look at your stall, "If you will not accept my help, then I wish to purchase your stock. Everything you have."

It's an out, for you. Another gift, a way to accept with what little dignity you had left intact.

Even if you were both aware that he had no use for your ware. That vampires did not dine on the food of humans. That the kitchens within the castle were already stocked with the finest goods available.

The gold had been offered, again. His voice low - almost gentle.

"Please do me this honor, my lady."

This bit of kindness, his voice, his honorifics - as if your presence had meant something, as if he truly considered this a favor to him - had stunned you. Enough that you had allowed him to press the pouch into your hand.

Enough that you had allowed the woman that had stepped to his side to pack up the flowers, the vegetables. Every single piece until your stall was as empty as it was, when you had arrived that morning.

Shard had watched, with narrowed eyes.

But - your debt had been paid. This month, and then the next. And then the next.

You began to look forward to his visits. Not for the gold, of course, but for him. The snippets of conversation - the solemn way he checked on you, the low timbre of his voice.

“Have you been treated well?”

“Is this enough?”

You’re sure you had looked foolish. Ankles crossing as you leaned across the booth. Trying to hide your smile but failing, as you protested. A game, you had played.

Always the same questions, the same answers.

“I can’t stop you from buying my wares… but I don’t want a copper more, my Lord.”

His fingers tapping twice on the wooden stall, before his reply.

“As you wish.”

Boba's kindness had changed your life.

The coin used to buy better seeds. Your little, rented home slowly filling out with warm bedding and good food and sturdy clothes - things you had always scrambled to find. Luxuries, before now.

And for a while, you had entertained the thought of leaving town. Saving up every gold piece, starting a new life.

You almost had enough.

But that had been before Lady Shand had turned. Before the rumors had spread that Boba Fett would be seeking a new Companion.

Your heart had twisted, with the news.

Jealousy. Longing.

It could be you.

He had become a fixture in your mind. Your evenings filled with daydreams. Keeping you company as you worked, dirt caking under your fingernails, as you imagined another life.

You could pay him back, in a ways. Show him how grateful you were, offering your blood - yourself - in exchange. You never would have dared hope before but this… this was worth trying, wasn’t it?

So, you did something risky.

Hoping it would pay off.

Hoping that perhaps… your feelings were not so singular.

It feels like you're holding your breath, as Boba moves down the table. Those cups handed over so carefully. That same, single taste from each one.

There's a tick of his jaw, at some. A pink peek of tongue dragging over a lower lip. No tells in his expression, no indication on where his mind leads.

And then, finally - he's at yours.

The wooden goblet hefted in his hand, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the etchings, like yours always did. Your fingernails biting into your palms, your heart pounding in your ears, an ache settling low in your belly - much like the one before, as you had been preparing.

And with the tip of a hand, he drinks.

The goblet lowers, as he swallows. A waver of his hand, as makes to set it back down to rejoin the others.

But then.... he pauses.

A lift of his brow, a slow tilt back - as he indulges in a second.

Before his eyes are sweeping across the room. Halting, when they find yours. The smallest lift of his lips, with his look of knowing.

Your cheeks burn, as he chooses you.

Everything happens so quickly.

Before you know it, you’re hoisted into a horse - whisked off to the castle that looms at the top of the hill. A promise to bring your things to you, though you’re sure it would take less than a wagonful.

Barely able to glance down the long halls, the ornate, stained glass windows, before there’s a hand at your elbow, guiding you.

A woman, younger than you. Quelling some of the unease at being in a new place with her gentle tone, as she takes you deep into the castle - up a wide stone staircase, through an ornate wooden door, and into a room.

It doesn’t appear to be his room, and you don’t know if you’re relieved or disappointed.

Bathed in shades of green and red and gold. Dark velvet curtains against the closed windows, blocking out the last rays of the sun.

Your guide parts from you here, a murmur that the ceremony will begin at sundown - that she will be back then to help you get ready.

Leaving you on your own to explore the space, until then.

A tall bed takes up the middle of the back wall, the frame a dark, carved wood. Thick blankets in tones of ivory and a rich forest green, lit candles on the wooden tables on either side.

There’s long wardrobe against the wall, the mirror glinting in the light. A ceramic vase painted with swirls of copper, roses and wildflowers spilling over the brim.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that some of the flowers almost looked familiar.

A door is half-opened to the left, next to the fireplace, the velvet chaise sitting in front of it. Already a thought lingers about how cozy the space will be in the winter, as you pad over to glance into the next room.

It’s all ceramic tile inside, opening up to a bathroom, The claw-foot copper tub filling with steaming water, and you long to slip into it, to wash the morning’s dirt from your knees.

And so, you do.

Your stripped clothes lie in a pile on the floor. A pleased hiss as you step into the water, the temperature tipping towards too hot. Sinking deep, up to your chin, as your head tips back against the rim.

It gives you time to think, as you all but float in the water.

Giddy, at the replay of the afternoon. That it had worked.

The way he had gone back, an indulgence. He had liked it - the taste of you - and that thought was thrilling.

A warmth settling in your bones, that had nothing to do with the water.

Picking apart the look in his eyes, where you felt certain he had been searching for you. It leaves you confident that your feelings had not changed.

The water is cold and you’re scrubbed clean by the time you leave. Lotions found on the countertop smoothed into your skin, the tired joints of your knuckles.

Fingers trace over the rack of robes you find next to the door. Soft silks and thick cotton and gauzy, see-through chiffon. Your cheeks burn at the thought, as you pull one out to hold it against you.

Imaging the red fabric against your skin. How little of you it would hide, in spite of it swishing around your ankles.

Eventually, you settle on something between the two - modest enough that you won’t be embarrassed to see your guide again.

Intentionally choosing something that reminds you of him - shades of green with thin, gold trim. The tie knotted carefully around your waist, skimming your thighs. The sleeves gathered at your forearms, the silky feeling luxurious against your scrubbed skin.

By the time you make it back to the bedroom, the edges around the curtains are dark - the sun long set. The blankets soft - the mattress dipping as you sit down on the edge, still taking in the room.

A knock comes, soon after. The gentle rapping of knuckles against the door - heavy as you pull it open.

Something flipping low in your belly, when you see your visitor.

Not the pleasant girl, who had chattered as she guided you up the steps. Smiling, as she bid you farewell.

It’s him.

Boba lingers outside your door, so unlike you’ve ever seen before. Clothed in black robes, his Beskar chest plate fitted on top. Your eyes follow down, seeing gloves and gauntlets, but no helmet - before you realize you’re staring. Your gaze quickly snapping up to his, already caught.

There’s a twitch of his lips. His own eyes wandering, though you missed them in your own exploration.

His voice low, amused as he asks, “May I come in?”

Heat licks at your skin as you nod - nerves skittering down your spine, at this unexpected development. Stepping back to allow him inside.

Ending up at the end of the bed again, your palms pressing into the bedspread to keep you from fidgeting.

“Is this room to your liking?” Boba asks, conversationally.

So casually, so pleasantly, that you’re frowning. Confused at his appearance. Assuming that he had come to feed - that he’d grown tired of waiting, his patience now thin.

“It’s beautiful,” You answer, honestly. Far finer than any room you’d seen before. The bath already feels like a dream, even though the perfume still lingers in your skin, “You are again too generous.”

“It is my pleasure.” His voice is low, his hands bracing against the chaise he stands behind, “By far the least I can do.”

A nod to your new situation. This new connection, binding you together. You knew about the ritual in the tavern, from the whispers from the Companions that visited your stall.

Flowers woven into their hair as they gossiped, your eager ears picking up everything you could.

But this, now, was unknown to you.

Was he just getting to know you? Or was there another step you were missing?

“Thank you, Lord Fett,” You smile. Fingers pinching at the blanket, gathering your nerves. A breath, before you can ask, “Are we… are we to begin now? I was told there would another ceremony.”

“Just Boba, please.” He clarifies, after a beat of silence - those dark eyes still fixed on you. That eye contact still holding, as his head tilts, “And yes, there is a ritual. When conducted, it takes place in front of the coven.”

It’s not an unpleasant thought. There’s something primal about such a ritual - the thought of him claiming you in front of his friends and peers.

Images leap to your mind, unbidden. Your imagining of the throne room, filled to the brim. Gathered up in his arms, the expanse of your neck appears as he dips you. Baring legs, baring arms, baring throat.

The flash of teeth, as they sink into your skin-

It takes another second, before you can gather your thoughts. Clearing your throat, as you ask, “Is that what you wish?”

“That would depend.” His steps are slow, as he rounds the chaise. Hands clasped behind his back, the green armor accentuating his broad chest.

“On?”

There’s the flash of teeth as he smiles, “On if you’re planning on changing.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, at the thought of your appearance. Acutely aware of the single layer that covers you, just a loose knot keeping the robe in place.

Is Boba Fett flirting with me?

Before you can answer, his head turns, “This ritual is more symbolic than binding. Any true decisions are made behind doors. We can continue here, if you’d like.”

You nod slowly. The thought of having him to yourself appealing, especially for the first night. A twinge of worry about the feeding - the crook of your arm still tender from where you were pricked to fill the goblet.

Not wanting to appear weak. Not wanting your desires to be laid out, exposed in front of everyone.

“I would not mind that.” You confess, “What kind of decisions do you mean?”

“There are many we can discuss.” His look turns thoughtful, “For one, your stall. If it is gold that brought you here, I would purchase it from Shard for you. You need not do this.”

That makes you blink - the offer kind. An unexpected, altruistic turn.

“No. That’s not why.” Your head shakes, “I’m here on my own. I wanted to-”

Your words cut off, afraid to say too much. A breath, before you add, “I have little other ties here. It was not the stall that brought me to the tavern."

Something in his face changes, a softening to that ever-steady mark between his brows. Those hands still clasped, as if stilling them, as he moves closer, “Are you not bound to another, ad’ika?”

“Do you mean a soulmate?” The question makes you blink - a little frown forming.

There were no marks on your skin. No ties to another, painted where their body had first touched yours.

You could find out. You want to joke, but it stays trapped on your tongue. A moment, before you shake your head.

“No.” A small breath, as you steel yourself, “I don’t believe in them.”

His expression flickers now - you’ve caught him off guard.

“You don’t believe? The Mand’alor has often walked the town streets with his. Do you doubt their connection?”

Curiosity tinges his words, and your head shakes again, “They were lucky, I think. And I think fate works for some. Just… not me.”

It’s as honest as you’ve ever been. Maybe he’ll laugh at you… but just maybe - he’ll understand.

Perhaps it had been luck that morning, when he found you. But fate hadn’t made him kind.

That had been all him.

And perhaps luck had also turned Lady Shand before you left - but it was you who had gone to the Tavern, goblet in hand. You who had leaned into his visits, tucking away each one.

“I’d like to think that I make my own decisions. That my own choices determine my path.”

“And is that what you’ve done?” He rasps, his eyes dark, “Made your choice?”

Your breath hitches at his tone, smooth and low. Managing a short, little nod in answer - not trusting ability to keep your voice level.

“Not all bonding is mates, little one.” He’s closer now. Enough that you can see the fine weave of his robes - the chips in his armor where a sword had peeled away the paint, “You know that, right?”

Your heart pounds in your ears - ignoring his question, as you manage to ask your own, “What do you want?”

His head cocks, the candlelight catching his eyes. That burgundy shimmer darkening. You find yourself holding your breath as you wait for his answer. Watching the way his lips pull in a smile, revealing the sharp points of his teeth.

“Oh, what do I want?” He repeats, slowly, softly. “I want you to show me what you did to make your blood so sweet.”

His voice drops then, as he moves closer, “And then I want to taste you for myself.”

Your breath comes in a ragged gasp. He knew?

The whispered rumor about making your blood near irresistible had been trusted, but you never thought he’s be able to tell.

His laugh is soft, “Are you getting shy on me now, sarad?”

Heat licks at you, embarrassment and desire swirling together into a heady combo. Your thoughts slipping between your teeth on their own, “How did you…”

Boba clucks his tongue, “It’s been a while, little one. But not that long.”

That snags in your mind, your attention shifting. You frown, fingers twisting around the silk ties of your robe, “What do you mean?”

His eyebrow lifts.

There were rumors that Lord Fett and the now Lady Shand were not romantically linked. But it had never been confirmed, and part of you had worried you were going to end up in a precarious position.

Not that you minded sharing.

“You’re stalling.” He chides again, “If I misunderstood, then-”

“You didn’t.” You’re quick to correct, the band of silk pinching around your fingers, “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

His lips quirk at your answer, your boldness. An arm braces on the foot post of the canopy bed, close enough that your thigh brushes his hip.

“It has been a decade since I’ve drank from the throat of a creature as lovely as you.” His hand lifts, the back of his knuckle brushing against your neck.

No mark blooms under his touch, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t need one to want him, or to love him. All you need is your heart - beating so fiercely, as that knuckle drags down to the hollow of your throat.

His fingers unfurling until the tips drag against your sternum, as your heart drops to beat between your thighs.

In a moment of bravery, your fingers tug on the tie. The knot loosing, and then pooling around your hips as the edges of your robe part, falling open.

His eyes follow, tracing your curves as they come into view. The rich fabric like a caress against your bare skin as you shift further back on the bed. Legs uncrossing as he steps between them - forcing them to nudge wider.

Heat pools in your belly, with his proximity. The knowledge that he truly intends to watch - close enough that his fingers could brush your skin, with how he bends - pressing his palms against the mattress.

Framing your thighs, as you lower yourself to your elbows. Nearly on display, the fabric still bunching at your waist, keeping you hidden.

If you hadn’t thought about him so often, perhaps you’d be a little more shy. But there was something so intoxicating about this. So honest and earnest in his tone - making you believe that because he said it so, he truly wanted to see you.

And you wouldn’t deny your Lord of anything.

Your eyes flip up to his, watching how he waits. Those hands still pressed flush, as his eyes rake over your form - an attempt to keep his hands from wandering.

But yours are not to tied down. Yours drift - trailing along the soft green hem. Down, towards the valley between your breasts.

It has you wondering if he can hear the way your heart kicks up a notch. At your touch, your intentions.

You think he must, with the way he shifts between your thighs, waiting.

The silky fabric pebbles at the tight peaks of your breasts. Soft as your fingertips run across them - a creak of his leather gloves with your soft sigh, as his fingers curl into the bedspread.

His eyes darker still, as you let your robe part further. Knuckles pinching, dragging over bare skin before drifting towards your navel. An urge to press your thighs together, an ache at the thought of things to come. At his words, already given.

There’s a rough noise, something gritted out that you miss, when the robe parts fully. When Boba can see you fully, his eyes dropping to where you’re slick already. Swollen and soft and warm, a pink tongue peeking out between sharp teeth at the sight.

A half-formed thought to tease - fingers parting yourself open. Your strokes slow, to dip slowly into your heat.

But it feels impossible to do so, with him watching. The second you slip against your skin, you’re sighing - quick to press and circle, your hips jolting into your touch.

He knows it’s for him. You can’t even pretend you’re still wet from before - those hours and that long, warm bath passing between then and now.

No, it’s his words. His voice, those suggestions.

Him.

From this angle he can surely see how you shine already. Knees pressing into his hips as your muscles clench, toes curling.

Can he see how your pulse thuds? How your blood races down, to where you ache?

The press of your fingers makes you whine, eyes taking in the expanse of his chest. Flicking down to where his hand rotates, gloved fingers touching down on the bed - moving to press against the curve of your thigh.

He watches your fingers, the way they press. Memorizing what makes your muscles clench, the soft sounds of your sighs.

You want his hands on you - to feel the strength of them for yourself. Molding you into his image, to touch you however he wishes.

To take you, as he tastes you.

It has your leg pressing into his touch, teeth biting into your tongue to keep you from begging.

“You want something.” His voice is soft, his eyes unreadable, “I can feel it, radiating from you.”

The air hisses through your teeth, sparks of pleasure pulsing where your fingers press. Slowing and stuttering at his words.

“You,” The word is sighed out, your eyes meeting his dark ones, “I want you.”

He smiles then, and it’s almost cruel. Teasing.

His hands curving around your thighs, moving slowly against your skin. Up until his thumbs are brushing against your inner thighs, nudging them wider apart.

“You managed just fine, before.” There’s a lilt to his voice, the raise of an eyebrow, “Or did you have some help?”

Your fingers slow as your brows knit, distracted by his question. How his fingers bump against yours, so close to where you burn - but still not touching.

“No,” Your head shakes, “I didn’t.”

I just thought of you, you want to tell him. I thought about this.

“Good.” He husks, and his hands leave you. A little whine slipping past your lips as he brings a hand to his mouth - using his teeth to rip the gloves from his fingers, “I only want your blood singing for me.”

It makes you clench, lips parting just in him for him to arch over you - a bare hand flattening against the bed near your ear. The other dipping between your lips when they part for him, sliding past blunt teeth.

You groan around him, cool and solid as they slip across your tongue. His eyes growing darker as your lips close around to suck, his thumb stroking the underside of your chin.

It’s bliss. Your mouth so beautifully full and busy as your fingers work, aiding your steady ascent towards euphoria.

All too soon they slide from you, leaving your lips glossy. Trailing down your chin, before dropping to fit between your thighs.

He didn’t need to, you’re already so wet. The tip of index finger slipping beneath yours, teasing at your opening. Sliding into you easily as you arch into his touch, feeling the fullness of having him in you. Already a bit of a stretch, and you squirm at the thought of more.

“So warm and wet.” His tone is almost reverent, his eyes dropping to your mouth, “I’d almost forgotten.”

Watching how you pant as his finger plunges deep, the pull of your brow as he slips from you, only to fit two inside with his next thrust.

Angling his wrist so he can curl them inside you, stroking against slick walls - finding a place that had your breath coming in a ragged gasp.

You’re close already. It had been easy, with him so close. Looking at you so hungrily, as you brought yourself closer. The feel of his fingers, filling and stroking you, teasing against that spot, has your muscles winding tight.

Boba shifts, leaning back. The hand pressing against the bed moves to wrap around your wrist, halting the needy circle of your fingers.

Your mounting pleasure plateaus, a frustrated sound in your throat. His fingers still fucking you, but that sharp edge slips from your grasp.

“Slower.” He rasps, pinning your hand down. Only allowing the tips of your fingers to each, “Need to get you ready for me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” You moan - automatically, without thought.

The thought makes you tighten around his, squeezing his fingers. His smile pulls to show sharp teeth, the slick slap of his fingers loud where they press into your pussy.

“Gods, I can feel you. Do you want it that bad, ad’ika?”

Your mind swirls, the weight of your tongue making it impossible to answer. Even with the tiny flick of your fingers, you can feel the pleasure in your belly start to crackle and burn.

That pressure increasing, each breath no more than a high gasp. Your vision starting to grow blurry, eyes heavy with lust, all of your concentration focused on the sweet spot between your thighs.

His name is torn from your throat, as you come when three fingers fit inside you. Crooking and stroking against your walls as you bear down around them, as he can feel how you pulse.

It drowns out your pleasure from before - hurried movements in the privacy of your home. You’re alight now - basking in the low hum of his words. Blurring at the edges, slipping through your fingers.

Fuck, that’s it.

My sarad, bloom for me.

Can’t wait to taste you.

The hand lets go to press against your hip, pinning you down. Making you take the steady pump of his fingers, as he draws it out.

“You can. Can taste me-” You gasp, your own fingers now still. A twinge that tips towards too much, as you grasp at his wrist. His hand staying buried in you, as his other curls around the back of your neck.

You brace for the bite, as your head tilts to offer your throat. Know it was coming from the start - eager to offer yourself in every way you could.

Not expecting the way he leans over you again. The ghost of warm breath before the press of his mouth against your pulse. Inhaling your scent as your heart flutters in your throat, the haze of your orgasm settling over you.

A rough sound as you moan, as he moves higher. Teeth nipping at your jaw. Realization swirling as there’s the hungry press of his mouth against yours - your own hands scraping across armor, grasping at his robes.

Curling around his shoulder to hold him to you, as you melt further. His lips are soft - yours are already parted, welcoming the dip of his tongue. Your legs hitching around his waist as his weight presses into you.

It’s comforting. It’s enveloping - your sigh swallowed as his hand slips from you. Pulling back from your mouth, as your head rising to chase after him.

Meeting those fingers instead - slick with your release, pressing against your lower lip. His own tongue swirling against one, as you share the others.

Your teeth graze, bite down on his fingers. His groan low as mouths meet again - with your taste on his tongue, with his hips pressing down against yours. Grinding himself against your bare skin, where you can feel the hard curve of his arousal.

“See how good you taste?” He rasps, lips brushing your cheek. “Fuck, can’t get enough.”

His arm curls around your waist, slick fingers shoving between mattress and your back. Lifting you like you’re nothing, with his enhanced strength. A flip in your belly and a little yelp, before you’re set back down.

Boba’s back rests against the ornate headboard. Your thighs spread wide around his waist, straddling him. The soft robe you wear dips down across your back, the fabric nestled in the crook of your elbows.

Hands splay across his chest, cool skin and hard muscle beneath. His eyes on the expanse of your skin - the slope from your neck, to your bare breasts beneath. That hand anchoring the back of your neck again, thumb sweeping the soft spot beneath your ear.

His eyes burn. Glittering embers in their depth, the sharp points of his teeth showing between parted lips. Something inside you stirs - know deep down that he truly means to taste you now.

To drink from you, as your head tilts back to offer the soft skin of your throat.

“It will hurt, a little.” He warns, voice low. Rough, as if he’s holding himself back, “But I’ll make you feel good. I promise, mesh’la.”

Your fingers twist in his robes. Eyes fluttering shut, as you wait for it to come.

But he has one last request, an edge to his voice that that fixes your attention.

“Keep your eyes open for me.”

It’s your last warning, before he’s leaning forward. The soft brush of his lips against your jugular, before he’s biting down.

There’s twin pinches, as your skin gives beneath his teeth. A burning throb as you gasp - unable to help the way you flinch, stiffening in his arms.

He groans against your neck as you flood his tongue, and there’s the sensation of pulling, the soft suck of his mouth.

But the pain does not linger. It soon bleeds into something more, that sharp edge twisting and transforming. That thudding in your neck tipping downwards. Past your chest, past your belly.

Nestling between your thighs with a very different kind of ache. One that has you shifting against him, the roll of your hips as he keeps you pinned with his teeth.

The robes he wears are thin. Not ones that go beneath his armor during the day, or to travel. Soft and fine as your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulders.

Not at all concealing his need for you, something that stretches deeper than the urge to drink. Boba is stiff beneath you, his hardness trapped beneath the layers of cloth and your bare cunt.

Each squirm presses him against you. Something flickering in your mind, a sort of mirror to your pleasure. It feels like it strings out, wrapping around your limbs, tethering you together.

His teeth unlatch, when you reach down. A desire from deep inside to touch him, fingers sliding against fabric. Dampened from you, from the slide of your hips, the way you feel like you will burst, if he’s not inside you.

“Taste so godsdamn sweet.” He groans, tongue tracing over the marks on your neck. Where the blood still beads out, sweetened by your orgasm, “Knew it was yours, the moment it touched my tongue.”

Pulling back, to bring his mouth to yours again. He tastes like iron, like you - as your hand curls around him. Achingly hard under your touch, as your fingers trace down the curve of him, finding the edge of his robes.

“Fuck. You can have it, ad’ika. It’s yours if you want it.” His eyes are brighter, those shadows under his eyes less defined.

Hips lifting so you can draw him out, so smooth and heavy in your hand. On another day you’d want to stroke it yourself, feel the weight of it on your tongue. But you’re too desperate now. Already rising up on your knees, the robe parting like curtains at your hips.

The kiss breaks and there’s a soft protest as you line yourself up. Not for you to stop, for you to slow - merely for to take your time.

Though there is no desire to. The time you’ve already taken feels far too long, in this moment.

His hands move - sliding down to your hips. Resting there as you take him, the sharp stretch has the thick head parts you, as you slip down onto his cock. Even with the stretch of his fingers, it still feels like too much. A ragged gasp as your nails sink into his skin, though the fabric of his robes.

It twines with the pulse in your throat. Your fluttering heartbeat, the way you make room for him to fit inside you. His thick fingers flexing against bare skin as he bottoms out, as your thighs finally rest against his.

“Gods, you feel so good-” You keen - as you go still, for a long moment.

Breath caught in your throat, eyes widened as he watches. He shifts beneath you, the flexing of his legs as they stretch out beneath you. It moves him - a shallow thrust deep in your belly. That pleasure sparking, blending with the buzzing of your blood in your veins. Another roll of your hips, and then another.

Hands unfurling, slipping up to brace on his shoulders. Using them to aid your movements - the slow lift and drop that speeds up, as you get used to the feeling of him inside you. The way each stroke sends him against your walls.

His eyes are hazy - blood-drunk off you. Muscles strung tight as he lets you set the pace. Bouncing on his cock until you tire yourself out, until you beg for him to help you. Holding himself back, as your blood lingers on his tongue.

Your thighs burn with the effort. Head dipping down to see where he watches, the lounge of his shoulders against the headboard. How pretty you look, stretch around him. Something so fitting about how bare you are, against his layers - the edge of his armor, that bites into your wrists.

His fingers drift down from your hip, around the curve of your thigh. The pad of his thumb pressing against your clit again.

Following the rise and fall of your hips, circling against you the way he had watched yours move.

You swear you feel him throb in you, when his eyes raise. Lingering on your chest, the sticky smear of crimson against your skin - an errant drop from his eager drinking.

It’s then, that the scales tip. His body moving against yours - a hand wrapping around your back. The shift of his hips as he lurches forward, until it’s you that is pinned beneath him, back pressed against the mattress.

He’s deeper like this. Hips snapping into yours, as you cry out. Head dipping down, his tongue dragging against your clavicle. Down, to lap the trail blood from your skin as he groans.

You back arching into his touch as he presses open-mouthed kisses against your breast, a soft cry as his fingers find the other, trapping the tight bud between his knuckles.

“Could feel how much you wanted this.” His voice is a low rasp. Your thighs wrapping around him as he ruts into you. A circle of his hips grinding against your clit, slick and swollen from your connection.

Feeding off him, in your own way. Something sweet and heavy slipping through your veins. Your skin feels too sensitive - all your nerves alight under his touch. Head tilting back against the blankets as his weight settles over you.

As that feeling builds up again, faster this time. Racing, with the stretch of his cock. The way his hips roll back. Leaving you to clench around the tip, before plowing back in.

You’d never considered your mortality before, but it flickers in your mind now. Just how delicate you feel. A true vampire lord, able to crush you if he wanted.

Instead, he touches you gently - as his hand finds your wrist, his fingers curling around. A swipe of his thumb against your skin as he reaches to pin it against the bed. The other tucking beneath you, cupping the back of your neck again.

It sends another wave of heat between your thighs. The pound of his cock even louder than the press of his fingers, your slick arousal audible - layering with your cries.

There’s a warning on the tip of your tongue - the words coming out slurred instead. A soft, panting groan. Your heels digging into his lower back, eyes fluttering shut as he grinds himself against the spot he had found with his fingers.

“Twice wasn’t enough, ad’ika? Going to come again?” You can hear the grin in his words How it’s an inevitability, with the way he moves in you.

Unable to look away, with the way he holds you. Not that you’d want you, you think - even if you could. The fix of his gaze feels like a gift, bestowed upon you.

Captivating, with the way he soaks in every minute movement. The sweep of his eyes as he watches you start to fall apart beneath him.

You want to feel him again. That pounding surge inside your veins, that sensation of feeling even more connected than you already are.

So, you beg him for it. Eyes heavy-lidded where they find his. Your words punctuated with the hitching of your breath as you guide him down to your throat, with eager hands.

“Bite me. You can, I’m yours-”

Your pleas are impossible to resist, when his own pleasure thrumming in his belly.

He bites higher, this time. In a spot that even your tallest collar won’t hide, teeth pricking skin. Your cry turns into a groan as the rapture courses through you, seeping into your veins. Flooding his tongue, as he drinks again.

You shatter. Caught in his grip, unable to squirm with his teeth in your neck. His weight pinning you down as you pulse around his cock, your cry high and broken in the castle room.

He groans into your skin. The suck of blood over teeth, tasting how it turns sweet. Flushed with your ecstasy, an endless loop between his teeth and the tight clench of your cunt as you come.

For a moment, your eyes flutter closed. Images flicker behind your eyelids - shown as if you were outside yourself.

Red petals against green. Your perception darkened, as if behind a visor. Visions of you, leaning over your stall. Surrounded in a wreath of flowers, hand-picked from your garden.

A throb in your chest, one that blooms - skittering down your spine, settling low in your belly. Almost like butterflies, with how their wings feel like they flutter.

The sensation disappears too fast to make sense of - breaking, as he lets go.

Red smeared across his lips as the steady thrusts become short, messy. Fingers biting into your skin with the slap of his hips, the harsh grunt that turns into a ragged groan.

Hovering over you, as he notches himself deep, one last time. The column of his throat lengthening as his head tips back - it takes everything to resist the urge to make your own mark, as he spills messily inside you.

Throbbing, chasing the high with the grind of his hips.

His eyes losing that sharp edge, when his head tips down. Soft and warm, a sunrise welcoming a summers day.

Everything moves slowly, after. The lazy relaxing of muscles. The tilt of his lips when you whine, when he slips from you. His fingers slow, sweeping - as they dip down. Teasing where he drips from you, as your mouth finds his again.

Tender, as the robe is fully stripped from you. Boba’s words coaxing and patient, as he shows you the strap of his armor. How to take him apart, until you match - a perfect pair.

The aches that linger in your muscles are soon soaked away in the bath he draws. Your second today - a true luxury. The ceramic tub large enough for your back to cradle against his front.

You don’t think you ever want to leave.

Drowsy and content, his cool fingers welcome against your neck. A salve smeared carefully over the marks from his teeth. A promise that your skin will heal by morning, soft and smooth again - unmarried by his touch.

You think next time… you’ll ask if they can stay.

You’re warm against him.

Boba hasn’t been warm in years. Too used to his skin, carved from stone. Forever unchanging.

But you - you’re supple. Soft in his hands, molding yourself to fit the curve of his chest, where you cheek nestles. A thigh splaying over his waist, fingers splayed out against his stomach.

There’s much he should be doing. The sun has set some hours ago, and there’s a long list of things that need his attention.

But for now, for this moment, he will stay. Just a little longer, before he’ll slide out from beneath you, slipping away like a shadow.

You stretch against him, calf pressing into his thigh. Words heavy with sleep and exhaustion, so soft in the night air.

“‘m glad you picked me.”

There’s a stirring, in his chest. Where he thought he was long-dead, his palm pressing down where it rests against your back.

The briefest moment before he’s answering, an idle threat as a deflection.

Hushing you instead, his voice low, “Sleep, little one. You’re mistaken if you think I’ve had had my fill.”

You can’t help the smile, even as your teeth bite into your lip to stifle it. Squirming against him, the press of your center against the curve of his hip.

A low hum of amusement in his chest, as the arm that stretches beside you curls up - tucking around your ribs, nestling you a little closer.

He listens, as your breathing grows slower. Until you’re drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

Only then, does he let his mind wander. Back to the place where it had been earlier that evening. When he teeth were bared, that moment where his armor had been so thin.

“Don’t close your eyes.”

If you had, you would have seen.

Peeling back his memories, discovering just how often he had strayed down to the marketplace, after your first meeting. Not for gold or for payment. Only to catch a glimpse at the girl that had burrowed under his skin.

Somewhere along the way, changing from a casual observation - making sure Shard kept away - to something far more intimate.

Something akin to longing, if a man like Boba Fett could feel that way.

You would have felt - when the goblet raised to his lips for the second time…

Just how much he had hoped it was yours.

ad'ika - little one | sarad - flower | mesh’la - beautiful

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 🥺💕 I wanted to explore some of the same themes but in a new way for Boba (rejection of fate, the intentional in the way they seek each other out, instead of the pull of soulmates) - I just thought that would be so fun. I hope you liked this! 💖

tagging some pals!: @margofiore, @marieg, @wingofshadow, @reaperofmen, @bobaprint, @phoenixhalliwell, @csboz, @imarvelatthestars

#vampire!boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett imagine #boba fett smut

[sischan]

Echoes of the Past, Legend of Zelda BotW-TotK fan-fiction.

Following in an Au fan-fiction of the series Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild & Tears of the Kingdom. with the Fan-fiction based around my personal play-through of the series, and how I’ve pieced together the series from the few games I’ve played. ^-^ Contains some spoilers,

Part Three another ZeLink doodle drawn while I was making this fun little fan-fic.

Part Four Carp.

A cold breeze whistled off the shores in Akkala, with Terry Town reach spreading outwards. A large building was constructed around the chasm by the Hudson workers, with the man himself printed on a large sign close by. Warning workers to be careful when entering the chasm. Up on the hill, overlooking the town and the expanding streets with homes that started to spring up since the final battle. Link looked out his balcony, leaning back in his chair. Taking in the view, he could smell cooking from below. Since their battle, Zelda had found herself living in Link’s home by Terry Town. One built during his time after the upheaval, and the place he spent much time watching Zelda when she used to roam the skies.

With a splash of water hitting him in the face, Link’s pet fish danced within the balcony pond. Link wiped the water from his face, before reaching downwards to place his hand in the water. With a few pecks from his Carp, Link’s memories during the upheaval weren’t as bitter as the time he awoke from his hundred year recovery. Besides his Carp, who greeted him home with a splash, but he had his close friend Hudson and Kilton along his journey. Standing upwards, Link glanced towards his wall of weapons. With Mipha’s trident reflecting in his face. Despite his home being able to face Zelda, Link was close to Mipha’s court. To which he visited many times during his travels to save Zelda from the evils that plagued Hyrule. With a painting of Yona and Sidon hung close to the trident, as did Link’s Zora armor. A smile crossed his face as he gently ran his hand against the armor. Imagining Mipha hard at work, mending the armor just for him.

“Link, dinner is prepared!” Zelda hollered from the bottom of the stairway, with the smell of cheese hitting Link’s noise. He could recall that smell anywhere, as he turned towards the stairway. Pizza, made from Tabantha wheat, Hylian tomato, and Hateno Cheese was Link’s favorite meal when he was traveling, but Link preferred how Zelda made it as she sliced mushrooms on the top for extra flavor. However with her recipe soon learned by Cece of Hateno, her inside foodie came alive. With her opening the Hateno restaurant that was built close to a heart broken pond. “I’ve also prepared a fruit cake for dessert!”

As he reached the bottom of his stairs, Link glanced over as he saw that Zelda had prepared not only a pizza and a fruit cake. Upon closer expectation, Link noticed that she also prepared his second favorite snack, cheese bread. Made from Tabantha wheat and Hateno Cheese. Link remembers preparing this dish by accident, but continued to make it since, upon Zelda return. He has found himself not eating it as much, as he ate what she cooked for him in their times together.

Excitement covered Link’s face as he invited Zelda to come and eat with him. As he knew that once they begin their travels, his tastes will surely change with the new foods he was excited to discover. Zelda giggled by excitement as the two sat down and began their meal, with Zelda glancing out at Zelli and Petal. They were stretching their legs out in the fields of Link’s house. Upon taking a bite of the cheese bread, Zelda smiled in delight. “This is delicious!”

“Mhmm!” Link responded in happiness, with a drop of cheese on his chin.

Zelda smiled as she reached over, wiping away the cheese. Placing her finger in her mouth, with a giggle as Link watched her in a blush. “It's best not to let this go to waste!”

With a blush still on his face, Link continued with his meal. Upon cleaning her plate, Zelda reached for a small knife. One gifted to her by Rhondson upon meeting, with her secretly wanting Zelda to be with Link. Using the knife to cut into the pizza, serving Link a healthy slice.

With the smell of the mushrooms, Link began to track down the type that was used in preparation. Due to food obsession, that made a few of Link’s recipes sought after by skilled chefs. Mostly due him learning this recipes from building on the ones he learned from his travels across Hyrule.

“Link, I’ve talked with Ting earlier today when he was visiting Hudson.” Zelda spoke as she placed her slice of pizza down, while Link had already taken a bite. He was guessing a silent shroom that grew below the hill, under his house. One with flowers planted by Rhondson upon Link’s purchasing of his home.

“Hmm?” He muffled, while chewing up the pizza in his mouth.

Zelda chuckled as she took a bite as well, giving the pizza a try. “Hmm!” She hummed in joy along with Link. Both hummed in joy of the pizza momentarily, before she continued. With swallowing her food first. “Well, Ting will be able to take us indeed with him to Terma, but…”

“Hm?” Link took a sip of water, asking Zelda to continue.

“It seems that getting into Terma and back won’t be an issue, but according to Ting. Well it looks like we might have to spend about a month until we are able to return to Hyrule again.” She took another bite, watching as Link continued to eat his. Contemplating all he will have to be sure to bring along with him.

“Mhm?” He responded towards her as she finished her third bite.

“If you still feel like going to Terma, then once we are finished. Ting had told me that we just needed to meet him at Terry Port.” Once stood old ruins, but with the extinguishing of the monsters that flooded them. Hudson Construction quickly demolished the ruins, with permission from Princess Zelda. Thus Terry Port was created, with the newly formed Knights run by Hoz. Guarded the port on regular patrols. Despite the monsters not appearing as they used to since the blood moon vanished upon the defeat of the ancient Ganondorf. However their strategic attacks and raids on travelers have improved. With words spreading amongst Depths Construction workers, Monster Villages were spotted forming down in the old mines. Causing many Construct Stewarts to abandon their positioning, with the aid of some of the workers trying to preserve the constructs. In honor of the previous Sage of Spirit and late friend of Princess Zelda. Some had to be reprogrammed by Robbie to get some to accept new tasks, with one being the Dock Manager. Taking inventory of merchant ships and visitors at the dock, with Hudson naming the construct Stewartson.

Taking another bite, Link let out an approval grunt. “Mhmph.”

Zelda smiled as they continued their meal, but as they finished their pizza. Both were too full to slice into the baked Fruit cake that sat on the table. Zelda, still wanting a piece, stared at the cake for a while, but as she was about to reach for her knife. Link lifted up the cake, before placing inside a wicker basket.

“Good idea, it will make a nice treat while we are traveling to Terma.” She smiled, before she stood up to clean up the table. After clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen, both of them began preparing for their trip. “I’m sure Grateson will take care of Zelli and Petal while we're away.”

“Mm.” Link nodded his head, with a smile on his face. With the ocarina still holstered to his hip, and the master sword sheath on his back. Link gathered up his stash of rupees from within his desk. Inside Link noticed a dried Sundelion, one he picked from Sonia’s grave with Rauru’s hand. Despite Rauru using the last of his power to heal Link’s body from the gloom that plagued his body, Link couldn’t find himself to part with the flower.

“Link!” Zelda hollered towards Link, with her carrying a bag on her back, excitement covered her face. “I’ve gathered up all the needed materials I think we’ll need. Are you ready?”

Link pushed the draw on his desk shut, after closing the flower back within the book. Pulling on his back pouch, along with his rupees, Link dashed down the stairs.

“Bye, Carp!” Zelda hollered once more, with a splash heard from above. Both of them left the house.

Part Four End.

Part Five

#zelda totk #totk fanfic #totk fanart #totk zelink #zelink #totk spoilers #zelink fanfiction #zelink fanart

[rosethornewrites]

Monday-Sunday NR, E, & M reading

Includes an unfinished mature Slayers fic.

Finished

None

Unfinished

Not Rated:

Falling Lotus Petals, by Hauntcats

Tricked by a demonic cultivator, Jiang Cheng gets thrown back to the day Lotus Pier fell. Things change from there.

Not Jiang friendly, especially Jiang Cheng. Don't like, please, don't read. It won't be fun for you.

Explicit:

the fire in your stare, by WhatTheOwlHears

He buried one hand in Lan Wangji’s hair, dragged his lips over the corner of his mouth. “Come on, Lan Zhan, stop me.”

Lan Wangji—shivered. It was a faint motion, something he might not have detected if he hadn’t plastered them so close together, hadn’t had his lips and fingertips against his skin. It set Wei Wuxian on fire, to feel that chink in his armor.

“Does Wei Ying want to be stopped?”

Heart of the Beast, by WaitForTheSnitch

“Wei Ying?” Nie Mingjue prompted him gently. “Where are your parents?”

“They went on a night hunt,” Wei Ying said, a bit evasively.

“Your parents are cultivators?” Da-ge asked in surprise. “Did they leave you here while they hunted? When did they go on their night hunt?”

“Four summers ago,” Wei Ying said a bit uncomfortable.

“Four summers ago,” Nie Mingjue repeated. “What are your parents’ names?”

“My mama is Cangse Sanren and my baba is Wei Changze,” Wei Ying told him, and recognition registered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding a bit regretful, “Your parents aren’t coming back.”

Or, Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang run into Wei Ying while in Yiling and decide to bring him home. And it changes everything.

The Communication Effect, by draechaeli

If only there was more communication, or the right kind then everything would be all right. Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi might be bad when it comes to talking to each other about the important things, but they are still leagues better then the older generation that use communication like swords: concealing, revealing, and striking as they please for their own gain. From apologies, to misunderstandings, to sieges, to rumours and gossip, to cold wars, to lies, to civil wars, Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi navigate the world together once their brothers make sure they’re engaged before the classes at Cloud Recesses are finished.

This fic is finished at 186k in 37 chapters + 3 extras

Mature:

Birth Rite, by tsutsuji (2nd in a series)

In the sequel to Poison, Zelgadis sets off with Xelloss as his "guardian" on a new quest for ancient magic, and soon discovers something surprising about his own hidden powers. As their journey continues, Zel's quest for the Lost City of Skye uncovers ancient secrets and a conspiracy that could threaten the world - or at least, really mess up his relationship with Xelloss.

Cutting Out a Different Path, by T98

Wei Wuxian wakes up with an old back pain and a lack of a familiar warmth by his side. He groans, moving his arm around the bed to feel for Lan Wangji. Except what he feels is not a bed. Startled, he gets up quickly to find himself on a familiar slab of rock in a very familiar cave. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, he takes a look around. His half-finished talismans are lying around on the floor and he can hear voices from outside

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #cql #chen qing ling #untamed fanfiction #mdzs #the slayers #slayers #slayers fanfiction

[fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs]

17, 47, 50, 57, 58 for Catherine for the ocs asks

hello!! thank you for this ask!! i’ve been dying ( pun fully intended ) to talk about catherine!! 

trigger warning: mentions of disassociation, childhood trauma. witch burning, character death, and child abuse. and mentioned past child sexual abuse. no graphic detail. mentions of child sexual abuse is in question 50, under the cut. 

17. What is your OC's imagination like? 

catherine’s imagination is vivid, she often used her mind as a safe space to escape from the trauma of her childhood. she created many different stories, adventures, and realities in her head to escape. this is what gave her the ability to bend reality to her will as a vampire. 

47. How easily does your OC forgive?

given that catherine has either killed or had the person who would ask for her forgiveness killed, you would think the answer would be not easily. but those people had really messed with her physically and mentally and in each instant she believed the best option was to have the merked so they can’t hurt her or anyone else ever again. i think if someone like jasper, este, bella, or really anyone that catherine trusted asked for her forgiveness she would be more inclined to forgive them. or at the very least not resort to killing them.

57. What are some of your OC's weaknesses?

catherine’s biggest weakness is ironically the fact that she’s easily manipulated. as someone who has the ability to manipulate pretty much everything, she should be able to see manipulation from a mile away but she doesn’t. she’s gotten better at it after being alive for nearly three centuries. catherine was never told about her true strength by her creator who wanted to keep her in the dark so she’s quite delicate for a vampire. obviously she has the same abilities that come with vampirism but she wasn’t taught how to master them so she believes that she’s as weak as she was a human. 

another weakness, which ties into the above, is she is not a good fighter. during her time in the southern vampire wars ( she joined them willingly ) she didn’t handle the fighting well, she was often taken down by newborns and had to have jasper, maria, peter, or charlotte help her. once she learned the true protentional of her ability to manipulate reality, she got a bit better at handing the fighting by manipulating her opponent or the enemy into surrendering. 

58. How does your OC take criticism?

catherine handles criticism well, she was constantly criticised as a child and she would always try to improve whatever she was told she was doing wrong even if, when looking bad, it wasn’t her fault. as a vampire and as she matures and grows mentally, she learns not to take criticism as seriously as she did as a human.

50. What secrets does your OC have?

one secret is that her mother was burned at the stake for being a witch, which was a false claim. her mother was only charged with this because marcellus cullen ( carlisle’s father ) wanted her mother dead for rejecting him multiple times. she keeps this a secret from carlisle when they finally meet. she doesn’t want carlisle just to realise how bad his father was a person, since part of carlilse cares about him and catherine doesn’t want to ruin that. or worse, have carlisle believe that catherine was at fault for any of the things marcellus did. 

( not important to these questions but i still thought it’s cool to add but ironically catherine’s mother had witch blood in her. which means that catherine is part witch, and that’s what makes her reality bending gift so potent as a vampire.)

catherine was abused physically and sexually as a child and teenager by marcellus cullen. he blamed her for it and for a very, very long time she believed she was to blame. part of her still believes that it’s her fault but that belief has lessened over the centuries. she has never told anyone about this. as a vampire she begins to manipulate herself into believing that it never happened instead of learning to deal with it. 

#oc: catherine cullen #fic series: petals for armor #twilight oc #fyeahtwilightocs #twilight ocs #twilight renewal #jasper hale x oc #jasper x oc #jasper hale fanfiction #oc x oc #carlisle cullen x oc #twilight fanfiction #ask response #twilight renessaince #twilight reimagined #twilight renaissance #tw csa mention #tw character death #tw abuse #tw manipulation #tw witch burning #tw trama #tw dissociation #twilight #catherine ask

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

Original Works

Terrors When They Grow Up by MuffinLance

The pup was stealing rope, and Lada was watching him do it, and he was staring her in the eyes as he did. This was the first sign that something was wrong.

"Why," she asked. Not a question so much as a… why. Just why.

"For the prisoner," the pup answered, his chin raised. "It's a dangerous prisoner."

Or: As the adults scour the woods for the hunter's missing mage, the puppies take a prisoner. A baby-Jaime-kidnapped-by-other-babies AU. Teenage Lada is DONE.

All series parts are independent AUs, and can be read in any order. Mine is the Everyone Is BABIES edition.

The Witcher

hope it's nice where you are by K9_DFTBA

“It’s been such a long time, Julian. When will you be over him?”

Jaskier’s laugh, muffled and humorless, followed the question. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“I don’t enjoy seeing you hurting.”

“I’m fine. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time,”  Valdo echoed, and then, “oh, fuck.”

The progress bar stopped. Error loading. Tap to retry? Geralt tapped. This video is unavailable.

(After Jaskier goes viral for being a pining mess during a livestream, Geralt’s family tries to figure out exactly why the couple broke up, given that Jaskier is clearly still in love with Geralt. Meanwhile, Geralt is in denial, Jaskier is absolutely fine, thanks, and the internet is having a bit of a breakdown.)

Always on My Mind by didoandis

The bard doesn’t seem to notice Geralt lurking behind him until Geralt clears his throat, a low rumble, which makes him turn.

“Goodness,” he says. “Hello. You’re very… loomy.”

Now she’s closer, Ciri can see his face properly. His hair hangs lank around his face; stubble covers his chin, a little too long to be stylish; his eyes above are a bright shining blue. And yet there’s something faded about him, his clothes just slightly worse for wear, his cheeks hollow.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, almost desperately.

After the mountain, a reunion. It doesn’t go that well, to begin with.

DC (Batman)

Distress Signal by sElkieNight60

Pages and pages of distress calls, each one recorded, dated, and filed away. With a few efficient taps Jason narrows the search. The screen goes from lists of white, answered signals, to a flood of red.

03/02 - 10:21 RED ROBIN - RESPOND: DISTRESS SIGNAL REROUTED. 03/02 - 10:22 RED ROBIN - RESPOND: DISTRESS SIGNAL REROUTED. 03/02 - 10:24 RED ROBIN - RESPOND: DISTRESS SIGNAL REROUTED.

Petals for Armor by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

There’s a small half-moon of blood under the white of Tim’s nail where he bent it. He studies the red of it, feeling foggy and dreamlike. “Can I ask you a question?”

His brother’s eyes flick to him and away again, surprised and wary. “What?”

His nail doesn’t hurt much, just the dullest of aches when he presses down against it. “When you were homeless, you slept with people for money, didn’t you?”

Jason jerks like he’s been slapped. His knuckles are so pale where they grip the steering wheel they suddenly look more bone than flesh. “Did I -”

“Was it worth it?” Tim asks, drifting like a cloud over whatever furious reaction Jason was about to give him. “The money, I mean.”

His sternum slams into the seatbelt with bruising force. Unbraced for it, his head whips forward and back against his seat as they swerve off the road again and skid to a halt with a screech of rubber.

hit me like a shooting star (so i can make a wish) by Ms_Trickster

“He broke my camera!” Tim wails, incensed. “Not a crack, not a dent; it’s nothing but a pile of glass because he broke it!”

“And his ankle,” Robin adds.

“And my ankle!”

“...I accidentally hit him with my car,” Batman reluctantly offers when Dr. Thompkins raises her eyebrow at him, causing her to choke on her next breath.

(Or: One evening while birdwatching, a ten year old Tim Drake gets run over by the Batmobile.)

Clone Wars

The Prime Override by YukiPri

When Jango Fett overrides Order 66, he single-handedly ruins Sidious's Empire before it can rise. Now, the reinstated Mand'alor is at the top of the Sith Lord's shit list--but conveniently enough, Jango happens to have several million perfectly identical body doubles, who will all do whatever it takes to keep Sidious's plans from coming to fruition.

Which, is how Cody finds himself with the dubious honor of sitting on Mandalore's throne--a position made all the more difficult because he has to maintain his act in front of none other than his former General.

lift your head, child (the story has only just begun) by hoebiwan

“You’re sad,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan winces.

“It’s okay, Master,” Anakin says seriously. He reaches up with his other hand and pats Obi-Wan’s heart. “Mom says when everything hurts right here, we hafta hold it close ‘til we find the space to cry.”

Unsure of how to respond, Obi-Wan squeezes Anakin’s hand.

(Anakin doesn’t know he’s not a slave. Obi-Wan doesn’t know Anakin doesn’t know. The Jedi Order has work to be done, inside and outside its walls.)

Platonic Saber Touch-Test by inimitability

Having already explained to his troopers that his saber's feelings do not necessarily reflect his own, Obi-Wan doesn't see the harm in letting them take turns holding it. After all, it's much better to figure out how it will react to them now, in a controlled environment, than in the middle of a battle. That's what this is about: preparing for all eventualities, and a dash of scientific curiosity. Definitely nothing to do with soulmates and who may or may not be their General's.

#what is this? a round-up posted LESS than seven days after the last one?? #there are some kick-ass fics on this week's round up so i just had to post it early #weekly fic round up #fic recs #my posts #witcher recs #dc recs #misc recs #sw recs

[spvce-cowboy]

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids​  as well as @cptnbvcks​ ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

**

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now. 

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled. 

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

 A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

**

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you  gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

**

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

**

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day. 

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

**

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.  

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

**

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.1 #fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu

[kelieah]

flowers (din djarin x reader)

summary: din attempts to show his gratitude to the one person who’s been by his side all along

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff

edited: also pls go easy on me lmao, i’m not following the plot bc it’s just a quick fluffy blurb w a lil bit of background! allsssooo please refill out or let me know if you want to be tagged for my star wars / din djarin fics

a/n: sdjhbfdsfb yay! first star wars fic (not technically but let’s go w it), i’ve been wanting to write for their characters for the longest time and idk what’s stopping me ?? so here we goo

main masterlist | din djarin masterlist

You worked all your life as a mechanic, studied different droids and ships yet here you are now, taking care of a child. The child of a Mandolorian who constantly came to you to have his ship fixed. 

It all began when the two of you first met, he landed in your hangar with his busted up Razor Crest and asked for repairs. You told him you could do it for him with the help of your droids. Although, he was quick to reject your droids and asked for only you to work on it. You obliged in the end when he offered more credits, five hundred credits to be specific, for his request. 

While you were repairing his ship, you had to take a look in the interior as well because of how grave the damages were. But while you were fixing the inside, a faint noise startled you. That’s when you discovered the child, who is also known as Grogu. You and Mando, or who you now call Din, found out not too long ago. 

Your relationship with Grogu came naturally and easily. He grew attached to you immediately as did you. Although with Din, that was an entirely different story. After countless visits to your hangar and getting to know you, he fought with himself to make the decision to ask you to come along. He knew only so much about you but knew about your strong crave for adventure. It was a conflicting decision for him to make, he felt his odd sense of responsibility for you but he also emphasized with your past living and hardships. Eventually he asked you and to his little surprise, you agreed to come along with no hesitations.

Now, here are the three of you on a typical day of resting. Din lets you know that him and Grogu are going to the market. You find it odd that he doesn’t ask you to come along like usually would due to his overprotectiveness and slight trust issues but decide to brush it off. “We won’t be long,” he says while putting Grogu into his side.

“Whatever you say, tin head,” you yawn and turn back to your tinkering. 

He rolls his eyes beneath his beskar helmet at your comment and walks off towards the coordinates of the nearest village. Even though it annoys him, he had to admit he never got tired of your insults and nicknames for him. 

The village wasn’t too far from the ship and besides, he wasn’t really planning to get anything new. If you check now you’d realize you all didn’t need any more food or supplies for another week. He’s actually on the search for a gift. Din’s not one to express himself properly so after a short catch up with Cara Dune, he realizes he should be thanking you more. Not that he doesn’t thank you after you help him all the time, but bigger acts of gratitude. Though what would he know? 

“You really don’t know a thing, don’t you? Look, maybe get the girl some flowers and give her a nice big kiss to show her how thankful you are,” Cara chortled while chugging down the rest of her soup. Din pursed his lips and scoffed in response. “You got something good for you here, Mando. I wouldn’t let it pass,” she teased and patted the table, before dismissing herself. As he watched her walk off, her words remained in his mind for quite some time.

“Do you see flowers anywhere, kid?” he mutters while striding through the busy village. Grogu coos in response and reaches out to an area. Din turns around and glances in the direction he reaches out toward only to see a stand full of flowers. He walks towards the stand and looks around the selection, uneasiness settling inside of him like before when Cara told him to get you flowers. He huffs in annoyance. Why were there so many different types? And colors? And scents? 

This is a waste of time, he briefly thought to himself about to turn around until the merchant speaks up. “A Mandolorian buying flowers? Never thought I’d see that day, special someone?”

He lets out a quiet sigh and turns back around, nodding at her. Special is one way to describe it. He thinks deeply for a moment and stares at the variety of choices, debating which one would suit you best. He shakes his head due to being unable to make up his mind and turns away. He picks up Grogu who was beginning to walk off toward a frog and heads toward the other stands to clear his conscious. Not too long after, he purchases a snack for the kid and you. He eventually comes back to the flower stand and tosses the previous merchant a decent amount of credits. “I want it all,” he says firmly. The merchant gapes at the currency in her hands and glances up at him with a shocked expression. She nods quickly and hurries herself to gather all the flowers.

You start to wonder what is taking the two so long until you hear a series of short grunts and noises of, dragging? You place down your tools and press a button to open the back gate. You walk down to see Din dragging along a floating cart full of a ton of something covered high. Grogu reaches out from his bag and smiles at you. You walk over and scoop him up in your arms, pulling him close. Din turns his head towards you as you raise an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” you hesitantly ask and stare at him oddly.

His lips curl into a slight smile at your confused expression. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your face is a bit flushed from the work you were doing. Your lips are molded into a pout and the quirk of your eyebrow amuses him. He realizes soon enough that he’s staring and curses himself. “See for yourself,” he steps aside from the cart and fails to keep his eyes off of you. 

You glare at him warningly and hand him Grogu, reaching out toward the cloth. He smirks slyly and holds the child, nodding for you to continue. You mutter incoherent insults that he easily picks up and chuckles inaudibly. You grasp it and begin to pull it down until Din startles you by yelling just to scare you. Grogu giggles at your reaction. “Dank Farrik! Din! Don’t- don’t do that!” you swat at him and huff, finally pulling off the cloth. He chuckles quietly and waits for reaction. Your eyes widen at the crate full of flowers, the scent overwhelming your nose and the vibrant colors blinding your sight. “Oh, stars,” you mutter and reach out for a bunch, gently caressing one of the petals. “What are these for?”

He shrugs dismissively and looks at Grogu to avoid your adoring gaze. “For you,” he states and bounces the little creature in his arms. You smile widely and look back at the flowers with pure joy, sniffing once again to enjoy the blissful aroma. Grogu squeaks to be let down and Din listens, placing him down. Uncertain of what else to say, he only stands back up and observes you taking in his gift.

“Why though? It’s not my bornday,” you bite your lip attempting to contain your excitement due to receiving such a thing from Din Djarin himself. Over the course of months you’ve got to know this stubborn Mandolorian, you knew expressing himself was one of the hardest things for him to do.

“I know.”

“Then?” you take a step towards him and avert your eyes toward the flowers once more.

He exhales and purses his lips, searching his mind for words to put together. “To thank you,” he trails off and notices your look of encouragement for him to keep going. “For everything you’ve done for Grogu and I. For me,” he adds and cringes at his weak explanation. “Look, you mean a lot to the kid, and me. Besides giving you some of my credits, my sleeping quarters, food and—” he begins to list off things he provides you with which should be a given, especially since he asked you to come along. You raise both your eyebrows in unamusement and cross your arms, tilting your head at him. He couldn’t hold back a grin at your sudden attitude and shakes his head. “I wanted to thank you for everything you do, with flowers. Because, they’re. Uh, flowers.”

You press your lips together and nod in acknowledgement, restraining yourself from insulting him like you usually did. For once, you believed this wasn’t the time to. You briefly avert your eyes back and forth between him and the flowers and decide to show him your thanks as well. You jump into his arms and hug him tightly, or at least attempt to hug him with his bulky clad of armor on. 

“Oof,” he mutters and freezes up at your unexpected actions, unsure of what to do.

“Hug me back, laser brain,” you grumble.

He feels an unfamiliar discomfort in his stomach, his heart beginning to quicken and his cheeks starting to warm up. In disbelief of this feeling, something he begins to remember he hasn’t felt in a long time, he smiles at the thought. He hugs you back, pulls you close and rests his chin upon your shoulder while wrapping his arms around your waist gingerly. “Thank you,” he mumbles softly.

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tagging some mutuals! @sunsetholland @opheliacult @greenorangevioletgrass @poestardust @buckysbeloved @dcisyquakes @florenepughs @marvelinsanity @hollandcrush @spideyspeaches @calltothewild-blog @eusuntgroot @emmastarz​ @peterbenjiparker​ @earthlyholland​ @etherealsanakin​​​

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#kelly's long reads #din djarin #din djarin one shot #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #the mandolorian fanfiction #the mandolorian #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 2]

part 2 of my 2020 fic recs!! as before, ive limited this to five fics per month; and fics are ordered by the month they were published. This spans fandoms and ships, and hopefully you find something you like!! credit for the idea goes to @iam93percentstardust

***

July

this is the start: @capnwinghead

Clark and Bruce continue raising the Wayne children and encounter a number of challenges along the way.

great minds (love alike): @starklysteve

Steve’s eyes flicks down to Tony’s knees on the floor.

“Are you – are you proposing to me with my ring for you?” Steve asks incredulously, eyes wide and confused.

---

Or, Steve finds Tony’s ring for him, Tony finds Steve’s ring for him. Panic happens.

Marvels Unsolved: @iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty web-series about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

it’s a small world after all: @maguna-stxrk

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop.

They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away.

you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins: @nethandrake

Tony always figured that if they ever were to break up, it would be like a blaze. Scorching and hot and all-too blinding. Intense like the two of them have always been.

Instead, they break up on a Tuesday, with the rain pelting the windowpane and the midnight silence stifling.

August

Five Times Danny said he’d marry Steve (plus one): @five-wow

Danny humphs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I think I’d probably have married you by now.”

“I’d marry you, too,” Steve says.

Or: An experiment in how many times you can say something before you have to put your money where your mouth is.

Family (You’ve Always Had It): @/SunnyQueen

A black Camaro and a scowling blond was not what Junior had been expecting.

“Hi, sir. You didn’t have to pick me up.”

The blond looked up from the screen on his phone and groaned, completely ignoring Junior's statement. “You are right, I didn't have to."

Ode To Yoga Pants: @riotfalling

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Through The Years: @hawkbucks

Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

The broken road that led me home to you: @just-fandomthings

A documented list of conversations between Steve and Danny via text and phone call following the events of 10x22 "Aloha." (Where, even thousands of miles apart, Steve and Danny can't go without talking to each other.)

September

someday, we’ll pass it on to you: @starklysteve

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

---------------

Or, five times Peter did the repulsor pose as a toddler

+ one time he used the repulsors as an adult

Classic Sci Fi: @notdoingsohot

Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.

He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.

He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.

They were right.

Blooms in Frost: @/Diomedes

Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years.

Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Hanahaki AU: Established relationship

------------------------------------------

A Single Thread of Gold: @lovelyirony

Rhodey doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that cheesy shit. He just wants someone who is nice, dependable, and safe.

Tony Stark is Housing Service's little problem for the school year, and now he's stuck in Rhodey's room because he's exploded the last two dorm rooms he's been in and won't live off-campus.

high roller, place your bet: @machi-kun

“Would you kiss Stark for a hundred bucks?”

“I would pay a hundred bucks to kiss him.”

October

press my luck: @omg-just-peachy

But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.

Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.

see it with the lights out: @starklysteve

Tony goes on a business trip, and he does not - not at all - get jealous of Dodger hogging his husband's chest, a territory otherwise known as Tony's pillow.

(or, Steve goes on an Instagram spree and Tony misses home)

adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane: @starkslovemail

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

The Buy In: @dracusfyre

For the ImagineTonyandBucky prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

November

“Hey Tony”: @riotfalling

Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

Remembering You is Hard to Do: @lovelyirony

“The future’s crazy, honey-bear.”

Jim looks up.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Honey-bear. It’s weird.”

“Inside joke we have,” Tony says, chest tightening. “We thought those couples that have the lovey-dovey nicknames were ridiculous.”

overheard your heartbeat (calling me yours): @starklysteve

"Tony - "

"I wish I could promise to come home this time," he feels the armor crawl back down his arm, continuing unnoticed over Steve's red gloves, then up the blue uniform as Tony fights to keep Steve's gaze firmly fixed on him.

The last eyes Tony might get to see, and he wants to be lost in them.

In the end, his entire life boils down a few simple things: "JARVIS, take care of him for me."

----------

Or, Tony overhears a phonecall where Steve proposes, a battle happens, and a paper ring settles some misunderstandings.

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.: @nethandrake

For as long as Steve can remember, he's been crushing on Tony Stark. The thing is, he's pretty sure Tony doesn't know Steve exists. And how could he? Steve's scrawny and little. He's a nobody compared to Tony who's Mr Popular and the son of a billionaire.

Or at least he thought so until Tony swings by the bakery Steve's mother happens to own to enlist Steve's help in finding the perfect Valentine's Day card.

The perfect Valentine's Day card for someone who isn't Steve.

One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing): @iam93percentstardust

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

December

Swiping Right: @s-horne

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

set your flight path home (to me): @starklysteve 

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”

“Last night,” Tony grins.

---------------

Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.

I Want A Man With A Slow Hand: @thefourofswords

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked on their way to a crime scene, because no time like the present, and Danny believed in ripping off band-aids.

“Why not?” Steve replied, eyes on the road. “You’re gonna even if I say no.”

“What do you like in bed?”

*

Danny undertakes a very important mission to get Steve laid. For his health. Ahem.

same time next year: @omg-just-peachy

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile): @starklysteve

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

#adi's rec list #superbat #superhusbands #winterironfalcon #mcdanno #buckytony #peppernat #superfamily #rhodeytony #ironfamily #and that's a wrap!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 V

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, slight oral, handjob/fingering, degradation)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You leave the capital but you can’t break away from your keeper.

Note: Hopefully I can work on my masterlist updates today! So keep an eye out on @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor​

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The king hadn’t been gone long before your departure was set and the palace set to readying the horses and their riders. Loki presented you with a maid’s dress and apron and had you dress the part for the journey to his brother’s manor of Thunder Lodge.

“Keep your head down,” he bid as you changed, “If any should wonder why you are unfamiliar, you will explain that you have recently been re-allocated among the staff. When we do arrive, if any do question your duties, you will say you tend to one of the lords.” 

There were a dozen servants in the cart with you, packed in among chests and other luggage.  As you rocked with its motion, you could see him and hear his voice still.

“Do not mention me. Once all is settled, you will join me and remain in my chambers until we return to the road.” He fixed his hair in the glass as he spoke. He was agitated as he continued to find ways to keep his hands busy. “And at last, I might show you truly the extent of your sentence.”

You squeezed your thighs together as you pressed yourself to the side of the cart. You could remember so clearly the way his tongue felt and that joyous flame which had overtaken our core. It made you sweat to think on it and his promises of more only added to your unwanted fervour. Your spite was splintered by your sinful want.

The secrecy made it feel worse. It assured you that it was wrong. Certainly, a bed warmer was not unheard of, mistresses far more common, but Loki’s insistence upon deception made you anxious. Perhaps, it added to his amusement. Or perhaps he was ashamed to lay with a commoner. It truly didn’t matter so you pondered little on his whims.

Camp was made just after dark. The moon beamed down on the party and you slept among the staff and the horses. You didn’t expect Loki to call for you nor were you disappointed. Yet you thought of him. You couldn’t shake him. 

Even as you thought of sneaking away, he lingered in your mind. He warned you that you would not go unobserved and you hadn’t. You noticed the guard and how he stayed close to the servants’ cart. His grey eyes as they found you amid the bunch. He was one of esteemed warriors assigned to the king’s personal guard and yet he wore the mail of the common palace sentinel. You both wore disguises and both knew each other to be interlopers.

The party rose with the sun. It wasn’t long before you were in the cart again. You dozed for some minutes but woke as you were jostled roughly. You watched the winding path and the trees peter out to tall grasses and fields of yellow, blue, and red petals. 

Your vision streaked as your head spun; something about this trip made you anxious, not that you had felt anything but in the last days. There was a foreboding deep in your stomach and it had you fidgeting as sweat beaded under the collar of your dress.

You had never been far from the capital, you never had the reason or the means. You were further then than you had ever been. The great stone pillars of Hammers Bough rose around you and opened up to the city that marked the threshold of Thunder Lodge. 

The oldest of the royal houses, Thunder Lodge was an implacable fortress said to be built on the will of the gods. It had once been the capital until a great storm swept in from the sea and flooded out the city. It had since been rebuilt but the royals and their court had since moved to the current capital of Starseed.

The gates of the royal abode were open as the king’s retinue approached and within, silks hung from the walls bearing the crest of the major houses of the realm. The sky was dimming as the sun began its decline and the August afternoon began to cool. The progression had made good time on the road but still with little time to prepare for the next day’s events.

At the rear of the train, you peered past the horses and the nobles and their carriages as a booming voice broke over the din. The blonde prince greeted his dark-haired brother before he could dismount and nearly pulled him from his saddle with his gruff handshake. Loki righted himself and slid down to his feet. The two men were similar in height, though Thor was twice as broad.

As the lords and their wives, daughters, and sons, began to deploy, you lost sight of the sons of Odin. You were forced from your haze by the servant next to you and you hopped down from the cart as the others began to unload the chests. You joined them, straining beneath the great weight as your skirts bunched between your legs with each bend.

You wiped your dusty hands on your apron as you caught your breath and readied to care a heavy chest up through the servants’ doors with another girl in brown wool. You paused as you caught the eye of the covert guard. He fingered the pommel of his sword as he squinted at you. The dented armor of his disguise did little to disassemble his stature.

You grabbed the leather handle of the chest and heaved it from the dirt. You followed the other girl along the line of servants to the doors. Inside, the resident staff directed the visitors and instructed them according to their master. The servants who had no specific liege, were to remain in the kitchens.

You let the other girl, Hanna, take the lead and left the chest in Lady Ulna’s chambers. You returned to the lower floors and exited through the same doors. Slowly, the toil was thinning as the nobles were welcomed through the front doors.

As you neared the cart, you were caught by your arm and thrust behind it. The armored guard shoved you against the wood as his hand returned to his sword.

“Stay,” he snarled. “Can’t have you getting lost.”

You stared up at him. A dark haired man with broad shoulders and a thick beard beneath his helm. He was similar to Thor in build, perhaps bigger.

“He thinks I will run?”

“He knows you to be a trespasser,” the man shrugged, “It is not beyond you to stray.”

“And you think I could outpace you?” You scoffed. “I haven’t tried upon this journey.”

“There has been little opportunity to do thus and I assure you, you wouldn’t make it two steps beyond my grasp, girl,” he glanced around and watched the other servants. “The king has assigned you as my personal duty. It is not what I’d prefer but I have always served well and you would not stain my reputation.”

You said nothing and crossed your arms as you leaned against the cart. He felt around at his belt and dug out a strip of dried meat from a leather pouch. He chewed and grumbled as the din of voices faded beyond the tall door of the palace and the servants went about their labor.

“Alright, best have you away,” he made to grab you again and you drew away.

“I can follow,” you assured him, “You don’t need to drag me.”

His nostrils flared and he shook his head. “I should like to,” he muttered but didn’t try again as he waved you back down to the servants doors.

Within, he asked a scullery where the king would be lodged and nodded at her directions. He continued on, prodding you back into step and strayed away from the path of other servants.

“She said the other way,” you intoned.

“I know my way,” he growled, “Now, quiet, girl.”

He led you up a winding staircase wordlessly, trailing behind you in his armour. When you reached the top, he ducked through the low archway and led you through the maze like corridors until he happened upon the more lively passages. A pair of doors was open as the guard approached the boy Hal who stood by the frame.

“Magnus,” Hal’s voice cracked as he saw the guard and his eyes peeked at you.

“The king does not want any suspicion. Keep her hidden in the bedchamber as the luggage is unloaded. I will be close.” He nudged you forward. “Hurry, before she is noticed.”

Hal nodded and waved you within. The boy was terrified of the much larger guard and you couldn’t blame him. You stepped through the doors as the servant scurried to open the bedchamber doors. Magnus lingered by the entrance as his armor clinked against the stone.

“Please, miss, the king would be unhappy if you are discovered.” Hal warned. “You must remain and keep quiet.”

You wondered at why such caution was being taken but merely nodded. The boy was only doing his duty and he was surrounded by cruel men. You walked the perimeter of the bedchamber and turned back to him.

“We both know the king to be mean-hearted,” you said, “I will do as you say.”

“I must close the doors,” he said as he retreated. 

You tilted your head and spun back. You went to the window as the doors shut with a click. You gazed out from behind the silk drapes and that same stone set in your heart. A foreign prison was no less a trap.

🐍

When the servants finished their work, Hal knocked and asked after you. He was a kind boy, not very talkative, and nearly completely silent in the presence of the king. You affirmed that you were as well as you could be and he left to return with a plate for your supper. You sat at the small round table in the bedchamber as he set down the covered dish.

“What duties await you now?” you asked.

He blanched and blinked. He lowered his head as his muddy brown hair fell over his forehead. “I will wait for the king.”

“Will you sit with me?”

He raised his head and gaped at you. “I don’t-- I don’t know that it is permitted.”

“You are not allowed to speak with me?”

“The king has never said it but I do not… speak with many.” He confessed.

“Oh,” you lifted the lid of the plate, “Well, there is very much food here and I have a small stomach. I will need someone to share with and I must admit, I am lonely for company.”

“I don’t know,” he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“I will take the blame for it, if the king is displeased.” You offered, “What good does it do you sitting in the next room alone?”

His brows drew together and he looked around. Cautiously, he pulled out the other chair and sat. You pushed the plate to the middle of the table and took a chunk of cheese. He shyly took a slice of the thick bread and bit into it. You could see he was nervous. You caught his eyes on you several times and a blush upon his cheeks.

“I’m not a whore,” you said sharply. “The king might put me in the position but… I am just a woman.”

“I didn’t--”

“Well, we both know why I am here but I can’t bear you looking at me so.” You reproached. “I used to make pots and the like. I worked in a shop. I suspect I am little different than you.”

“The king says you are a criminal,” Hal nibbled between words.

“Well, in a sense, yes,” you tapped the table with your fingertips, “I ventured onto castle grounds without permission but it is no great crime.” You bent your arm on the wood and cupped your chin. “Does the king say anything else of me?”

“Not to me,” Hal took a carrot from the plate, “He commands me, that is all.”

“As he does me.” You sat up, “We are both bound to his will.”

The boy glanced away guiltily. “I don’t think you a whore. I’m sorry.”

“It is fine,” you assured him, “I am not offended. I would not share my plate if I was.”

He chewed for a time and took another morsel from the plate. Finally, he dared to look at you again.

“I’ve heard him… hurt you.” Hal said quietly, “You shouldn’t goad him so.”

You chuckled and took a deep breath. “It is not hard to do so.”

“But if you were more amenable--”

“You are young. You can’t understand,” you wiped your hands on your apron, “But my resistance is all I have. And there is nothing the king can offer me but pain, so I’d rather meet it with gull than grace.”

Hal frowned. He thought but only looked more confused. He sniffed and shifted in his seat.

“I should go prepare for the king,” he stood, “He is of little patience when his brother is near.”

“Alright,” you sat back, “I will not mention this to him.”

“Thank you,” Hal neared the door and paused as he looked back. He smiled before he ducked into the receiving chamber and your lips curved slightly in kind. Then his words settled in your mind, ‘prepare for the king’. You would have to deal with Loki eventually.

🐍

The door slammed and had you rigid. You spent the hours since your arrival pacing the room and watching through the window. Hal appeared once more to clear your plate but didn’t say much as he returned to the task of unpacking the king’s luggage.

You heard Loki’s voice from the receiving chamber and you went to the bedroom door. You peered through as he swayed on his feet and Hal struggled to unclasp his cap from his shoulders. The king was barely aware of the boy as he drunkenly smiled at the walls.

Finally, Hal freed the length of green silk and hung it. The king staggered forward and caught himself against the settee. His eyes flicked up and caught yours. He smirked and stood straight. He raised a finger.

“Boy, you can go. I trust I can tend to myself tonight,” Loki declared, “And I have help should I require it.”

Hal bowed his head with a quiet ‘your majesty’. He peeked over at you as he went to the door. He reluctantly left you and the door closed gently in his stead. The king ambled forward and reached out for you as he stumbled. You could only catch him as he threatened to topple.

“Look at you, mouse,” he slurred, “Dressed as a maid. How silly!”

He leaned on you heavily and too afraid to drop him, you turned and angled him into the bedroom. His arms fell down your back and he squeezed your ass through the layers of wool and linen. You grimaced and managed to get him onto one of the chairs. He sat sideways and slumped against the back with an arm bent over the top.

He hiccupped and pushed his legs apart. He swung his leg as he looked at you and hummed.

“Do take off that ridiculous attire,” he slithered, “You will serve me but I expect more than a dusting.”

You stared at him and hesitated. You touched the apron across your front and he sat up and snapped his fingers.

“I am your king!” He proclaimed. “I have bid you undress for me, wench!”

He slapped his thigh and you flinched. You reached back and untied the apron. You turned and tossed it over the low bench against the wall. You undid the straps of your smock and shimmied out of the skirt. You left it atop the apron and removed the long white linen underdress. Your shift slipped easily down your figure as you spun back to him and raised your chin.

You slid your feet from your slippers and rolled down the stockings. You stood naked and glared at him as he admired you. Your crossed your arms as his gaze made you shiver and he grabbed onto the chair as he nearly fell over.

“Here,” he waved you forward with two fingers, “Get me out of this...” he pushed himself to his feet with effort, “Shit!”

His voice warbled between quiet and loud as the alcohol made him clumsy. You crossed to him and his hands clapped your shoulders as he held himself up. You looked up at him as he leaned dangerously and reached up to unbutton the high collar of his overcoat. His hands fluttered up your neck and cradled your face.

He bent and his nose touched yours. He smiled and swayed you with him. 

“You’re mad at me.” He sang. “I do love it when you sneer so.”

“I’m not mad,” you worked down the front of his jacket, “You need to stand straight so I can get this off.”

“I can hear it in your voice,” he stood and let his arms drop so you could push the brocade down them. “Or perhaps you are impatient. You wish a repeat of our last meeting.” He snickered, “Does your cunt ache for me?”

You tore his coat off entirely and strode away to hang it over a chair. When you returned to him, he bent for you to remove his tunic and his hands grazed you sides.

“I did expect a slap for that one,” he taunted, “I will only have to try harder…” He looked down, “Speaking of hard.”

His trousers tented as you unlaced them. He sat for you to slide his boots off with his socks and stood again as you pushed his leggings down. His erect member was hard to ignore as he was completely naked and unstable. You looked him in the face and narrowed your eyes.

“I am not angry at you because I despise you already,” you said, “It is hatred you feel from me.”

He chuckled and pulled you to him, his arms around your waist as he pressed himself to you.

“You hate what I make you feel because you are too proud to admit that you want me,” he purred, “And too afraid of what you’ve never known.”

“Oh, let go of me, you drunken fool,” you pushed on his arms. “You are like to have us both on the floor.”

He winked and slapped your ass again. He drew away but took your hand as he did. He neared the bed and sloppily snuffed the lamp with a blow. The chamber was dark as he flopped onto the mattress and dragged you down beside him. You snarled as he rolled you against him and stretched your arm across him. His other hand danced over the scars along your back.

“I am drunk,” he admitted and played with your hand, “I had to imbibe to bear my brother’s nonsense.” He guided your hand down and closed it around his cock. “And I do require a release as I find myself riled.”

You gripped him but did not move your hand as his fell away. You breathed darkly over his chest and his other arm hugged you tighter.

“Would you rather your mouth?” He taunted, he slipped his arm beneath yours and turned his body slightly, “Or you do long for reciprocity?”

He pushed his fingers between your legs and found your bud. You squeezed your thighs against him and he rubbed you roughly.

“Go on, don’t just hold it,” he hissed as toyed with you.

Slowly, you moved your hand up and down his length. Your legs twitched as your cunt slickened beneath his touch. He explored your folds as he held you to him and you stroked him almost without thought. Your hand kept time with him as he lured you to the edge and dangled you there. His breath smelled of wine as his grazed your skin and he pressed his nose against your hair.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Almost there.”

He shoved his hand between your legs and felt along your entrance. He pushed a finger inside and you gasped. Your rhythm faltered but he urged you on with a groan. You were too overwhelmed to stop. That unearthly delight began to gather in your loins, deeper as he slid another finger into and rocked his hand against your clit.

You rasped, then moaned, and felt his body begin to quake. The noise of your wet cunt underlined your heady pants and he had you on your back as he turned onto his side and kept you against him. Your legs splayed open around his hand and your eyes lolled back in your head.

You exclaimed as your walls clenched his fingers and you came. He climaxed in quick succession as warmth seeped down your palm and coated his member. He spasmed and pulled away from you as he grew overly sensitive but kept his fingers inside of you. He stilled his hand and sunk to his knuckles as he explored your depths.

“I can only imagine how you’ll feel around my cock,” he said. “But I should like to remember the first.” 

He slipped his hand away from your cunt and sighed as he rolled onto his back. He lifted his fingers to his lips and licked them. He purred and sucked them clean before trailing down to his pelvis. He tutted.

“I am a mess,” he said, “You’ve made a mess of me.”

You sat up, trembling and turned to climb off the bed. “I will fetch a cloth then--”

“You will not,” he grabbed your arm as you held your wet hand aloft. “You will clean me up yourself.”

“Wha--”

“Your mouth,” he pushed your hand towards your face. “Taste me.”

You stared at the silhouette of your hand in horror. You hoped he could not see your face. You gulped and brought your hand to your lips. You touched your finger with the tip of your tongue and reluctantly dragged it over your skin. He released you and pushed himself up on his elbows as he watched you in the dim.

One, two, three, four fingers and your thumb. You lowered your hand in shame and he nodded at his loins. You stifled a grumble and bent over him. His cum had cooled and was sticky as you closed your eyes to the revolting task. He groaned as you tried not to hear him and when you finished, he pet your head like an obedient dog.

“Ah,” he sighed and drew you up against him once more, “I feel it. You are mad now.” He yawned and tickled your hip, “Perhaps we might take it up on the morrow.”

“You are vile,” you sneered.

He snickered and pinched your ass. “I never denied such a claim, little mouse.”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #mcu #marvel #thor #by the king's hand #series #medieval #medieval au #medieval!au #king!loki

[mimik-u]

Gloves, Ch. 1

Summary: There's a reason that Yellow Diamond doesn't take off her gloves.

A/N: The other day, as a part of my 100-word drabble word series for SU, I fulfilled this prompt, which required me to question what might be beneath Yellow Diamond's gloves. The headcanon I came up with intrigued me, and inspiration to write a seven pt. fic was thus born. Between school and other creative projects, I'm not entirely sure that this one will get updated regularly, but I do have a fairly firm outline in mind, so I hope the wait between chapters won't be too long! Enjoy!

AO3 Link

“Blue?”

“... yes, Pink?”

Though the other Diamond barely looks up from her screen, Pink Diamond can tell that she’s listening from the way that her long chin slightly inclines in her direction.

Good.

Because she has an important question to ask.

Attention is hard won from the likes of Blue and Yellow Diamond, so even half-victories are still victories that have to be capitalized upon with immediacy. Pink lightly hops upwards from her own throne to the arm of Blue’s, floating downwards into an expectant sitting position, happily ignoring the fact that her elder flicks away her screen with a sigh that filters visibly through her nostrils. If Blue was really annoyed, then she’d just have her Pearl usher her to her chambers... but tellingly, the imperial command never quite comes.

Pink takes courage from this implicit sign and forges ahead in a rush of breathless words.

“Why does Yellow wear her gloves all the time?”

It’s an observation that has increasingly captured her attention as the years have marched on with seemingly zero deviation in pattern.

Yellow Diamond never removes her gloves.

Pink wears gloves, too, but they’re nothing like Yellow’s—so stiff and armor-like, as inflexible as their wearer. Plus, she pulls hers off from time to time so she can feel flowers on her fingertips… their soft, delicate petals... those spiny, fragile leaves. Yellow, in stark contrast, never goes anywhere without hers—even when she joins the Diamonds in the pool on extraction cycles, even when she retires to her chambers at the end of a long day. Exceptionless in most things, so intransigent and firm, it’s no great surprise that the elder Diamond adheres to her own chosen mold, but still…

Even Blue Diamond lowers her hooded veil.

Even White Diamond occasionally unpins her cape.

Blue frowns thoughtfully, subtle lines striking themselves beneath her eyes as she peers downwards at Pink. There’s a look of calculation in her gaze, a sense of measurement, as though she’s already weighing how much she can get away with not saying.

“Have you ever asked Yellow about them directly?”

Pink briefly considers lying, but then thinks better of it. While she might get away with an occasional white lie to Yellow, Blue and White are far more discerning in their judgment—White especially.

(Sometimes, she swears that the matriarch can read her mind.)

“... not really,” she bites her lip. “I just assumed it would be rude to ask a Gem about her appearance modifiers...”

“And so you settled upon asking another Gem about someone else’s appearance modifiers,” Blue observes, a certain wryness in the slight tilt of her lips.

“Something like that,” Pink confirms, not entirely abashed. “I just figured that you would know, and that would save me the trouble from having to pester Yellow about them.”

But Blue’s expression recoils to its former solemnity again as she immediately shakes her head, her hair shifting heavily with the movement.”

“Yes... please do not do that, Pink... not unless she brings it up... Yellow—“

But now it’s Blue’s turn to be hesitant; she doesn’t blush, not in the way that Pink blushes—so furiously, all of her emotions scribbled across her face—but her cheeks aren’t as coolly colored as before, taking on a tinge less like her hair and more like the facets of her gem.

“Yellow what?” Pink asks insistently, pressing her momentary advantage. As subtly as she can, she leans forward a little bit on her blue perch, like an organic avian preparing for flight. “Please, pretty please tell me, Blue. I won’t tell Yellow that you told.”

(Probably.)

(Likely.)

(It’s a tossup of probability, really.)

“You’re being facetious, Pink,” Blue admonishes quietly, glancing away. “This is a serious matter that deserves the utmost respect.”

And though Blue is almost always serious, Pink instinctively intuits that Blue has rarely been more serious than in this conversation, which had begun so innocently, with errant curiosity. When she faces Pink again, her expression has returned to its usual placid coolness, but her fingers are interlocked in her lap, woven into a rigid temple that bespeaks far more about her feelings on the situation than the studious coldness of her eyes.

Pink cowers beneath the weight of this silent gesture, leaning backwards on her makeshift seat.

“Sorry, Blue,” she mumbles shamefacedly and hopes that the apology is sufficient. She doesn’t want to go to her chambers for the rest of the cycle. It’s so rare that Blue allows her to accompany her for the day.

Thankfully, though, the other Diamond seems to accept her contrition as sincere, nodding slowly, the ice melting from her eyes in degrees.

Pink can’t help but wonder at these microscopic exchanges, so subtle but undoubtedly there—who knew that gloves could wring such excess of emotion in the nigh emotionless Blue Diamond?

“Yes, well,” she says, each word doled out carefully, with all the air of internal constraint, “I can give you the basics... but as for the rest, you’ll have to wait until Yellow is ready to tell you—if and when that ever is. She doesn’t like to dwell upon the matter... even with me... perhaps even especially with me...”

Blue trails off, an aching concern seemingly troubling her brow. Pink think she’s know why.  Of the four Diamonds, Blue and Yellow emerged from the same supernova some hundreds of thousand years ago, sharing atoms and stardust and precious intimacy in a way that has always made Pink feel a little lonely. They’re bound to each other by far more than simple affinity, tangled, intertwined, and enmeshed.

Naturally, any breach between them doesn’t settle right in Blue Diamond’s gem.

Pink forces herself to be patient, to allow the other Diamond to find her words again.

“But that is no matter,” she finally says—rather unconvincingly. “I know enough… I know how it began.”

“And how is that exactly?” 

Blue’s arctic gaze settles upon the younger Diamond again, and there’s sadness in her eyes, ancient and unfathomable depth. 

It strikes her suddenly, with all the force of blow, how much older than Pink that she is.

That they all are.

White and Yellow and Blue and all the very stars which surround Homeworld in their bright and intangible embrace.

“It begins as we Diamonds all do,” Blue whispers, reaching upwards to glance her fingers across her gem. “As entities with nearly infinite power, inexplicably constrained within the boundaries and volatilities of our emotions…”

Pink’s immediate confusion must show in her face because the other Diamond immediately clarifies, frowning softly.

“Which is to say, think about your own powers, Pink—how, at the height of your emotions, they can inadvertently manifest in strange ways…”

“Like, a few cycles ago”—Pink can’t help but smile—“when I accidentally made those pebbles come to life.”

She’d cried on a few decorative rocks—upset that she couldn’t accompany Yellow to her Jungle Moon colony—and within mere seconds, they were animated with life, growing arms and legs and expressive faces, clumsily moving around on her vanity, knocking things over. 

Now, they live in her chambers, parroting the words she says.

“Yes, precisely,” Blue nods approvingly, in that way she only does when Pink manages to get something right. “The general theory—according to White—is that when we Diamonds feel any strong degree of emotion, we generate those emotions into tangible consequences, whether we intend to or otherwise…”

Pink tilts her head curiously. It’s hard to imagine any of her three elders showing a “strong degree of emotion.” In their own ways, each of them—White, Yellow, and Blue—are so meticulous in their chosen facades, bearing their regality on their faces with a modicum of control that they often scold their most junior Diamond for lacking.

But Blue is perceptive in this front, too, her frown slowly shifting into the slightest, most incremental of smiles. 

“Constraining yourself, learning to manage your emotions, will come with time and age,” she promises gently. “But it is essential that you learn this lesson sooner rather than later because, well, there are some consequences of our feelings that we can rationally accept, and others…”

“Not so much?” Pink guesses astutely, beginning to have a burgeoning idea of what this entire story must be about.

“Aye,” Blue Diamond affirms with a measured nod of her head. “Aye… Yellow Diamond’s powers are electric, you know. When we were younger Diamonds… when we didn’t have all that much possession over ourselves and our emotions and everything in-between … she couldn’t touch anything without hurting it.”

The finality of the statement bruises the entirety of the throne room with its magnitude. Pink stares upwards at the other Diamond with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“What?”

“You must understand, Pink,” Blue returns emphatically, her voice strained beneath its own quiet urgency. “Yellow then was very much like she is now—stoic, temperamental, quick to action and reaction—but all of these qualities were amplified by her youth and relative impulsivity—and so she was nigh constantly creating her own energy. It pooled in her fingertips. It sparked in her eyes. It electrified her entire body. When she was frustrated, she could barely touch a screen without short-circuiting it. When she was furious, she could destabilize an entire court of innocent gems. Even when she was happy, joyous after conquest or battle or victory… she couldn’t even touch—“

But Blue Diamond stops short, her breath hitching.

It only takes her seconds to recover, to regain at least the semblance of composure across the smooth facets of her face, but Pink isn’t entirely naïve. 

She knows that the completion to that self-interrupted sentence must have been me.

“After one especially harrowing incident,” Blue continues, closing her eyes against what appears to be a painful memory, “she tasked a group of Bismuths to forge special gloves for her that would insulate her powers more efficiently. The gloves helped. Absolutely. She could lean her hand against a pillar and not char it to dust… and since then, of course, she has become more… practiced in tempering her emotions, so much so that I have a sneaking suspicion that the gloves are less functional than they are habitual… but still, she wears them…”

Blue doesn’t say anymore, but the implicit completion to her speech needs no articulation to be known.

And she’ll continue to wear them.

Forever.

For time immemorial.

Pink Diamond scarcely knows what to say, how to process this terrible truth, how to feel.

Silence presses upon the cavernous throne room like the weight of a palm sinking downwards and downwards still, and she can’t help but stare downwards at her own gloved hands, wondering if they, too, have the capacity for engendering such violence.

She hopes not.

Stars, how she prays.

“What was the turning point?” She dares to ask when the quietude gets to be too much, the invisible hand too oppressive.

And yet, her own voice is quiet.

Solemn.

Terribly afraid and equally curious.

The oxymoron twists the gem in her stomach. She half-wants to know and half-dreads the answer.

Thankfully, though—(disappointingly?)—Blue Diamond shakes her head firmly, her brow lowered sternly over her eyes.

“That is not my story to tell.”

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pink diamond #s: steven universe #mimiku #hisoisoaihdfhidhfiofhsio #do i have time to be writing a seven pt. fic #no #am i doing it anyway #yeah #gloves

[timeforelfnonsense]

Under the Light of the Moon (Updated)

Dafni x Astarion 

Rating: E 

Ao3

I’ve been reworking some of the first fics I wrote for these two now that I have a better idea of their relationship. I’ve updated them on Ao3 but there was some interest in me reposting them here as well!  

Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series 

The tiefling’s fireworks boomed overhead, filling the sky with shimmering lights of gold and silver. Dafni smiled to herself, soaking up the feelings of splendor and revelry that swirled all around her. Their merriment danced across her skin like a warm summer breeze and filled her chest with contentment. She closed her eyes and pictured herself back home in the Feywilds where such joy would have surely created astonishing delights that could only exist in the imaginations of those who had never basked in its splendor.

“Well, you seem quite blissful!” A pretty tiefling spoke, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I just wanted to say thank you-.” She paused, “Is that umm normal for you?”

Dafni blinked a few times allowing herself to float back down to reality. She followed the bard’s eyes down to her feet where a small patch of flowers had begun to bloom.  “Oh! Yes!” Dafni assured, taking the other woman’s hands in her own. “Sorry! I was a bit far away just then! What were you saying?”

“Only that I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh! You don’t need to thank me Alfira! I was happy to help!”

“You remembered my name?” Alfira said, her eyes lighting up as a beaming smile formed on her lips.

“Of course! I sang with you in the grove!” Dafni gave her hands a little squeeze, “You have a beautiful voice.”

A deep plum blush spread across Alfira’s cheeks as she babbled a thank you. Dafni had that effect on people, charming and beguiling them as effortlessly as breathing. It wasn’t something she did on purpose. It was simply the way the gods made her. She craved closeness and affection from those around her more than most. She had been brought up by a serious, if not dotting mother who tirelessly protected her from those who would seek to take advantage of her kind heart. As well as a clan of ‘sisters’ with whom she had shared her every thought and confidence. To Dafni tenderness and trust were simply the way of things and she had carried that sensibility with her into the Material.

“Don’t look,” Alfira leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “but, that man is staring at you rather intently.”

“What man!?” Dafni squealed, “Where?! What does he look like!”

Dafni began to bounce on her heels as she battled the urge to follow Alfira’s stare. She, like so many of the fey, found herself rather enchanted by flattery and adoration. A dashing stranger admiring her from across a party was a positively delightful prospect.

“He’s an elven man, very fair in complexion. He has handsome features but he looks a bit...Intense. I think I saw him with you at the grove?”

Astarion?

Her heart skipped a few beats. She’d always thought him rather attractive- Princely even. With his strong cheekbones and a sharp jaw. And those ruby-red eyes, teeming with unanswered questions. There was a delicious danger about him as well. She should have found his vampiric nature ghastly and frightening, but it only added to his wicked charms. She certainly wanted him but he could be a hard book to read. On one hand, he was always chiding her for ‘unnecessary acts of kindness’. On the other, he’d nearly kissed her that day on the riverbank. And the night she’d allowed him to drink from her he had held her with such affection but she’d attributed that to some sort of vampire feeding behavior rather than attraction. The curiosity became too much for Dafni to bear. He was leaning against a tree drinking wine straight from the bottle. It seemed Astarion was indeed her admirer after all. Her cheeks went hot as they clapped eyes on each other. With a smirk, he mouthed a silent ‘hello’.

He heard the lyrical chime of Dafni’s laughter from the other side of camp. She threw her head back, sending her lovely pink curls tumbling down her shoulders. Flowers sprung up at her bare feet and butterflies with wigs of faerie fire fluttered around her. She had traded her armor for a nearly transparent dress that left precious little to the imagination. He could hardly look away. She had an exquisite figure, softer than most elves, plump and curvaceous. It was as if she had intended to tease and tempt him, prancing around in next to nothing. A gentle breeze blew through her hair and filled his lungs with the familiar aroma of lilac and evening primrose.

His mouth watered at the thought of sinking his teeth back into her once more. The memory of her fingers laced through his hair, pulling him closer, inviting him to drink deeper, was still fresh in his mind. He’d thought about bedding her plenty of times after they met but, they had been little more than idle fantasies. But, since that first taste, he found his imagination wandering towards the debaucherous more and more often when she was around.

“Enjoying your party, Daffodil?” He asked, taking a long drink of his wine as she bounded towards him, “Would you like some? It tastes awful but please, help yourself.”

“It’s OUR party!” She corrected, “You shouldn’t be over here sulking alone!”

She shook her head, rose curls bouncing as she snatched the bottle for a nip. He couldn’t help but smile as she screwed up her nose when she swallowed. No, red wine wouldn’t be her drink would it? Too heavy and bitter. She’d like something sweeter. Floral maybe? Just like her.

“See. Awful! You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they toasted for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He paused for just a moment before scrunching his nose up in disgust, “I hate it. This is awful.”

“You did a good thing!” She scolded, “You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

He scoffed, giving her a dismissive wave, “I just would have liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine. I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

“You should attend a party in the Feywilds sometime.” She suggested, “They can go on for days at a time! Especially if a satyr is involved in the planning!”

“That does sound more exciting. This drawl gathering could do with a little more heathenism. You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer so to speak.” There it was. He needed to have her. Why deny it any longer? He’d been cautious and calculated but the craving for her never stopped. He looked her over from toe to tip, drinking in her beauty with unapologetic want.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?”  Her pink eyelashes fluttered over winsome topaz eyes. Her slender fingers tucking a stray hair behind his ear.

He stared at her dumbfounded. Was she really that innocent? He thought he’d made it clear he was interested? Perhaps she’d never been propositioned before, though he doubted that. She was a fetching little enchantress. It was impossible that he was the first to take note of her grace and charm.

“By the Hells! Sex, my dear.”

“Oh? Is that what you are after?” A mischievous grin formed on her perfect lips. “Well maybe if you say please.”

“What?” He couldn’t help the keenness in his voice.

“Say please,” Dafni repeated, her tone was honey-sweet.

Her head tilted to the side allowing her hair to slip from her shoulder and expose her neck. She took a step closer, closing the space between them. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to swallow a low moan as she caressed him over his breeches. It seemed sweet, angelic, Daffodil was not quite the innocent maiden after all. A delicious turn of events. Her other hand wound its way through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her. Her lips were petal-soft against his as she pulled him into a slow, teasing kiss. The tip of her tongue dancing across the velvet of his inner lip. Each brush of her mouth coaxing more and more desperation from him.

“Please.” He sighed between hungry kisses rocking against her palm.

“Yes.” She relented at last before placing one last, maddeningly chaste kiss on his lips, “How could I say no to such a polite request.”

“Cheeky little pup.” He purred, “ Now go on- Enjoy the rest of your party. I’ll see you later.”

He emphasized his statement with a quick squeeze of her backside that was met with a high pitched squeak. He had half mind to take her right then but surely someone would notice if they were to sneak off so early in the night. No, it seemed he would just have to wait. At least that would give him time to think of all the things he would do to her once the rest of the camp was sound asleep.

She crept softly on the balls of her feet. She could feel the excitement like electricity on the air. She was a creature of revelry at her core and the promise of a late-night romp in the woods filled her with delight. She pinched her thighs together savoring the fire growing between her legs. Cool hands wrapped around her waist drawing a frightened yelp from her lips. She felt his breath hot on her ear as he chuckled in response.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.” He whispered pulling her closer, his hands wandering towards her chest, “Waiting since the moment I first set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

She could tell he was grinning without having to look at his face. She could hear it in the tone of his voice. Feel it in the squeeze of his hand on her breast. She let her head fall against his chest glancing up at him with a look that was equal parts mischief and desire.

“You don’t have me yet.”

“Don’t I?” He mused. His free hand pushed up her thin dress, running up her inner thigh, “You are here. And I don’t think you want to talk.” She bit down on her lip holding back a whimper as she felt his cool hand cup her core. “I think you want to be known. To be tasted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

She was lost for words all she could muster was a simple nod. She tried to squirm against his hand but he held her tight as he pulled her into a deep kiss. She could taste the wine, dry and sharp on his tongue as he ran it along the seam of her lips.  

“I thought so.” He smirked, releasing his hold on her, “But, you’ll have to say please.”

Dafni watched him as he circled her, admiring her from every angle. She considered yielding to his request for a moment...No, the urge to misbehave was far too appealing. She would give in eventually, of course! But, the thought of reaction was far too sublime to not test the waters.

“Make me.”

He tisked, shaking his head at her rebellious reply. A fearsome look danced across his features. He flashed her his teeth, fangs on full display as a playful growl rumbled in his chest. In one fast movement, he picked her up, throwing her legs around his waist. She clung to him for dear life as she felt her feet leave the ground.  

She was infuriating, that little minx. She seemed to know all the ways to rile him up and more than that seemed to enjoy doing it. He made quick work of that madding dress discarding the translucent, shimmering fabric to the forest floor without a care. He lifted her, pressing her back up against the trunk of a tree. She had a white knuckle clutch on his shoulder.

“I won’t drop you,” He promised.

“Are you sure? I’m a bit heavy.” A perfect blush the same color as her rosy hair covered her freckled cheeks.

“I’m sure.” He gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Now where was I? Ahh- That’s right...”

He brought his head to her heaving breast listing to the rapid beating of her heart. took in a lungful of air savoring her bouquet before taking a nipple into his mouth. He reveled in the sweet mews was making. He slid a hand between her legs. His body stirred as he found even wetter than expected. He slipped a finger into her meeting no resistance. Dafni whined, grinding agent his pumping hand.

“Have you reconsidered my generous offer, Daffodil? I can feel how close you are. Just say please and I’ll give you what you need.”

She had never been one to beg but he knew what he was doing. Offering her just enough pleasure to turn her into an incoherent mess but not enough to find release. Dafni swallowed her pride at last.

“Please…”

“What?” He teased, “I don’t think I heard that? You’ll have to speak up, darling.”

“Please!” She nearly shouted, “Please let me cum, I’ll be as loud as you want just please!”

He slid another finger into her and hastened the rhythm of his touch. Dafni felt her breaths grow shorter and shorter until a long breathy cry fell from her lips. She felt relief wash over her first followed by the sensation of floating in a sea of bliss.

Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud as Astarion dropped his vice grip on her thigh. She wobbled, grabbing onto his biceps for balance. . He seemed extremely pleased with himself! Dafni stuck her tongue out at him. She pushed off the tree taking fist fulls of his shirt into her hands. She yanked him down to meet her hungry kiss before he could make any smug remarks about her begging.

“You have far too many clothes on.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up splayed out in the dirt. It had all happened rather quickly after she stripped him down to nothing. He found himself struggling to care, however. All that mattered was the feeling of Dafni’s wet slit sliding over his throbbing cock. He grabbed her hips controlling her tempo. She leaned forwards nipping at his collarbone. He groaned as she ran her tongue along the faint imprint of her teeth. A moonlight garden had begun to spring up around them, snowdrops, jasmine, and in her hair delicate white and pink daffodils.  

“You had me fooled,” He moaned, “I thought perhaps, you were still a maiden.”

She laughed, throwing her head back, “Are you disappointed?”

“Hardly” He scoffed, “I don’t think a maiden would be quite as- Ah! Skilled…” His hips jerked upwards causing Dafni’s curves to bounce sinfully.

“Ok enough teasing.” She said with a peal of silvery laughter.

She stretched her arms overhead grinding into him once more before pulling her hair to the side baring her neck. The ravenous sound Astarion made sent a jolt of pleasure zipping through her body. His eyes wide with disbelief, he seemed almost flustered by the gesture, the whisper of a pink blush spreading across his nose to the very tips of his ears. She couldn’t help the gentle smile that tugged at her lips. It was strange to see him this way, with a worried brow and puppy dog eyes. He nuzzled against the hollow of her throat. Placing a lingering kiss over the faded mark of his teeth.

He took her by the shoulders, flipping her onto her back. In one push he hilted himself. Dafni cried out, lifting her hips to meet his. He felt her hands slide up his ribs, traveling ever closer to his back. He pulled back with a start on instinct, wrenching away from her loving caress. She stared at him. Worry flashed across her delicate features. He had hoped to avoid questions but his reaction seemed to have only ignited her insatiable curiosity. He took her hands pinning them over above her head and he laced his fingers through her own as he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh. A sharp exhale fell from Dafni’s lips in response. Whatever questions that she had fallen to the wayside as she writhed beneath him.

The feeling of her blood rushing through both their bodies was intoxicating. Her taste was like pomegranate, bright, and sweet. Though, her flavor was but a small part of the rapturous experience. The joyful presence that surrounded her was dizzying enough on its own but to drink from her went far beyond the playful delight simple proximity brought. She felt like every good thing he had been denied in the last two centuries. He forced himself to pull away despite his instincts begging him to take his fill. He recalled the sleepy delirium that took her the last time. A state that was far from ideal for fornication.

“You are exquisite.”   He gasped,  “ Sunlight made flesh. ”

By the Hells!

Had he said that out loud? He felt the fresh blood in his veins betrayed him, his face growing hot with embarrassment. He tried to look away from her but she reached up brushing his messy white hair away before placing a cautious hand on his mid-back.

“ I want you to look at me ”  She whispered, “ You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever .”

She ran her fingers along his spine feeling the telltale texture of marked flesh. He tensed at first but with a deep breath allowed himself to melt into her soothing touch. He was still holding back. Tucking parts of himself away from her even now. She wouldn't push him no matter how badly she wished to know his every secret. She would simply have to savor the glimpses he allowed her for now and trust he would tell her everything in his own time.

His thrust grew frantic and impassioned. She dug her heels into the base of his spine until his body was flush with her own. He bit down on his lip as he came undone spilling his seed inside her. The feeling of him pulsing inside her pushed her to her climax. A cry broke loose from her that echoed through the trees and what had started as a humble bed of flowers spread across the forest creating a lush meadow. Butterflies of pure light burst into existence.

He lay beside her in silence for a while, staring up at the stars. He felt her slide her warm hand into his own. Her hair tickled his shoulder as she scooted closer, snuggling up at his side. He kissed the top of her head. Her breathing was slow and deep. It seemed she was worn out enough sleep rather than taking her usual trance. It had been a long day. She deserved some rest. He would leave soon but he wanted to savor her for a few moments longer...

#dafni of gwynneth #elf writes #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 oc #rewrite #bg3 early access #sunshine & starlight #elf gets spicy

[unlockthelore]

To Fool One’s Eyes

As Rin prepares to depart on a journey, she seeks counsel and comfort in the sky.

From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3, and part of the It Takes A Village fic. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog. For more of this fic, follow the it takes a village tag.

When Rin opened her eyes, the world was tinted in shades of blue and black. Shadows etched in the high wooden beams and dashing across the floors where the light filtered by the shoji couldn’t reach. A long corridor stretched before her, flecked with blue dawn light and shadow. Several soldiers stood at the walls, armed with spears tipped sharply and piercing eyes trained upon her. Sighing softly, Rin laid her hands against her lower stomach and turned on her heel.

The tatami’s texture was lost on her but not the awe instilled by landscapes painted on the shoji paper, drapery adorning the walls in reds and whites, high above the stoic faces of the soldiers. A familiar crest upon the double-wide doors behind her — three white hexagons drenched in red with a four-petaled white flower in their centers.

Rin sighed softly, recalling that crest fondly. Rippled on the long flowing sleeves and collar of a kimono, tucked beneath silver hair and spiked armor looped at the shoulder. There was none other like it and she knew it as if it were her own.

Relief rushed through her at the success of her journey and she clapped her hands together, drawing a few smiles from the soldiers surrounding her. One stepped forward and she turned to greet him with a slight bow. It was difficult to discern his expression from beneath the drape of his helmet but Rin could have sworn she saw the corners of his lips twitch as he raised his hand quietly, shaking his head.

“Our Lady has been expecting you, Lady Rin,” he said, lowering his hand shortly after the words had been delivered. His voice, oddly boyish for someone so tall, was quiet and gentle though edged with amusement.

Jamming her fist in the crook of her hip, Rin tried to peer closer and catch a glimpse of his eyes beneath his helmet. He made no move to step away from her or look aside but his lips pressed together in a firm line, trembling and twitching upward at the corners as her stare lingered.

“You are one of the brothers,” Rin muttered softly, tucking a knuckle beneath her chin thoughtfully. “And yet which one, I cannot tell.”

This earned a few scattered chuckles amidst the other sentries including a sputtered one from the soldier she assessed.

“Let’s see… the last time I visited like this, it was Ushio who greeted me first,” Rin tipped one finger toward the western wall where four soldiers exchanged small smiles. “And Umihiko was guarding the Eastern Wall, including a vulnerable array of snacks in the kitchens that Lady Inukimi wasn’t keen on parting with until after we spoke.”

The soldier Rin spoke to nodded. “He was given the utmost important job of keeping a thief from stealing the pastries meant for Our Lady’s guest.”

“Even if said guest was horribly deprived of their dessert?” Rin tossed an amused exasperated look at the snickering soldier standing by the wall leading down the corridor.

“I am afraid so, Lady Rin,” the soldier said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, and the twitch of his lips proved unbearable as he smiled heartily. “When thief and guest are one and the same.”

Rin laughed heartily, the sound resonating off the wooden beams and the walls, returning to her as the soldiers one by one broke their stoic masks to chuckle and nudge one another. The one standing at Rin’s side reaching up to pull off his helmet though before it could slide free of his head, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Listening for the slide of metal and the soft tap of his spear’s hilt against the tatami to open them.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, opening her eyes to the sight of a dark-haired young man smiling back at her.

Long tresses of inky black tied up in a bun cinched tightly with a closely wound band of pearls, tiny and glittering in the blue dawn, twin green-scaled fin-like ears tipped with white pressing close to his head. His eyes, iridescent and alight with mischief, a sea foam blue reminding her of the sea at daybreak and matching the tint to his skin. Cracks between the rainbow-colored scales shifting, becoming darker then lighter with every breath.

“Might I also remind, Lady Rin, you were in the company of Lord Sesshomaru during your last visit,” the soldier said, tucking his helmet beneath his arm and bowing his head to her, the second translucent lens closing over his eyes before his eyelids did. His smile showing a sliver of teeth, pointed and gnashing, eliciting a giggle from Rin. “It isn’t often that you visit us alone or in the form of a spirit.”

Rin bounced on her toes and pressed her fingertips together behind her back, listening to the chuckles and mirthful exchanges amidst the soldiers. “Perhaps I should visit more often in this form,” she said, the watching soldiers hushing as she spoke, seeming to hang eagerly of her every word. “I may have better luck with raiding the kitchens.”

Grinning toothily, the soldier standing before her chortled. “I should tell the cooks their larders are safe for now.”

Cocking her hip and folding her arms, Rin’s brow raised. “Now who decided that?” she asked in a teasingly lilting tone, attempting to keep a smile from betraying her.

Before their merrymaking could continue, a deafening howl of wind cut through the corridor and rushed til it brushed shy of Rin’s nose. A gentle breeze caressing her chin and curving around the back of her neck, fluffing her hair in the process before it receded. Drapery fluttering and flowers trembling in its wake, the soldiers exchanging glances before returning to their posts. The one standing before Rin straightening his posture, his toothy grin and luminous eyes tamed into an impassive gaze.

“Our Lady waits in her sanctum,” he said solemnly, sweeping a hand toward the corridor where the shoji paper still rippled and the wooden doors trembled. “Let us not keep you any further.”

Rin shifted slightly, mindful of the change in their demeanors, and the apologetic gazes boring into her back as she padded across the tatami. Stepping out of the dimly lit foyer and into a swath of light, Rin held her hands close to her stomach then turned on her heel. Eyeing each of them and the dark imposing figures they cut with a warm smile.

“Thank you, it was nice to see all of you,” Rin said, the mood in the room shifting and a few smiles appearing beneath the helms. Regarding the soldier that she’d spoken to who returned to his post at the eastern wall, she allowed herself to smile. “Including you, Ukito.”

Despite the summoning and the call to arms, Ukito stammered forward and endured the jeering of his peers. “How were you able to tell? We were thrice as careful.”

Rin’s eyes drifted to the shoji and the twisting paintings beckoning her to walk on. A curl of warmth beneath her chin, turning her head toward the looming darkness further down the corridor. She felt something within her tighten, warm until it seared hot in her gut then release. Leaving only strangeness and cold in its wake.

“Your voice, when I tried to steal those pastries from before, it was you that called out to Lord Sesshomaru when he came looking for me.” Rin said, beginning the arduous yet short journey past the hall of sliding doors and to the castle’s inner sanctum. “I’m sorry that our first meeting is a little short, but I’ll come back to talk to you another day and thank you for helping.”

As the breeze guided her further down the hall, the soldiers’ stares and murmuring grew distant, and Rin realized after looking over her shoulder — they were no longer there at all.

Some unreadable emotion flickered through Rin’s eyes, and for a moment, she felt the darkness pooling around her beckoning her into its embrace. Just a little further, she told herself as the number of shoji doors lessened bringing her to a hall entirely submerged in darkness. Her footsteps non-existent against the tatami and hands swinging her sides when they fell, the breeze beckoning her forward receding in a whispering hiss between two large doors. A rushing of wind heard from behind them bringing Rin a step closer.

Gathering her wits and her breath, she was unable to see her hands as she lifted them. Her skin warming and tingling as silvery wisps began to trace along the outline of her fingertips, traveling further until it covered her wrists. Palms, a ghostly pale white, outstretched toward the door where they laid against the aged wood smelling of jasmine and sandalwood. Inhaling the scent deeply, Rin exhaled heavily, the silver wisps traveling on her breath and pooling in a cloud of mist.

Warmth seeped into her hands causing them to shake almost violently, forcing the mist cloud into the wood. Her arms trembling as an outline of the hexagonal sigil began to fill in with silvery light, etched into the doorway and gradually becoming full, until they shone bright enough that Rin shielded her eyes. A heavy thud followed a loud boom, the doors shuddering as they slid open.

“Enjoying your games with my soldiers, little bird?” A melodious, yet bored voice asked, stoking familiarity in Rin’s heart with cooling relief.

Lowering her hand from her eyes, she peered into the inner sanctum and sighed softly. From the blue glow of the walls to the dawn light from the circular windows depicting a wondrous view of the lightning sky, she was mesmerized. Lanterns suspended in the air, drifted over her head as she walked inside, ignoring the heavy trembling of the doors as they slid shut behind her. Moons carved into the lanterns’ paper brightening and dimming in time with the luminous stone floating in the center of the room. The light seeming to circle around it as if drawn into its orbit, and the stone itself swirled with energy that both called out to Rin’s own and repelled it.

She breathed in heavily, hearing the whistling wind rushing through the room and wrapping around her, spinning her to one side. Amidst the shelves stacked high with all manners of tomes, scrolls, and trinkets, a demoness lounged across a long sofa with her legs crossed at the ankle and a sprawling scroll draped over her lap. The wind that’d spun Rin in circles receded and rustled the demoness’ silvery hair only slightly, slender fingers tipped with claws brushing the stray locks behind pointed ears. Her golden eyes, striking and reminiscent of another’s, drifted across the scroll as if none other mattered.

Recognizing the demand, Rin stifled a laugh with a swift bite to her lower lip. A fine silver brow arched as the demoness’s gaze flicked up to her. Cold struck Rin in the center of her chest and if not for her resilience to the demoness’s weighty gaze, she might have fallen to her knees beneath her glare.

Mindful of the charged silence, Rin eased her lower lip from between her teeth and took a step closer to the demoness who lifted her chin in response to the closeness. “As enjoyable as they can be when I’ve lost the element of surprise.”

The demoness’s eyes drifted to her, lazily regarding her with a curious hum echoing throughout the room and reverberating into Rin’s own ears. “I know your presence as if it were my own, did you believe you could slip within my halls as easily as you would someone’s purse?”

“It would be a dull day if I did not try.” Rin said, stretching out her hands, brushing her fingers over one of the passing lanterns.

Where others would have paused as the silver-haired demoness, equally intimidating as she was enchanting, rose — Rin smiled unabashedly and spun on her heel to admire the sheer number of weapons and tools adorning the walls and leant against the table where a great map was spread about with several points upon it. At the corner of her eye, a quick flash drew her attention to the violet gem of the necklace around the demoness’s neck.

As if pleased by Rin’s recognition of the stone, the demoness smiled primly and rolled one end of the scroll. The other half carefully returning to join with it. Her hand winding the string to keep it closed with a quick pulse of youki to seal it, the familiar howling catching Rin off guard for a moment. Then, from the corner of her eye, the demoness regarded Rin coolly.

“That it would,” the demoness replied, with neither derision nor affection, a heavy hardened edge to an otherwise blunt tone. Carefully, she rose from the lounge. The drape of her kimono, adorned with green and yellow butterflies, brushing against the tatami with every step. Fur pelt along a dark coat rippling as she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a backward flick of the wrist, approaching with slow sure steps.

“It isn’t often you are without my son.”

Rin, unperturbed at the lessening distance between her and the approaching demoness, clasped her hands behind her back and swayed from one foot to the other.

“As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder…” She said, her gaze drifting to the paper lanterns painted with moons and stars, recalling the solitary figure drifting among them in the dusk sky over Kaede’s village. “Besides, it isn’t so much as me following him nowadays as it is so much the other way around.”

If the demoness was perturbed by her lack of decorum, she didn’t say. Her silence retained until she stood before Rin, effortlessly towering over her in both presence and height, but lacking in arrogance in either. The demoness waited patiently as Rin took to observing the room’s effects. Golden eyes keenly observing and boring into every crevice of Rin’s being until she turned, meeting the demoness’ piercing gaze unflinchingly. As if amused, the silver-haired demoness nodded and tucked her hands within the sleeves of her robe.

“Yes, so often is he attached to your side.” The demoness said with unparalleled clarity, clipping Rin’s thoughts with a ghost of a smile on her lips. Her voice evened, the amusement gone in place of something far softer and worn. “Tell me, what is it you have come here for, little bird?”

Concern was easily dismissed by most but the demoness had ways of getting under Rin’s skin. From the closeness of her presence to the way that she stood by Rin’s side rather than before her, looming and quietly boasting strength. Lanterns drifting overhead cast shades of amber-blue light over them, outlining her sharp features and familiar golden eyes equally parts curious and worried. She offered no touch or word other than the question and the nickname’s sentiment, and Rin couldn’t help but smile.

While Kaede would deign to touch her familiarly, although with respect to her own privacy, the demoness offered no such aid. Having grown used to one another during her days of trailing after Sesshomaru, those were long past. A budding warmth building in Rin’s chest was cast aside as she turned her gaze from features, both familiar and nod, sighing softly.

“Aside from conversation with you, Lady Inukimi?” Rin scuffed her heel against the tatami, her form tangible enough that her foot didn’t slip through the floor, but her movements made no sound. Instead, she focused on the humming of the radiant stone overhead and the fires roaring in the lanterns to gather her thoughts. “Advice, counsel, and peace of mind, if possible.”

The corners of her lips tugged downward as each word drifted into the air, both allowing her to breath easier and sinking her heart. From the window at the study’s northern wall, she could see the clouds drifting by in a sky still dark. Glittering stars fading one by one without their moon and taking with them her fear of dreams. Rin tried not to keep her eyes open for long but she also did not want to close them, instead allowing her body to rest while her spirit wandered.

“Respite from… life,” she finished, voice barely above a whisper, heavy with remorse.

For a moment, nothing was said but Rin felt Inukimi’s gaze linger atop her head, once again observing her but this time her eyes were trained somewhere below her nose.

“What has been troubling you?” Inukimi asked. “You’re hardly ever this serious, and it doesn’t suit you to frown.”

Surprised, Rin covered her mouth with a hand and Inukimi chuckled with a mirthful gleam to an otherwise uneasy gaze. “Perhaps you’ve picked up one of my son’s odd traits.”

Huffing, Rin waved a hand dismissively as if batting the comment from the air between them. “Lord Sesshomaru doesn’t frown all the time,” she said, recalling strongly a ghost of a smile on his lips quickly gone before it could be called upon. Fleeting ones throughout her memories, obscured by the length of his hair or his palm.

Inukimi shook her head, the pearls on the necklace knocking together lightly and drawing Rin’s eyes to the gleaming stone embedded in its medallion. Swaying hypnotically until a hand clasped around it. “Not for you, perhaps,” Inukimi said, the words holding no trace of arrogance or malice, simply fact.

Rin glanced aside, turning her head from the nearing lantern and the demoness’s knowing gaze. “Be that as it may, what troubles me are my dreams. Some a little less sweeter than others,” Rin’s eyes shuttered and for a moment, she was there in the dirt where the wolves laid her low. Unable to think further than the last moment, salivating wolves, darkness at her heels and the blurred faces of her family, her mother’s outstretched hand beckoning her to the other side. “Then there are others that are far too bitter. As of late, it’s been easier or at the least the easiest it can be.”

Gaunt faces, hollowed eyes and gaping mouths, shouting and whispering their regrets in her ears. Unable to move on. Unable to find peace. All because she survived.

“Tell me of them,” Inukimi said, her voice cleaving through the chanting and drawing Rin back to the present graciously. Her eyes were cool and calm, voice impassive but despite the lack of a warm touch or a kind word, Rin felt relieved to have this space.

Drawing herself half into memory, the aged image of an injured daiyoukai hissing at her when she neared overlapped with his strengthening form. A stoic expression giving away very little, golden eyes lingering as he asked.

Where did you get those bruises?

Happiness blossomed in her chest then, warm and overwhelmingly bright to where she couldn’t help but smile. A glow of it resting in her breast and Rin laid her hand over it, feeling the gentle beat of her heart.

“You know how Lord Sesshomaru and I met…” Rin stepped forward and gathered one of the lanterns in her hands as it floated closer to her, the amber-blue light reflecting in her eyes, nearly blinding. “The village I lived in, its people weren’t kind to me.”

“Why is that?”

Rin clenched her jaw, remembering the laughter and jeering of bandits ransacking the village. A few of the women hiding with their children while others were armed with sickles and rakes. They were naught but farmers, earning a simple living through toiling the land. Their hands were not made to handle swords but the ones who came for them cared little for a fair fight.

Her brother, young as he was, knobby-kneed and rosy-cheeked, braced her shoulders with hands firm enough that they felt like claws pricking her skin. He held her gaze, his face swimming in a blurred vision. Words muffled and drowned by the screaming of women, children crying, men shouting, and laughter.

Her mother’s arms wound tightly around her as she yelled for her brother to come back inside. An axe that’d once been in the stump outside their home for cutting firewood held tightly in his hand, his jaw set and stern, seeming more like their mother than their father who stood with most of the men yelling for the intruders to leave. For a brief second as he stood in the doorway of their home, Rin wanted to ask him to obey their mother. So often had their mischief brought her grief and no small amount of lectures. But her brother was ever at her side.

“We’ll share the blame, alright, Rin?”

He glanced at her, holding her gaze, and the world was quiet for a moment. The faintest twitch of a smile before he was gone from their mother’s outstretched hand. Disappearing into the chaos beyond the yard of their home and its safety.

Her mother’s heartbeat, wildly racing, short puffs of breaths as she mourned her son with eyes shut tightly. Then with a ferocity, she yanked Rin away from the doorway and slammed it shut so hard that it rattled on its hinges. Her father’s back and her brother’s dark hair dancing on the breeze, fading images as her mother rushed through their home, pushing open the door sunken in on its hinges leading to the back of their home. Rin clung to her desperately, trying to drown out the screams with her face buried against her shoulder.

It was so loud. The air was thick with blood, ash, and musk, threatening to suffocate her with every breath. Her mother’s hands clutching her hair so tight that her scalp throbbed, tears springing to her eyes. Swallowing a sob as her mother hushed her and ducked beneath the shadows of other huts, hiding from the rushing silhouettes, unable to discern whether they were friend or foe.

“Father…”

It isn’t often that Rin saw her mother with tears in her eyes, calloused hands from working the fields running over her cheeks and brushing away her bangs from her eyes. Touch tender despite the roughness of her mother’s palms, embracing her cheeks, her cracked lips dusted with salty tears and dirt pressed to the middle of Rin’s forehead.

“You will see him again, father and Hitoshi…”

“Mother…”

“Ssh, ssh.. It will be alright, Rin.”

It never occurred to her before. How oft her mother’s smile warmed her heart until it was no longer there. But in that moment, ragged with grief and calming a weeping child amidst the destruction and plunder, her mother’s smile had never been more beautiful.

“Hold to me tightly, Rin, don’t let go…”

She clung to her mother desperately, mimicking the claw-like grasp her brother had upon her shoulders before he left them. Her mother, winding through the village’s roads, avoiding men with blades and catching the eyes of women shielding their own children or lying dead in the streets. The sounds Rin heard chilled her and her mother clamped a hand over her ear, whispering for her not to listen. To just hum softly in the same way they did when she combed her hair at night, and hold fast to her.

Darkness, ash, and blood were all that Rin knew aside from her mother’s gentle humming. She could pick out voices of the other villagers, howling and anguished screams. Among them, a smaller voice that she recalled calling out to her from the base of a tree, yelled in agony. Her head jerking upright and hands pushing at her mother’s shoulders. From between the gap of two houses, she saw the back of her brother’s kosode. His legs swinging uselessly in the air as he tried to force himself away from the man grasping him by the throat. The axe in hand was held by another, the men laughing and jeering as he struggled.

It wasn’t until Rin looked to her mother that she saw her staring. Having stopped where she was, eyes wide and misted over, either unseeing or disbelieving.

“Please no…” She gasped with a watery cry, hugging Rin painfully tight.

Hitoshi reared his head back and with the determination brought on by desperation and hopelessness, he threw it forward, colliding his head with the bandit’s own. The axe-wielding one jumped away as his companion stumbled backward, Hitoshi falling into the mud and turning over to hand and knee. He looked up then, and Rin could see him —

Through the fields, showing her how to weave together the stems of daisies.

Beneath the comforter they shared as a family, telling stories of his dream of being a samurai.

Carrying her on his back, her knee skinned from falling out of a tree and his words comforting in her ear.

It’s okay, Rin. Brother is here, you can cry if it hurts.

And it hurt. It hurt as one of the bandits kicked him onto his back then stamped his foot against his stomach. The pain resonating in her own as if she’d been kicked herself, and her mother’s horrified cry muffled in her hair. In the firelight, the axe gleamed.

Rin closing her eyes as it came down.

“Father!”

Her eyes shot open. Hitoshi scrambling to his feet in the slick mud, reaching for their father struggling for the axe. The two men wrestling in the dirt while the onlookers, entertained by the man’s desperation, jeered and hooted. Hitoshi grabbed by the back of his kosode and held with an arm around his throat. Their father, a man Rin had never seen without a kind word and a smile, roaring louder than thunder as he forced the bandit to his back. Driving his fist into his face until the axe was dropped and his movements stopped. A few of the bandits coming to grab him by his arms and hold him back.

“Hitoshi! Let him go, let him go!”

“You killed one of ours,” the grinning-mouthed man holding Hitoshi shouted and it was as if the world deafened. “I believe we deserve compensation.”

A chorus of cheers sounded from around them and her father struggled harder as the axe was pried from the dead man’s hand, its blade held to her brother’s stomach.

“He’s just a boy,” her father sobbed brokenly.

Hitoshi’s squirming having stopped and though Rin couldn’t see it, she felt the dread pooling in her stomach for him.

“And if he grew to be a man, he’d be a killer, just like his father.”

Their father screamed as Hitoshi was forced to the ground and the axe cleaved through the air. Her mother’s scream drawing the eyes of the others. Her breathing, short and gasping, did little to make up for the deafening sound. Rin’s ears still ringing and she could see a few of the men beginning to make their way between the huts toward them. Her mother hugging her tightly and her father’s shout echoing over them until the axe was forced into his own stomach, his eyes never leaving Rin’s own even when he was pushed to the mud.

Her mother hissed a cry and darted off toward the forest, hugging Rin as tightly to her as possible despite the limpness in her hands and legs. Her father’s emptied gaze, her brother’s head lying crookedly from body.

“Rin, Rin.”

Returning to focus, Rin stared up at the tree boughs overhead as her mother turned down a familiar road toward the river where they gathered water often and came to play or catch fish. A small cave, big enough to fit her, is where her mother set her. Pressing her hands to her cheeks, wiping away the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes unbidden.

“Don’t make a sound until I call for you, understand?” When she didn’t speak, her mother clutched her shoulders tighter. “Rin, do you understand?”

There was no cruelty in her words, only desperation. A mother trying to save her daughter from a cruel fate.

Don’t go.

Her mother pressed another kiss, this one bruisingly harsh, to her forehead. Pushing her further into the opening before wandering backward, making quick work of her headscarf and tossing it to the river. Her dark hair flowing freely and wildly over her shoulders, hands braced at her sides and trembling as the bandits crept from the forest as quiet as wolves.

“You there,” one said, the same grinning-mouthed man. His hands stained and Hitoshi’s obi in hand, balled up after he used it to wipe his hands then threw it aside. “Why leave so soon?”

Two of the men flanking him laughed and her mother gritted her teeth, widening her stance.

“Ooh, do you mean to fight us?”

Her mother seethed. “You will pay for this. For every drop of blood my husband and son shed, I hope your pain is tenfold.”

The men shared a look of surprise, their laughter amused as her mother shuddered and brazenly held her ground.

It’s why I fell in love with her. You see, your mother is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I hope you grow to be like her one day, Rin.

One of the bandits stepped forward to seize her mother by the arm, and her fist swung, connecting to his cheek with a sickening crack. He stumbled backward, grasping at his face and the other two advanced toward her. One grasping at her arm while the other seized her leg as she thrashed wildly, kicking her opposite leg. Her foot connecting with the grizzled jaw of the grinning-mouthed man, sending him reeling. The bandit holding her arm seizing the other.

“Settle, you she-devil!”

“Go to hell!”

She jerked her head back, catching him in the chin. The bandit she punched standing and rubbing at his jaw, unsheathing his blade as her mother broke free of the hold with a hard push to the one that’d been holding her sending him toppling to the river. Rin’s eyes widened and the sound rushed from her chest, a warning on her tongue as her mother turned around only to nearly be slashed by the blade. Her feet shifted unsurely at the river’s bank, sliding and catching on the rocks.

“You’re going to regret that, woman.”

Her mother spat on the ground at his feet, the epitome of rage upon her face.

“And when we find that girl you had —“

Her mother loosed a cry, sounding so much like her brother that for a second Rin thought she might have seen Hitoshi by their mother’s side. Her mother grasped the bandit’s wrist as he swung at her, the blade inches from her hip. The pair scuffling in the dirt as she pushed back against him, crying out as he pulled her hair, jerking her head to the side. Her elbow thrown back, connecting with his throat.

“Don’t talk about my daughter,” she hissed, gripping his ponytail and yanking his head down to meet her fist. The sword clattering to the ground between them and the back of her hand meeting his cheek. She was standing over him, holding him by the blood-stained chest plate he wore. “This is for my husband.”

Her fist connected once with a sickening crack, a gurgling yell from him as he clawed at her arms. Bloodied knuckles and tear-filled eyes as she raised it once more, struggling against him to hold him in place. Her knees on either side of him, hand around his throat as he clawed at her sleeves.

“And this is for my son.”

Her fist came down again and this time, a choked sputtering sound arose. His clawing slowing and her mother’s fist raised again, the world seeming to slow as a blade cleaved through the air and struck her mother in the back. Her mother’s eyes widened, in that one sliver of breath between life and death, their eyes met but the words her mother might have wanted to convey were lost in the crimson coating her lips as she toppled over beside the wounded bandit she’d struck. The grinning-mouthed man was no longer grinning, rubbing his jaw and staggering toward her with sword in hand.

“You fight like a demon,” he said, glaring down at her with a swift kick to her side. “But in the end, you’re only human.”

Her mother refusing to groan despite the pain contorting her face, squeezing her eyes shut as she settled on her back, glaring up at him. Blood ran down her lips, dripping off her chin in rivulets, staining the star-printed kosode Rin’s father had given her. It was her favorite, she tended to it every time it’d grown too threadbare. With the same hands, knuckles blistering an angry red, and fingers stained red.

Tipping his head to one side, the bandit asked almost innocently. “What is your name?”

Her mother’s chest rose and fell deeply and she coughed, seething a breath and humming angrily as he stamped his foot against her stomach. Leaning down with the sword inches from her mother’s breast.

“I want to remember it when I tell your daughter the one who made her life hell.”

“You will never find h—“

The words died as the blade plunged into her chest, a terrible earth-shattering cry cut off as she laid there, eyes wide and hands left open. For a moment, the bandit lingered over her until he turned his gaze away to his injured companion struggling to his feet after regaining consciousness.

“Search the woods,” he ordered, dragging his blade against the belly of her mother’s kosode then sheathing it.

The bleeding man holding his nose with a disdained glare at her mother, kicking her side. “Ito..” He said, looking toward the river.

“Good as dead.” Their leader glanced back toward her mother’s corpse, hocking and spitting on her with a grimace. “Bested by one woman…”

Staggering up the river bank, he shoved his companion as the man tried to lean against him. The two disappearing into the trees.

Time was non-existent. Rin’s eyes never leaving her mother’s own, wide and unseeing, frozen with a look of impending doom. Her hand outstretched, fingers splayed as if reaching for her but Rin couldn’t bring herself to come any closer. The sun must have fallen by the time the voices came, a man trudging down the river bank with a lantern in hand.

“Rin?” He called, cupping his hand around the side of his mouth. “Kasumi!”

Painstakingly trying to tear her gaze away from her mother, Rin neglected to answer. She couldn’t. Her mother hadn’t called for her. And she would. She had to.

“R—“ The man came closer, as did the light, and Rin recognized who he was but that mattered little. His gaze softened and he lowered the lantern, reaching for her mother’s corpse though his hands did little but hover over her. As if unsure where or if he should touch.

“Oh… Kasumi.”

Trembling, he pressed his fingers together and brought them to his forehead, bowing his head for a quick prayer. Opening his eyes and gathering the lantern, he slowly stood until he looked ahead right to where Rin was staring back at him. Making herself as small as possible as she shied from the coming light.

“Rin? It’s alright, girl. Did you hear me calling for you?”

He offered his hand but she made no move to take it even as he reached to pull her out. Her hands and legs limp, eyes never leaving her mother. Carefully, he slipped his arm around her and hiked her up on his hip, taking her further from her mother in body but her soul felt left in that small cave.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed. A week. A month. The home that she’d known for so long was now empty, a place where she could reside with the other villagers looking after her. But they soon grew weary of her silences, the vacant way in which she sat before her families’ graves. Unweeping and without a word. Stealing from the larders, taking from the nets, enduring beating after beating only to haul herself to the hut upon the embankment to stare into the waters silently.

“You have to speak if there is something you want, Rin.”

Those words were so common and when she refused to speak, they gradually gave up on her one by one. All of them had lost someone during the bandit’s appearance.

But life went on.

Don’t make a sound until I call for you.

Just hum the songs we sing together.

It’s okay to cry if it hurts, Rin.

It went on for all others but her.

“… They couldn’t understand,” Rin managed to say, dots floating in the corners of her vision from staring too deeply into the lantern’s glow, allowing it to drift away. “Some nights, I dream of them and their questions of why it is that I survived when they died.”

Unworthy. Unappreciative. Undeserving.

Her parents fought hard to ensure the others survived, and her brother lost his life with his last words being a blur in her memory. Wrong as it felt to consider the remnant’s words, Rin couldn’t help but lend to their curiosity. Why had she survived when all others died?

“If you ask yourself that question, little bird, you will never find peace.” Inukimi’s voice split the melancholy drifting through her, and beckoned Rin’s attention with no hope for disobedience. Once their eyes met, Inukimi’s calm and cool gaze matched that of her words. Crisp and clipped. “You lived because you survived.”

A disbelieving bark of laughter, no more than a puff of air, was punched through Rin’s chest at those words. “Survived?” Rin echoed, self-loathing bettering her words as she raised her hands. Her translucent body reflecting the amber-blue light as if she were a ghost herself.

Perhaps she’d already been. In some ways, she was much like that young girl whose life bled from her drop by drop as her family met their end. In others, she was something much different.

“I died twice. Lord Sesshomaru brought me back with Tenseiga, then you with the Meidō Stone. Surely knowing that someday neither of you will be able to aid me in cheating death,” Rin shuddered, clenching her jaw as she recalled her mother’s vacant eyes. Her brother’s resilience. Her father’s desperation. Jaken’s tears. Kohaku calling her name. Sesshomaru’s hand cupping her cheek. “And will bury me or scatter my ashes on the wind.”

Drawing a breath when Inukimi said nothing, Rin cursed and bit her lower lip harshly. Pacing to one wall where a shelf stacked to the ceiling with scrolls greeted her. Her hand opened and closed at her side as she glanced to the side, marveling at the wide curvature of the blade mounted to to the wall. It’s balance would have thrown her off and the curvature of it reminded her almost of Tessaiga. Her hand itching at her side, coming to rest over her lower stomach.

“Tenseiga is the Heavenly Rebirth Fang, a sword that can resurrect one hundred souls in a single stroke,” Rin recited, curling her fingers tightly in her sleep yukata. “Yet twice, twice, Lord Sesshomaru attempted to use it just for one little girl. Even I want to know why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Inukimi’s voice was so close that Rin could have almost mistaken she’d spoken in her head. Though once she turned, she saw the demoness standing where she had before. But where there had been a coolness to her gaze now softened with an unreadable emotion. “He cares for you, little bird.”

The lanterns drifting overhead dimmed their lights, floating out of her path as she walked toward Rin with slow certain steps. “His father was similar in his ways of showing affection, and though Sesshomaru inherited less of his charm and more of mine, his actions speak louder than any word he could say.”

As she stood before Rin once more, she lifted her hand and a powdery violet aura outlined her fingertips.

“If your life wasn’t valuable to him in some form, I assure you,” She reached out, slipping her fingers into Rin’s hair and palming her cheek.The silvery wisps of Rin’s own energy beginning to tint violet and the touch warm to her skin. “Sesshomaru would not have gained the power to use Tenseiga as a weapon. Or spared your life. But I think you know this…”

Sesshomaru would not have returned ye to life, nor would Tenseiga have responded if not for your effect on his heart.

You will never find her.

Rin shuddered, her heart beating harsh enough that it might have escaped her chest if possible.

“It takes a compassionate heart, one that knows both fear and sorrow of loss, to value life,” Inukimi explained, her thumb brushing beneath Rin’s eye and tipping her head up. Golden eyes burning brighter than the sun, the unreadable emotion only growing stronger but Rin still could not place its name. “And you taught him the meaning of life… regrettably, through your death.”

Rin scowled. To die more than once was a feat in itself. But the reminders were ones she carried every day. Miracle though it was that her life was restored, fear and terror weren’t so easily dissuaded.

“First, at the hands of the Northern Lord’s wolves,” Inukimi said. “Secondly, through Sesshomaru’s own desire to seek power. He abandoned Tenseiga in the Underworld, choosing instead to cling to your corpse. But in the time between, the days you lived separately and with him, you were meant to fend for yourself.”

Rin’s eyes widened. Her gaze inquisitive and reproachful but Inukimi merely raised a brow in response, continuing on as if she hadn’t implicated anything.

“Scavenging, stealing, evading, you are far more clever than you believe.” Inukimi drew her hand back to her side, taking with it the warmth that budded in Rin’s chest, leaving only a faint reminder. “And it’s through your clever and earnest ways, the change and growth you experienced, that you endeared yourself to those around you.”

Rin’s eyes softened and she weighed the words carefully on her tongue before speaking them. “And to you?”

In the briefest glimmer of vulnerability, Rin could have sworn that she’d seen affection in Inukimi’s eyes. The trace of it gone before she could probe any further and the demoness turning her head away, beckoning one of the lanterns closer with an upraised palm. “Now that your doubts have been eased, tell me. What of the other dream?”

“How did you know…”

With as casual as the words were spoken, Rin had little time to put up her guard before her secret fled from her lips. Inukimi’s lips quirked at the corners, a mischievous look in her eye as she glanced her way. The lantern resting on her palm held between them.

“I didn’t, you just told me.”

Realizing she’d been had, Rin sucked her teeth and looked away from the lantern, inching from between the bookshelf and Inukimi to keep herself from being cornered. The violet tinge to her energy lessened the greater the distance between them became until Rin found herself standing beneath the luminous stone, gazing up the tiny particles of light drifting around it.

“… It may be nothing. Symbolic, perhaps.”

“Symbols mean something, little bird. You’re stalling.”

Rin’s eyes drifted down and for a moment, she said nothing. Inukimi wouldn’t drag answers out of her by force but her stubbornness was outmatched. Loathe as Rin was to admit it, she had come to her for advice and counsel. Keeping appearances would only take away from that. If only that made it easier for her to speak.

“… In my dreams, I see a crow.”

Gazing up at the stone’s glow, her mind wandered to a dark looming figure perched on the barren bough of an aged tree. The crow’s beak glistening despite the lightless sky and its wings tucked closely to its hulking frame, baring down upon her with voids for eyes. A chill pricked the hairs at the back of her neck and she swallowed thickly, fear and uncertainty bitter on her tongue.

“Not a normal crow, and not the Shibugarasu, I asked Kagome and she killed it years ago…”

From Kagome’s account, the Shibugarasu was a crimson beady three-eyed beast with a barbed tail that swallowed the Shikon no Tama, inadvertently starting her adventures with Inuyasha when she struck it thus shattering the jewel. Worry lingered in her eyes as she recounted the story. One hand clasping over Rin’s own when the silence stretched for longer than her comfort.

You aren’t having dreams about it, are you? Inuyasha —

No. It’s not that, and don’t tell aniki, he’ll just worry needlessly.

It’s not needlessly, Rin. We care —

Rin breathed in deeply, cutting off the ghost of Kagome’s words and the warmth of her hand. Instead, gazing into her memory of those voided eyes.

“This was… something else. It appears in my dreams often, and when I look toward it, I feel like I’m sinking away from my body and being pulled…”

With rapt attention, the bleakness of the crow’s eyes drew her further even in memory. Beckoning her to take a step forward. To cross some imaginary line. The dread that filled Rin’s stomach stirred anew as she took a step forward in the sodden earth, hearing the wind rustle, and the bleak feathers trembled. A void opened as the crow’s beak parted. Cold stealing her breath and freezing her heart mid-beat.

“Into an endless abyss.”

Snapping back to focus, Rin staggered forward, throwing out her hands to keep herself from colliding into the table before her. It’s a painfully long moment that passes before she turns. Inukimi staring at her, neither moving from where she stood or seemingly unruffled.The lantern in her hand casting an unearthly glow over the marks on her cheek, her eyes seeming to shine brighter than the stone above Rin’s head.

Inukimi’s posture eased, her wandering eyes raking over Rin shamelessly as if she were a mystery to be solved. Never one to falter beneath scrutiny, Rin straightened her spine and braced her hand against the table’s edge, the frayed edges of the map beneath her fingertips.

“Curious,” Inukimi said, utterly expressionless. “Tell me, when the crow leaves you, to where does it fly?”

Rin furrowed her brows, unsure of the meaning behind the question. She was quiet for a second, glancing down at the map then to the demoness. “The sky.”

“And from where does it descend?” Inukimi continued, allowing the lantern to float aside. She didn’t wait for an answer, walking toward the sliding door and laying her hand on the wood. The insignia pulsing and filling out with a violet light, sliding open quickly for its mistress.

“… The same,” Rin answered, her voice quieter as the demoness stepped strode into the dimly lit hall with only one of the lanterns to follow her. “Lady Inukimi?”

When she was given no response, Rin followed in earnest, slipping past the door before it slid shut and rattled on the hinges. The glowing violet insignia dimming. Gazing down the hall, only Inukimi and the lantern could be seen. Even the hall itself seemed different and Rin crept warily until she was close to the demoness’ back enough to follow behind her longer strides.

“You know what it means?” Rin asked,

“An idea,” Inukimi clarified, an absentmindedness to her words as if she were speaking to Rin and not. Not once did she deign a look toward her, instead gazing ahead with a murmur in her voice. “A child who has died twice over, lingering in the world of the living with tethers to the dead, dreams of a crow.”

Coming to terms with the demonness speaking of her but not to her, Rin decided her attention was better off elsewhere. Holding her hands out with a silvery wisp of energy to call the lantern to her palms, she peered around at the walls. Wooden, not a bit of shoji in sight, or drapery. This hall was different. She couldn’t even feel the presence of the soldiers guarding the inner sanctum.

“The hall changed,” Rin mused aloud, scrutinizing the walls and the flooring, brushing her fingers against the wood and stopping to examine the grain. “Where are we, Lady Inukimi?”

As if realizing she was joined by someone for the first time, Inukimi looked back at her. Her golden eyes glowing in the darkness and Rin quickly held up the lantern to shed light on the rest of her. Far too unsettled by eyes following her in the dark, for comfort. A flicker of concern showed in Inukimi’s eyes and she reached out, curling a finger to beckon Rin closer.

Hesitantly, she approached and stood by the demoness’ side, allowing her to ease the lantern from her grasp. The brush of their fingers electric against Rin’s palm. Her hand snatched back and gaze averted when Inukimi eyed her quizzically.

“There is nothing to fear here, little bird.”

Rin rolled her eyes and gestured to the semi-somnolent darkness around them. “Aside from not knowing where I am?”

Inukimi chuckled dryly. “You may be lost but you are safe, calm yourself and the path will light its way.”

After a few seconds of pushing away choice words for the demoness, Rin took a few steadying breaths and waited by her side with the lantern floating between them. Particles of amber-blue drifting from its opening and floating in separate directions, seeming to catch on torch along the walls, lighting up a corridor leading in four different directions. Rin glanced behind her then forward, taking a few hesitant steps forward to peer down the western and eastern corridor. Leveling her hand with her eyes and attempting to peer into the darkness of the path before them. Nothing could be discerned, the only lights being the torches at the cornerstone of each path.

From behind, Inukimi stood and Rin could feel the amusement rolling off her in waves. “You know, I always found it funny how you call me ‘little bird’.”

“Why is that?” Inukimi asked with an innocent airs that set Rin’s hair on edge, her footsteps soft while she strolled forward and stood by Rin’s side.

Rin breathed in deeply , wishing that instead of the high wooden beams and identical corridors, lush green plains and bountiful forests were in her view. Alas when she blinked, all she could see were the corridors and Inukimi awaiting a response.

Eyeing her dubiously, Rin sighed when the demoness did nothing in reply.“I used to be afraid of the sky, it was so big and I was so little… It was funny, just a little. A bird afraid to fly, just wandering about on the ground…”

Just as the water in the river by her hut was so deep and she could only go so far without being swept off. Bitterly, more than once, she told herself none would care if she had been. Swallowing the thought, she kept her gaze focused on the demoness instead.

Inukimi’s eyes weren’t unkind but they were hardened with a care that Rin had seen twice before, in Kaede’s eyes and her own mother’s. “Do you know why I called you that?” Inukimi asked, and the question was so softly spoken that Rin almost forgot that an answer was prompted til the demoness lifted a brow.

Canting her head to one side, Rin muttered. “.. Well, no.”

Inukimi’s lips twitched at the corners and in the glow of the lantern, a small smile showed itself. Genuine, faint, and so warm that Rin felt the chill pricking hairs on the back of her neck dissipate.

“You reminded me of a baby bird when we first met. In need of someone to care for you, provide you shelter…” A glimmer of amusement showed, the marks on her cheeks shifting as a tenderness touched her voice. “As you grew, I watched your wings grow and you take flight. But to me, you’ll always be that chirping little bird. The same way that my son will always be my baby…”

Slowly, tentatively, Rin nodded. A wave of calm swept through her and the fear that’d been built alongside doubt and shame was washed into the reaches of her mind.

“I like you too.”

Whether it was her vision swimming or the impossible brightness of the lantern’s glow, Inukimi’s image grew hazier around the edges as the feeling in Rin’s chest grew stronger. More fragments of light dissipated into the air and Rin found it easier to breathe as the shadows caved.

Covering her eyes when the light became too bright, it was until Rin heard a soft call of, “Here we are,” that she uncovered them.

The four cornerstones around her came into view blearily but they were no longer connected to corridors but instead shelves. Shelves stacked high with scrolls piled atop one another, leaning against tomes of different sizes, and neatly arranged. The path ahead of her, the one to the west and the east, were all bookshelves. A strange look must have shown on her face because Inukimi covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide her mirth and stifle a laugh.

“Really, child, have you never been inside of a library before?” She asked, then seeming to remind herself, shook her head. “No, I suppose you haven’t.”

“It’s…”

Indescribable. The shelves themselves were far taller than Rin and when she peered down the path that they’d come, she could still see the outline of the door leading to the inner sanctum. Perhaps the path had changed but the destination was connected. From overhead, the wooden beams joined toward what Rin thought was a hole in the roof. A view of the now pale blue sky, thick with clouds drifting past, providing light accompanied by the lantern lighting torches along the sides of the shelves.

“The stories may have depicted my husband as a warmonger,” Inukimi said, her lips thinning into a grimace despite the warmth in her voice. “But he was a man who loved to tell and read stories. He believed legends were real, and that in all stories, there is some grain of truth.”

Rin was careful not to wander off in the seemingly endless maze. There wasn’t only four shelves but numerous and she wasn’t sure for how long the room stretched or how deep it went, from the winding staircase she saw in between two of the shelves they passed.

“Has Lord Sesshomaru been here before?”

“When he was a boy. He often followed at his father’s footsteps, and to bring him rest, Touga would read to him throughout the night.”

It was a little hard for Rin to think of Sesshomaru as ever being a child but his mother was proof that he’d once been small. And she had no small amount of stories to embarrass the daiyōkai.

“So, what does being here have to do with my dreams?” Rin asked, soft and skeptical.

With one slender finger raised, Inukimi silenced her from any further questions then gestured between two bookcases. Coming around the bend then holding up a hand to stop Rin in her tracks. After peering at the scrolls, scanning them with a claw tapping along their knobs, Inukimi seemed to find the one she was looking for and pulled it free. A small cloud of dust arising and calmly swept aside to where it nearly puffed in Rin’s face, a light breeze causing it to drift away.

Rin glanced up at Inukimi and the demoness held her gaze for a moment, the corner of her lips quirking with amusement and Rin rolling her eyes in response.

“You sneeze like a kitten,” Inukimi said, holding out the scroll to her.

“What’s this?” Rin asked, pointedly ignoring those words and turning the scroll over in her hands, her thumb fiddling with the tie.

“It should help with your dreams.” Inukimi said, though her voice held a certain ambivalence that roused Rin’s curiosity. “Or perhaps provide insight into what may be plaguing you.”

“… What is it about?”

Inukimi smiled thinly, though she covered it with her sleeve and a thoughtful tap to her cheek, her eyes crinkling at the corners in her amusement. “You will just have to find out, now won’t you?”

Rin made a face and sighed wearily. “I didn’t exactly bring a robe with me, or an actual body.”

“Surely the priestess who’s been teaching you has shown you a few of her tricks,” Inukimi said, plain amusement showing in her eyes.

Rin sighed, exasperatedly fond. It was an uphill battle with Inukimi remembering anyone’s names it seemed and she was certain the demoness was doing it on purpose. Though at least she didn’t call Kaede anything offensive as she often took to doing with Jaken.

“Follow me, you’ll need to concentrate for this and we’ve spent too much time inside as it is.”

Little complaint was given as Rin followed. Wanting to see the sky more than anything after too many brushes with the abyss. Tucking the scroll closer to her, she brushed her fingers against her sleeve and pushed it upward, distantly wondering how her skin could feel so cold when she wasn’t there. Inukimi provided no insight, walking ahead until the library and its light distanced, the torches snuffing out one by one until Rin could no longer discern the shadows of the shelves or the light above them.

As they walked, Rin noticed the walls seeming to change around Inukimi as her energy drifted from her with every step. The shoji and its paintings returning as well as the room of soldiers, jarring Rin immediately as she whipped her head around.

“How did you…”

Inukimi gave her a knowing smile and shook her head, walking along. “You’ll understand one day what it means to step into a yōkai’s domain. I believe that’s one of your slayer mentor’s lessons, isn’t it?”

Rin winced. She wasn’t sure that mentioning learning about the clan of demon slayers around other demons was wise but none of the soldiers they passed seemed bothered. In fact, some even seemed amused or interested with little smiles quickly dissipating as Inukimi stepped in their vicinity. The doors opened, this time without the sigil’s glow and a rush of wind swept Rin’s hair back. Her mouth opening wide and lips pulled back into a cheery smile, the scroll clutched tight in hand as she bounded down the steps and across the tiled floors toward the large staircase. The expanse of the sky opened up before her and she marveled at it.

“You’ve seen this sight every time you come here,” Inukimi said, seemingly affected by Rin’s cheer with a quiet thoughtfulness to her tone.

“And it never gets old,” Rin replied, never looking away from the sea of clouds.

They stand there in silence for some time. Both lost to their own thoughts and allowing the world to drift past. Rin’s attention, drifting to the scroll, helps her draw her energy to one point. The silver aura inching across the scroll’s knob, outlining the length of it until it shone, becoming translucent.

“So you have been learning.”

Sheepishly, Rin ducked her head with a little grin. “A bit. Everyone has their own way of helping me. Lady Kaede teaches me how to control my energy, Aniki — er — Inuyasha, has been teaching me how to fight with a sword. And Aniue — gah — Miroku, does meditations with me in the morning.”

Inukimi didn’t mention the endearments although from the look in her eye, she surely hadn’t missed Rin’s stumbling over them. After so long spent in the village, the others had become a family to her although she was a little hesitant to admit it out loud.

“And the slayer has taught you her ways, while the girl found in time taught you hers.” Inukimi stated, thoughtfully. The joy in Rin’s chest cooling with pinpricks of anticipation long wrought from a sense of danger. A threat looming, not physical but emotional, reaching her ears before she could steel herself. “But the rest, the faces of those you loved and lost, that is your own guilt.”

Rin met Inukimi’s gaze calmly, and the demoness’ eyes were gentle though her words were piercing in every way.

“You fear love.”

Swallowing the sticky ichor building in her throat, Rin grimaced.

“Affection.”

Kaede’s touch ghosted on her shoulder, the hesitance in her hands, which could have just as easily pulled Rin close as they could push her away. They both knew why she wouldn’t take the next step. They hadn’t talked about it and likely wouldn’t for some time. Half-spoken sentiments and soft words filled her mind and lingered, washed away as she breathed in deeply.

“And you fear life but you love it. You want to live but you feel guilty for it,” Inukimi stated, her voice knowing and Rin almost wondered if the demoness could see into the core of her being. Or if she had been that obvious in the years between. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Rin clutching the scroll tightly until she felt the paper begin to crinkle beneath her knuckles. And Inukimi glancing down at her hand, watching it tremble impassively, then looking away toward the lightening sky.

“You will have to come to peace with it. If you wanted to die, then you would have. It’s as simple as that.”

Pressure settled deep in Rin’s chest.

You lived because you survived.

You are lost but you are safe.

“A bird cannot remain in one place for long,” Inukimi said, a softness to her voice almost akin to that of a mother cooing to her child. Rin heard that sound many times after delivering a child, and each time it soothed her just a bit more. Whether unaware of the effects of her words or not, Inukimi continued on. “While the flow of time cannot be stopped, the time that you have can be controlled.”

Rin’s brows furrowed and her hand cupped at her chest. Though she couldn’t feel the beating of her heart, she knew that she still drew breath in the world below.

“There is no guarantee Sesshomaru will outlive you.”

Rin’s gaze snapped up to meet Inukimi’s own. The demoness staring at her resolutely, a heaviness to the slight downward twitch of her lips as they thinned tightly.

“He may die tomorrow just as easily as he could watch you die once more. Even your friends, human and yōkai, may meet the same end. Unless you make a decision, time will come for you to fly and you will fall to the forest floor when you were meant to soar.”

Rin swallowed the bile. A number of protests on her tongue though all of them were moot. She knew Inukimi was right. Deep down, she knew her time had been limited from the moment she was revived for the second time. Life was a precious thing but it was so fleeting. And she lived her life in accordance to her own laws and desires, including basking in the presence of those she loved.

Inukimi’s hand settled on her shoulder and a wave of calm swept through her, cracking and draining the ichor from her being. Releasing the breath built up in the swell of her chest, Rin blinked away the budding tears and looked up at the demoness with a stern jaw.

Nonplussed, and even somewhat pleased, Inukimi returned her gaze. Shifting her hand to cup the underside of her jaw, her claws grazing along Rin’s cheek tenderly.

“Nevertheless, Rin. No matter the fate you choose, I only ask you to protect yourself,” she said. “And if you should find yourself in need of advice once more, you know how to find me.”

With that, she drew her hand away and took with it her warmth and the faint outline of violet. “And if I want to talk?” Rin asked quietly, steeling herself for the rejection that might come.

Inukimi’s face took on a thoughtful look and the smile she wore was the faint and gentle one, rare as it was, Rin committed it to memory with the others. “I suppose I don’t mind your company…”

Perhaps a bit too gleeful, Rin smiled, ignoring the heaviness in her heart to step toward the demoness. “May I push my luck just a bit further?”

Raising a brow with a wary look, Inukimi tucked her hands into her sleeves, the gleam of the Meidō Stone drawing Rin’s eye. “I suppose it depends on what you wish to push your luck with.”

Rin squared her shoulders as if she were preparing to fight, the scroll held out in the palm of her hand as she opened her arms. “A hug?” She asked with the same hopefulness that often won her many sighs and less lectures.

Inukimi regarded her silently, raking her gaze up and down before glancing aside a way that almost reminded Rin of Sesshomaru.

“… One.”

Rin would have squealed if she hadn’t thought it would have robbed her of this moment. Despite the demoness’ terse words, there was a relief. A breath of fresh air and perhaps a chance. Inukimi was many things, but she was never without purpose, much like her son. As Rin slid to the demoness’ side and tucked her arms around her in a tight embrace, the scroll was clutched tightly in her palm. A giddy laugh bubbling from her throat betraying the weight of her heart.

From above, she heard a small fond sigh and felt the arm wind around her shoulders to return the embrace.

After some time, Rin shuffled a bit to look up at her, smiling almost impishly. “So, out of curiosity, when will you tell me your true name, Lady Inukimi?”

“Do you not prefer that charming little alias you’ve given me?”

“Master Jaken was horrified when I spoke it for the first time.”

“Ah that he was, perhaps that’s why I’m fond of it.”

They shared a laugh and stayed together, watching as the sun began its ascent. With one last squeeze, Rin pulled away slowly and nodded to Inukimi with a tired yet appreciative smile.

“I should be returning now, if Lady Kaede finds I haven’t woken and my spirit energy missing, she’ll worry.”

Inukimi nodded in turn, gently patting down her hair, tracing the curve of her cheek to her chin with a little smile playing at her lips. “Safe travels, little bird.”

Rin nodded, taking a deep breath. “Until next time,” she promised, her body beginning to glow and unravel in threads of light. Inukimi and the view of her castle, the wide expanse of the sky, and all else fading away.

When Rin opened her eyes, the wooden beams of Kaede’s hut caught her eye along with a hole in the thatched roof. She made a dull note in mind to fix that, taking a few testing breaths to ensure her soul had returned to her body. Glancing aside at the silhouette of Kaede still tucked beneath her comforter, Rin smiled and shuffled her arm from beneath the blanket.

The scroll resting in the palm of her hand just as it’d been when she was in Inukimi’s domain. Sighing softly, Rin pushed herself upright.

She could keep this to herself for now. Although, she knew that it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

#inuyasha #rin #sesshomaru #inukimi #fanfiction #my fanfiction #affections touching across time #it takes a village

[sanctum-of-fantasy]

@aphrodites-bloody-rose It’s that day again, it’s your birthday! So here’s a short fic to enjoy on this day!

Title: Worth More Than Bronze Series: Saint Seiya Character(s): Taurus Aldebaran, Pisces Aphrodite, Aries Mu, Kiki Word Count: 3072 Summary: Sometimes life hands you gold or lemons. Sometimes when you stop a black market from selling all kinds of magical animals and things, life hands you something else entirely. Aldebaran never looked back, even if looking forward presented a challenge.

“I found more crates in a truck bed” Aldebaran called out to Aphrodite who nodded and frowned as he watched the taller Saint placed them near a tent.

“This is such a mess” The Pisces Saint replied, sighing and tucking back several strands of hair behind an ear. “There’s so much here, most I don’t even know what it is or how they got it” and the entire thing left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Word had reached Sanctuary, as it always had with their advanced and deep networks, of a black market going to take place on one of the smaller islands of Greece. Normally, they would turn the matter over to the proper authorities but there was something strange about this one. Word was it was a market for the mysterious and fantastical, living or not and with that Athena sent Aldebaran and Aphrodite to handle the trouble with a small group of Sanctuary soldiers. They were to dress as civilians and investigate before calling in the guard.

A precaution that only turned to be for the best. They found the location and quickly realized how grave the situation truly was. Within a few minutes of observing the ‘market’ they had sent the signal and every dealer and buyer were arrested, save for a few that ended up as rose covered bodies. Aphrodite’s silent outrage was clear. They would handle the others later, until then they would stay locked away in one of Sanctuary’s prisons.

Which left the matter of the…stock, as if anything they found could be called that. There were animals, more like creatures as they were far too strange for that word. Birds with four long wings, lizards with stained glass like frills and crests, small griffon like ones that were no bigger than a medium-sized dog with peacock tails and long eel like creatures that flickered many colors in tanks. There were more too, as well as remains or bits of others. Pelts of furs, skulls and bones and then there were the jars. Clear things with labels such as ‘harpy’s talons’, ‘scales of a mermaid’, ‘venom of a manticore’ and an endless list of more.

If it was one small fortune the creatures had taken a liking to Aldebaran and didn’t peak, hiss or bite when the gentle Saint had refilled their food, water or stepped into their enclosures. Though it was clear to Aphrodite that the entire event bothered him, a deep sadness never left his eyes even as he lightly petted one of the peacocks like griffons as one of the four-winged birds sat on his shoulder.

For him, he had his own brand of bitterness and sorrow.

Besides the animals there plants, wild and exotic. Some were lined up in the sunlight while others were kept in the shadows. They called to him, asking for water or to moved just slightly towards the light or darkness. They were like nothing had had ever seen; a long vine bearing one that glowed in the shadows, one like a persian shield but with longer leaves in shades of blue and while, flowers that sounded like chimes when a breeze moved through them and another red flowering one that unfurled its petals and whispered a life among ladies in a city built in towering trees and lit lanterns before it had been stolen away when its captor tricked one lady into falling for him. Its sadness was clear, and he promised to return it to its right home as soon as he could. He gave it his name and it returned with its own; Nymph’s Heart.

They had sent a messenger bird after they had arrested everyone and received word back only a while ago. They were to spend the night, partly in case others came but mostly to watch over the beasts until of Sanctuary’s special contacts arrived to begin caring for…everything. The process of returning the animals to their natural environment, to sanctuaries or reserves would be a long one but worth it in the end. As for the plants, well…that would depend on the contact’s opinions and in the worst case, he always had room for new plants in his temple or gardens.

“If you want to switch, I can work on the list” Aldebaran said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

Aphrodite rubbed at his eyes and nodded, handing over the clipboard and pen “I’ll look over those crates then, we still have some daylight after all.”

“Of course, we have most things accounted for, I couldn’t find anything else besides those ones” He replied, gesturing over to where he laid them out. “First one was mostly jars of plants and er…odd books and scrolls, I didn’t open them.”

‘Those might be more aligned with Deathmask’s expertise’ Aphrodite thought, the Cancer’s library had been full of the stuff, an inheritance from those who came before him and he had taken a liking to the subjects. Then again, Shura had some as well though any books he had were an old, old form of Celtic they never could translate. ‘Well if the expert has little knowledge on them, we can deliver them to Cancer easily enough.’

Oh he could only imagine the glee on the Cancer Saint’s face when he returned with several dozen new tomes for him to devour.

‘Until then’ he thought as he pried open a crate ‘I best make sure there’s nothing we’re forgetting.’

Luckily enough, the crate held only items instead of living things. Small, clear boxes of palm sized crystals and rocks. Bolts of various cloths that shimmered, felt like ice to the touch, chain mail and another few that seemed to have runes etched into them.

“I don’t recognize these” Aphrodite sighed as he ran a thumb of one the bolts, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It felt electrifying yet not painful, within him his cosmo stirred and seemed to brush forward towards it. “But I think giving these to Mu might be a good idea” He held one up for Aldebaran to inspect.

“That…that is odd” The Taurus agreed, eyes widening as he felt the same sensation and handed it back.

“To put it mildly” He nodded, slipping the bolt back into the crate and replaced its covering. “Now, let’s see what’s in the last one hm?”

The final crate was covered in chains and was lined with layers of blankets and straw on the inside, something completely different from the others they had seen and broken open. Aphrodite passed Aldebaran a “something is wrong” look as Aldebaran lowered himself beside him.

“Something important is in here” Aphrodite breathed. No one would put chains on the outside of something if they didn’t want someone to get in easily or for something to get out. Compared to everything else, who knew what that something was.

They dug slowly and carefully through the straw, tossing it to the sides as they went deeper in, until at last they stopped. A blanket wrapped something rested in the middle of the crate, larger than a football though a vaguely familiar shape.

Carefully, Aldebaran reached in and pulled it out. “It’s heavy” he noted before pulling back the blanket some and freezing.

Both Saints eyes went wide and Aphrodite covered his mouth with a hand.

It was sleek, like it was made of smooth metal that reminded them of their armor, yet the color was different. The shape was familiar because it was an egg, a heavy metal like egg.

“What creature could make this?” Aldebaran looked towards Aphrodite who shook his head.

“I have no idea, but something tells me we’re going to find out.”

----

Once they arranged everything in the shutdown market, the two saints retired to one of the tents they bought along with them and made themselves comfortable for the night. Well, as comfortable as they could considering one of them would be up part of the night before switching with the other. As for the egg, well Aldebaran had raised chickens before, and Aphrodite had hung around Shura long enough for some of his farm life experience had supplied some knowledge. They heated a blanket up by a fire and wrapped the egg in it entirely. They agreed that between keeping watch to make sure the blanket stayed warm as well.

Aldebaran had offered to take the first watch and currently sat by the crackling fire, arms crossed as he looked towards the night sky, the egg wrapped safe in a basket beside him. The sky was clear, and he could make out the stars making up several constellations, the weather was warm too as it usually was in Greece. It was peaceful in sharp comparison of the frenzy of the day.

Though it wasn’t an awful day, they stopped an illegal market from taking place, saved several creatures and hopefully would be to stop more from happening. It was also nice to interact with Aphrodite too, they rarely spoke unless they had too, what with their different social groups but he had always hoped to bridge any gaps that existed between him and the other Gold Saints.

The usual aloof but charming Aphrodite had shown a softer side of him today, not just through his words but in his actions. The horror he expressed when they first arrived, the anger to the people who dared to do such terrible things and then the sadness towards the creatures and plants. It was a rare to side but one he hoped just slightly to see more of.

“And then there is you” Aldebaran sighed as he took a sip of his still pipping hot tea and looked towards the egg. “Part of me hopes you don’t hatch too quickly; I fear we won’t know how to look after you properly. But then again, I can’t help but be curious to know what you are, can you blame me?” he chuckled.

Perhaps it was silly to speak to an egg, yet it was soothing to get his thoughts out of his mind.  “Though, hopefully you won’t be too dangerous-hm?” he paused, a sound reaching him and causing him to go on the alert.

An odd sound, like a chirp then followed by the basket shifting and-“Aphrodite!” he shouted, twisting around to see the lantern inside the tent light up before he focused back on the rocking basket.

“What, what? I’m awake!” The Pisces shouted, stumbling out of the tent and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“The egg!” He replied as he pulled the basket on it his lap to steady it and pull back the blanket just in time as it began to crack. Sounds came forth like odd squeaks and cries as a paw-if that was a paw-began to claw at one side as another began to kick more at the metal like shell.

“Oh sweet heavens, now?” The Pisces gasped and returned with the lantern to shine over the Taurus’ shoulder as they watch an awe as a small form broken its way into the world.

A head poked and nudged at part of the shell before another part of the egg exploded out from the side as another appendage-a wing-broke out. As quick as it begun it ended as Aldebaran moved bits of the shell out of the basket as the creature did the rest of the work.

There was a long tail, four legs, a long neck for its size and two wings, a row of nubs adorned its head that would likely grown into a crest, in the light of the lantern it looked like it was covered in yellowish scales. It slide out of the rest of the shell before tripping on its wing and landed on its back, chirping as it stared up at them and they stared at it.

“Aldebaran…what is that?” Aphrodite whispered as he leaned over his shoulder more.

“I…I believe it’s a dragon” He replied, looking towards the other Gold Saint, heart beating hard against his chest. Questioned flew in his mind, how was it possible? Where did it come from? How did someone get it? Did the expert know anything about dragons? What were they going to tell Athena?

----

Two days later, Aldebaran found himself trying to hush his housemate and close a door.

“Shh, shh, I know you want to explore but not right now, I don’t know how Mu and Kiki will react to you yet” He said, voice even as he bent down to try and nudge the small, energetic creature inside “It’s only for a few minutes I swear.”

Every day since they returned from the mission had been busy and chaotic. The expert had arrived early in the morning just a few hours after the dragon had hatched. The animals, many endangered as it turned out, had been begun to be sent to safe places with trusted hands. The items in all shapes and forms were generally safe and the expert saw no harm and in allowing Sanctuary to keep them; tomes and scrolls to Deathmask, rocks and fabric to Mu, weapons to Shura and the plants…the plants went to Aphrodite’s expanding gardens.

And the dragon…to him.

It was a bronze dragon the expert told them, one of many breeds of dragons in their world. They were fond of warm weather, swimming and were more common in the Mediterranean areas. They were friendly he said, they loved people and rarely fought unless they had to, or they sensed an enemy was evil. They generally liked humans and often took the forms of them but the infant was too young to learn such a thing. It had been stolen away from a lair most likely, few people hunted dragons and even few hunted metallic ones. The expert had promised to do his best to find its family though that might take a while as dragons, especially bronze ones, were difficult to find.

And once he was the first thing the little one had seen; it would be difficult to have someone else look after it besides its parents. Until then, he was left with a handful of notes how what was safe to feed the baby dragon and things to watch out for, like odd gas from its mouth or bolts of lightening as that was apparently what bronze dragons breathed rather than fire.

Aside from Aphrodite, Athena, Saga and Aiolos, no one else knew of the dragon’s presence. Though part of him wondered if Aphrodite told Deathmask or Shura.

That was going to change today, as Mu wished to have lunch with him and young Kiki. It only made sense to him to let his lover know about the newest, temporary guest of the Zodiac Temples as Mu and Kiki had been away in Jamir until today.

Just as he finally shut the door, he heard Mu call out to him, Kiki sliding over a corner to run towards him.

“Alde! Alde you’re back!” He shouted as he ran and leapt to give him a hug as Aldebaran bent down to catch him.

“So are you short stack!” He laughed and stood up as Kiki hung on to one of his arms.

Mu only smiled and shook his head “And he didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.”

Kiki made a sound of disgust and stuck out of his tongue “But it was so early when we got back!”

“Tsk, Mu you know how bad jetlag can be” Aldebaran teased and chuckled as Mu rolled his eyes.

“but you know what does help with jetlag? Food, some of lunch is ready!” He said, swinging Kiki lightly towards the kitchen area. The kid gasped and let go just he swung slightly forward and dashed off to start digging into the food no doubt.

“Kiki, won’t eat everything!” Mu shouted, getting a drawn out “Fine” as a replied.

“He’s getting ready to hit another growth spurt soon” Mu sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“It’s only natural, he’ll be a preteen before you know it” Aldebaran laughed only to jerk when he heard the dragon chirp behind the door.

“Alde? What was that?” Mu asked and looked around.

“Uh…must have been a bird?” He offered, silently stepped towards the door.

Mu gave him a hard, knowing look “Something is behind that door, isn’t it?”

“Yes! But I really ought to explain before I let it out-“

Too late, there was a sound of a door handle being broken and then there was the feeling of small, needle like claws grasping at his back as the dragon climbed up him and leapt off his shoulder. Mu gasped and took a step back as it moved, dashing off towards the kitchen in an awkward gallop, what with its tail and wings trying to trip itself once and while.

“Good heavens, what was that?” Mu shouted they bolted towards the kitchen, hearing Kiki squeal.

“I swear I can explain!” He shouted back as they sprinted.

Their worry faded as they around a curved corner and sighed in heavy relief.

There was Kiki, holding the wiggling mess of limbs that was called a baby dragon as it was a puppy or kitten. The dragon simply squealed back and chirped, tail moving back and forth just as puppy would, wings spread out as it nudged its head against Kiki’s cheeks. It was surprising to see Kiki hold the small creature, given they were almost the same size.

“Alde…what…that…that can’t” Mu gasped out before straightening his back and leaning towards the doorway with his mouth agape. “That can’t be a dragon” he managed to say.

“It’s a bronze dragon, technically” He replied, smiling sheepishly as Mu gave him a wide-eyed look while Kiki to the floor and laughed without a care in the world. The young dragon sniffed and flickered its tongue at him before leaping off him and began to wiggle its backside like a cat about to pounce.

“Bronze? What, how?” Mu asked.

“Can we keep it!” Kiki shouted.

“No!”

“I kind of have too!”

“Huh? Have to-I” Mu paused and dropped his shoulders as he pressed a hand against his face. “What exactly happened on your mission?” He asked.

“It’s kind of a long story” He said, rubbing a hand against Mu’s back “I’ll explain as we eat but…want to help pick out a name?”

#saint seiya #saint seiya fanfics #gold saints #taurus aldebaran #pisces aphrodite #aries mu #apprentice kiki #anony posts #Anony's writing #With just a bit of DnD thrown in for spice #Congrats Kiki you have a sibling

[fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs]

i've started a soft catherine cullen one-shot today so hopefully i'll finish it and maybe have it posted later. if not today then tomorrow! this one-shot will introduce esther 'este' platt into the petals for armor series and i'm super excited about that!! and yes it's heavily based off the song no body, no crime ( but make it gay )

#oc: catherine cullen #oc: esther 'este' platt #fic series: petals for armor #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight oc #twilight reimagined #oc x oc #my fics #my ocs #twilight one shot #type: text #no body no crime #taylor swift

[sasshole-for-rent]

Sasshole’s Writing Masterlist

Since I don’t want to scroll through my blog forever to find my works, I have constructed a temporary masterlist. I say temporary, because this will be a HUGE mess! The URL’s are not specific at all, and/or have weird titles. I will eventually delete these posts and retype them in an actual text format. So, here we go!

Original Works feat. Original Characters

Turn Your OC Into A Martyr feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Adelaide Mortemere, #Sasshole’s OC: Marcell Montez, #Sasshole’s OC: Silas Gallagher #Marsilas. 

We Are Where We Have Trodden (Mardelaide + Marcell’s character development) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Adelaide Mortemere, #Sasshole’s OC: Marcell Montez, #Sasshole’s OC: Silas Gallagher.

The King Is Dead (Worldbuilding Practice)

Lavender  feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Zahra 

When The Arrow Strikes True, Its Target Is Always A Heart (Smut Practice) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Adelaide Mortemere, and Finnick. This will possibly be turned into a #Marsilas part, since I don’t want a LI for Adelaide. 

Pastel Walls feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Vashti, and #Sassholes’s OC: Roslyn,  #Vashlyn and #Sasshole’s OC: Zahra, and #Sasshole’s OC: Amalee Mortemere, and #Sasshole’s OC: Kaidan.  

Walk With Me feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Vashti, and #Sasshole’s OC: Roslyn, and #Vashlyn.

Description Practice feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Vashti, and #Sasshole’s OC: Roslyn, and #Vashlyn.

An Ode To The Sea (Romance + Angst Practice) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Falkryn Mortemere, and #Sasshole’s OC: Amalee Mortemere, and #Amalryn

Yūgen feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Amalee Mortemere, and #Sasshole’s OC: Kaidan.

Of Mist And Mountain (Scenery Practice) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Adelaide Mortemere.

The Petal And The Dagger (Wedding Practice) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Vashti, and #Sasshole’s OC: Roslyn, and #Vashlyn.

Throne Of Glass Series

Modern AU: Coffee Shop (Pre-Crown Of Midnight) feat. Celaena Sardothien and Nehemia Ytger.

A Court Of Thorns And Roses Series

As Cruel As A Winter Sunrise (Post-ACOWAR) feat. Nesta Archeron. 

Dragon Age: Inquisition feat. Lavellan

You Can Be That Fire Again feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Alhasha’ise Lavellan

Snowflakes That Break A Branch (Solas Hates You Prompt + Intro to Inquisition) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Eir’melana Lavellan This will possibly turn into a full blown fanfiction, we’ll see!

The Emperor (Solavellan Prompt) feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Eir’melana Lavellan 

Kissed By Andruil feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Eir’melana Lavellan

The Arcana feat. Apprentice

Summoning The Storm feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Kevarah

Poetry

I will rewrite all my poetry and tag it with #Sasshole’s Poetry. Until then, have this slop!

Jar of Emotions

Render Her Senseless 

Maiden Moon

The Sea And The Universe

New Forged Soul

Let Me Go

Pastel Heart

When Home Doesn’t Feel Like Home

City Sunset 

Lover’s Remission

DWC Works

I will try to update this every Friday! These are all written by me, yet some feature characters that belong solely to the people I have tagged! 

Farewell, My Little Arrow feat. #Sasshole’s OC: Eir’melana Lavellan

Surprise Date feat. Iwyn Lavellan @thevikingwoman OC!

Eggs feat. Ellana Lavellan & Ashara Lavellan & Saeris Lavellan @buttsonthebeach OC’s!

Whiskers And Nickers feat. June Lavellan @talesfromthefade OC!

Delay feat. Iwyn Lavellan @thevikingwoman OC!

Writing Reference | Photo Inspiration

Maeve Origin Fic

Eir’melana Halamshiral Dress

High Lady Of The Night Court

Vashti (Character Model)

Kevarah (Hair Reference)

Kevarah (Skin Reference)

Kevarah (Hair Reference #2)

Kevarah Reference

Kevarah Headcanons

Physical Flaws

The Arcana Headcanon

Kevarah’s Magic Stirring Spoon

Getting To Know Your OC: Kevarah

Secret Date Inspo

Mel’s Dress

Val Royeaux Dress Shop

Mel’s Dress #2

Solavellan Portrait Idea

Mel’s Armor

Mel’s AU Closet

Mel’s Dress #3

Solavellan Headcanon

Descriptive Writing

Mel Post-Breakup Headcanon

Alhasha’ise Headcanon

Solavellan Headcanon #2

Dear Lavellan by @anonymous-vhenan (I’ll write a gift fic about this one day. If that’s alright with you.)

Mel Backstory (In The Tags)

Alhasha’ise Vibe

Prompt Lists

LI Scenarios

Drabble List by @of-badges-and-guns

Instrumental Prompts

Drabble List by @mymiscfandomimagines

Give Me A Weird-Ass Prompt

#sasshole's masterlist #sasshole's poetry #sasshole's writing #sasshole's fanfics #sasshole's oc: zahra #sasshole's oc: amalee mortemere #sasshole's oc: adelaide mortemere #sasshole's oc: marcell montez #sasshole's oc: silas gallagher #sasshole's oc: eir'melana lavellan #sasshole's oc: alhasha'ise lavellan #sasshole's oc: vashti #sasshole's oc: roslyn #sasshole's oc: kaidan #sasshole's oc: falkryn mortemere #amalryn #mardelaide #marsilas #amaldan #vashlyn

[stillness-in-green]

Misery Loves Company

Woke up with this in my head this morning, and got it out as quickly as I could.  IBO, Chad and Yamagi, spoilers for the entire season.  Set during the last episode’s timeskip, right towards the beginning.  

So, I’ve been wanting to write about Yamagi and Chad dating since that last episode came out.  This fic is definitely NOT that.  It might be a prelude, though. 

It is, regardless of anything else, my guess on how two people who never so much as glanced at each other in their series might have had a chance to spend a bit more time together.  Note that nobody’s very happy here, as this is set just after the Tekkadan survivors get off-planet courtesy of Azee and Echo.

After the third time Yamagi misses an instruction, the mechanic—a girl Yamagi doesn’t know, now that Echo’s back on ship piloting duties—tips back and sighs hard.  

“Look, no offense?” she begins, in a tone that’s straining not to be sharp but clearly ran out patience half a million miles ago.  “But you’re clearly not all here right now, and at this rate, you’re either going to get hurt, or mess something up that gets someone else hurt down the line.  We’ve got our own mechanics.  Why don’t you go be with your friends?”

He doesn’t want to be anywhere near his friends, but Yamagi lets go of the wrench he’s holding, wishing fleetingly that it could at least clang satisfyingly to the ground, and turns away, pushing off from the ground hard towards the exit.  

He thinks he hears his name spoken from somewhere in the din—Yukinojo, probably—but turns his head away, and leaves the hangar.  

He doesn’t know the Sawback’s layout, not like he does—did, he thinks, heart clenching with yet another grief—the Isaribi’s, but it’s an armored ship, like the Hotarubi had been; there are only so many design plans it can have.  He wanders, looking for an observation deck or private room.  

He finally finds a deserted deck near the bottom level.  Why it’s so empty is obvious right away: aside from the view being partly blocked by the gunmetal gray curve of one of the transport bays, the walkway drops off into a sheer metal wall, a fall of some twenty or thirty feet down to the next level. Too, the engine room is nearby, so the sound of every tiny course adjustment the ship makes reverberates through the walls, much louder than it does topside.  If someone didn’t spend their every waking moment around machines, diving off of catwalks with total confidence in the absence of gravity, they’d probably find it all ridiculously distracting.  As it is, Yamagi sighs, long and slow, letting the tension leak out of him.  In the most basic possible nod to safety protocols, there is in fact a handrail protecting the walkway.  He leans back on it, lets his eyes fall half-closed, and watches the stars.

Time passes.  If he were on the Isaribi, he’d would be able to tell how much just by listening to the hum of the engine.  As it is…  He’ll stay until he gets hungry, he decides.

In the belly of the ship, the engine cycles to a lower output mode, and the ever-present hum quiets. Then, and only then, does Yamagi hear the sound of someone else in the room breathing.  He turns towards the thready, uneven exhalations with an ugly start.  

The passage stretches out in front of him, empty as it was when he walked in.  Yamagi stands quite still, listening.  Gradually, it dawns on him that the breathing is coming from above him.  Wounded temper still brimming, he looks up and scans the dim ceiling.  Sure enough, up along the far back of the room, one of the Tekkadan lilies stares at him from the back of someone’s jacket, its petals fuzzy and gray in the deep shadows.  Whoever-it-is is perched on a maintenance deck, a square sheet of metal that slides in and out of the wall near a local control panel, meant to set a tool chest on or brace against in low gravity.  Other than the deck, though, nothing’s been pulled aside or opened up along the wall, and the person doesn’t have so much as a tool belt, much less a crate full of wrenches and pliers.  He also hasn’t moved, one hand and a dark head all that’s visible where he’s curled in on himself over tucked-up knees.

Yamagi goes on staring for a while longer.  The boy’s hand is twitching intermittently, which could mean he’s asleep and dreaming, maybe about something innocuous, but more likely about events of the last few days. If that’s the case, well, he’s not unique for having nightmares, and Yamagi can slip away with no more than a second or two of guilt.

Unfortunately, it might also be a sign of feedback from the Alaya-Vijnana implant, lingering involuntary nerve firing caused by links to machines that hadn’t been tuned properly, or which had slipped out of sync somehow.  The mechanics here don’t have the data—probably not even the equipment—to give all of Tekkadan’s A-V users the regular check-ups Miss Merribit had instituted.  Regardless of how much Yamagi wants to claim himself a crawlspace and never come back out to have to face human interaction again, if someone’s implant is giving them trouble, Yamagi needs to bring them to Miss Merribit or the old man.  

He sighs, and kicks himself towards the ceiling.  

“Hey,” he says softly as he approaches.  “You awake?”

The boy doesn’t stir as Yamagi gets close enough to recognize him—Yamagi used to see lots of people clutching the controls of Tekkadan’s mobile suits, but there’s only one who matches a skin tone so dark to hands so oversized for the bony wrists they’re affixed to.  

He’d assumed it was a boy, from the coiled posture and the hideaway, but as far as he knows, Chad is older than him by at least a year or two.  

“…Chad?”  Yamagi tries speaking, reaching out to catch himself on the wall before he drifts straight into the ceiling.  

Chad twitches again, a full-body flinch this time, so sharp and sudden that Yamagi himself winces in sympathy.  As it passes, though, Chad’s head lifts, slowly, like someone peeking over a wall that might or might not have unknown threats lurking on the other side.  His gaze finds Yamagi’s feet, and trains slowly up until it lands on Yamagi’s face.  Beneath the dim, uneven illumination of the overhead running light, Chad’s cheeks look every bit as hollow as they had back in the CGS days.  The skin beneath his eyes is bruise-dark and puffy, and Yamagi feels a pinprick of regret for waking him.  His eyes are clear, though, if not…  Not hard, Yamagi thinks, staring back at him in the widening gap of silence, just braced, like he’s never been woken a day in his life for something other than bad news, and whatever the world is about to lay at his feet, it almost certainly isn’t going to be the worst thing he’s seen.

The silence goes on for a few more unheard beats, a tempo of exhaustion, before finally Chad lifts his head up a bit more, his back straightening, even as his shoulders tense and bow.  

“Did something happen?” he asks.  

The desire to escape thrums in Yamagi’s skin like engine noise, an unreasoning wave of shame that’s so much stronger than the momentary guilt he’d been contemplating back down below, when he’d had that opportunity to just leave and hadn’t taken it.  But Chad is Responsible—Yamagi has never exchanged more than three words with him, but even he knows that much—and if Yamagi turned tail and ran away, Chad would get worried and follow.  As if he needs any more stress.  

Yamagi lets his eyes slide away, turning his head and leaving Chad to stare instead at the fall of his hair.

“You were dreaming,” is all he says.  “That’s all. You don’t have to get up.”

“…Ah,” Chad says, the single syllable tangled somewhere between confusion, relief, and simple weariness.  After a few more seconds, he adds, “Sorry you had to bother.”

“It’s fine.”  The words taste mechanical in Yamagi’s mouth. He parrots them out, and the moment of shame drains away, back into the empty weight of having nothing to do and less drive to do it.  Orga is dead. Shino is dead.  Mikazuki, dead.  Barbatos, dead.  Tekkadan is dead.  He can’t protect any of what’s left, but there’s so little left in any case.  People like Kudelia and Eugene will be planning what to do from here on out. He has time, still, to drag himself into caring again, but right now…  

“I just wanted to be alone somewhere for a while,” he finds himself saying.  “I didn’t think of trying the ceiling.”

Another measure of quiet follows this, then Chad hums, a low, barely audible sound.  He shifts, and the sound of his voice comes bouncing back from different walls as he turns his face away.  “Human Debris get good at staying out of sight.”  

That’s Chad’s version of taking the compliment, Yamagi supposes, and he feels an awful, tiny curve at the corner of his mouth at the black humor of the whole situation.  

“Eugene told me to go get some sleep,” Chad goes on after another silent moment.  “He ordered me to, actually.”

“Why not the barracks?” Yamagi looks down towards the observation window.  At this angle, he can’t see the transport bay anymore, just the starfields, endless and glittering and cold.  

“I tried there.  But the kids are still upset, and…”  He trails off, and the silence creeps back in, skulking around the perimeters of the conversation like a starving something at the edge of firelight.  It gets so close Yamagi imagines he can feel the breath of it on the back of his neck, then Chad sighs, and his words chase it away again.  “Dante caught me trying to help.  He ran me off.”

Yamagi doesn’t respond, and Chad fills in the space with, “He knows I can sleep anywhere out of sight. He told me to check down here.” Another pause, shorter this time, and then a rueful sound, not anything concrete enough to be a chuckle.  “Though now that I’ve gotten used to it, I wish I’d thought to grab a blanket.”

Yamagi dips his head into another smile, feeling the soft hitch of amusement in his breath.  “Hindsight,” he whispers.  

“Yeah, I guess so.”  

They both fall silent again, and if it isn’t any warmer, at least it doesn’t feel so empty.  Yamagi glances behind him, gaze skimming over the wall.  A rectangular outline in the metal suggests there’s another maintenance deck not far away—this one for accessing the ventilation system, judging by the proximity to a grated shaft.  Yamagi reaches out and rests his gloved fingertips over it.  

“Do you mind?” he asks, barely a breath, and feels Chad’s gaze return to him; sees, out of the corner of his eyes, the other boy lean forward to look at where he’s placed his hand.

“Oh.  No, it’s fine.”  

“Mm.”  Yamagi presses lightly at the shape in the wall.  It gives inward, then clicks and ejects back outwards, a thin metal deck.  He tugs himself onto it, mirroring Chad’s posture from before—arms around his legs, chin tucked onto his knees.  He flips up the collar of his jacket, and turns to lean against the wall.

“It’s—all right if I stay too, right?” Chad asks, a whisper in the shadows, uncertain, not half as conspiratorial as Yamagi thinks the situation warrants.  

He tugs his jacket tighter around himself.  In its pocket, still, a clump of bandages knots his stomach with their presence, and with grief.  He blinks hard, willfully, and forces his voice to an even, level softness.  “Yes.  It’s fine.”

“Okay.  I—will, then.”  Chad shifts again, maybe laying down, maybe turning away.  “Good—night?”

“…Good night,” Yamagi answers, and closes his eyes, listening to the hum of the ship’s engine, and the slowly evening sound of Chad’s breath.

#gundam ibo #mobile suit gundam: iron-blooded orphans #g tekketsu #yamagi gilmerton #chad chadan #my writing #ficcing