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sinfullyrosey · 2 years

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“Realistic” Courting Rituals

GN!Reader X Various TWST Characters

This isn’t as smutty as my other works and was more of a straight forward, logical look at applying typical animal courting/mating rituals onto the TWST cast. A lot of people tend to write the beastmen and fae characters as animalistic, but rarely actually do the research into mating habits, so I thought I’d write up little headcanons or whatever.

Some of this comes across as rather silly ‘cause I stopped taking it quite as seriously midway into typing them up lol

All characters are 18+

Leona Kingscholar

Male lions will begin courtship by rubbing their head against the lioness’s head, spraying urine, and licking her genitals. He will also patiently follow around a lioness until she is ready to mate, where in which he’ll bite onto her neck to get a grip and mount her. Females are also very demandful and will become aggressive if a male isn’t mating with her enough. She’ll even attack him until he does.

Leona doesn’t have a pride full of females demanding attention from him, but he does have you which is a blessing for his lazy ass. Once he has an interest in you, he’ll start pursuing you by checking in on you, following you around to make sure that you’re safe (and to scare off any rivals), and will become more openly affectionate. Will definitely rub his head against you, maybe a bit too hard as he lets out a low rumble (not a purr, lions don’t purr, sorry). As time goes on he works up to licking and cuddles while napping.

Doesn’t spray urine ‘cause that’s unsanitary, but will give you articles of clothing and jewelry as a way to get his scent on you and ward off rivals. Is super patient and will wait until you give him the go ahead to the next step since it’s the lionesses that signal for mating to begin. I imagine the two of you were napping in his room with him nuzzling you and things just got heated. He won’t do anything unless you make it very clear you want him to dick you down.

Starts off with lapping at your genitals lazily until you’re ready to take him. Would probably prefer doggy style the first time since it allows for easier mounting, but won’t protest if you prefer a different position. Will latch onto your neck (specifically the back part) just on instinct to make sure you don’t wiggle around too much. There is a slim possibility he has barbs on his dick, but due to being humanoid (or maybe magic idk) they aren’t sharp and won’t completely wreck your insides. Definitely adds another unique layer of pleasure for you so congrats.

Will only mate as many times as you request ‘cause this is still Leona we’re talking about and he’s a lazy piece of shit. Find your inner lioness and demand another round or else his ass is grass.

Ruggie Bucchi

Hyena males have a variety of courtship behaviors meant to attract a female mate. Females are naturally more aggressive than males, so males tend to be submissive and may widen their legs to show their penis to let the female know he wishes to mate. Males will also “shadow” females and follow them around in order to get close to them, as females are extremely picky.

Okay, regardless of whether or not you’re a female, he’s going to be more submissive, unless you happen to be more submissive then him. In which case, he may adopt more dominant traits, but it’s gonna be weird for him. Will start following you around and copying you, like: If you eat, he eats. You’re napping under a tree, he’s napping under a tree. You’re studying for a big exam that week, he doesn’t have a big exam but will help you study anyways. Essentially becomes in tune with your schedule while still managing his own affairs somehow. Will also be more openly affectionate, yet will back off the moment he feels he’s overstepping. Female hyenas are very picky and the last thing he wants to do is lose his chance with you.

Will widen his legs more when he’s around you as a sign, but won’t outright say anything, even if others notice or point it out (it’s his way of flexing give him a break). Honestly, you could do almost anything to him and he’ll allow it ‘cause he doesn’t want to lose his chances with you. Like, you could grab his ears out of the blue and he’d just take it as a sign that he’s making progress. Like Leona, he won’t make his move until he knows for sure that’s what you want. Male hyenas aren’t allowed to mate unless the females allow it, so he needs you to basically outright say that, yes, he can fuck you and you won��t bite his head off. Feels truly blessed that the courtship went successfully and will be over the Moon if you want to go another round with him.

Jack Howl

Male and female wolves courtship is fairly neutral, with both snuggling, walking close together, mouthing each other’s muzzles, nose touching, and grooming. Males are very protective and will fend off rival males. Males and females get stuck together due to swelling in the male’s penis and contracting from the female’s walls, which can last 15-30 minutes.

Honestly one of the most “normal” in terms of wooing you. He becomes more physically affectionate and will want to spend more time with you. Quality time is key for him, so expect a lot of nuzzling against your neck and facial area, maybe a few licks here and there. He doesn’t have a muzzle per say, so he’ll substitute it with kisses, usually open mouthed ones. Out of everyone, the most likely to have multiple heated makeout sessions with you. A lot of touching and close contact, may even become overly protective of you to the point of warding off anyone he perceives as a rival (yes this includes Leona).

Will become more and more affectionate until you two finally mate. He’s a bit rough the first time around, making sure to thoroughly fuck you. May bite and scratch you but in a way that pleasures you. And yes, he does have a “knot,” but you two don’t get stuck like you originally believed because your walls don’t work like a female wolf beastmen’s so you’re fine. Is the king of aftercare and will go the extra mile checking you over, getting you hydrated, and napping with you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Male octopi have to be careful when courting and mating due to females cannibalizing them. Most courtship includes removing their penis/tentacle and presenting it to the female to take and use, though a male will also stretch out his still-attached penis and mate from afar as well. Typically, females pursue males and flash their beacon.

Put simply, he’s a little bitch when it comes to courting you and probably keeps his distance. He knows you won’t actually kill and eat him, but given his less than stellar first meet with you, he’s nervous. Probably won’t actively start pursuing you unless you gave him the sign to do so. What sign you may ask? Why, the beacon sign of course. This beacon is actually just a ring of Mostro beverage you got on around your mouth and laughed off while he stood there, flustered and trying to keep his hard on in check.

From that point onward he’d try to get close to you, while still keeping his distance. Most courting was in line with human customs at this point, so gift giving, quality time, acts of service, etc. But he could never work up the courage to try and bring up mating with you, too afraid. It’s morbid, but he probably did at one point consider just giving you his tentacle penis, too afraid to swallow his nerves and mate with you the practical way. Floyd encouraged this route while Jade managed to knock some sense into the idiot before he did anything rash.

Best bet is to have a moonlit dinner with him, get a few drinks in him to calm his nerves, and lead him into the nearest secluded room and start ravaging him. Might have a few instances where he looks about ready to bolt, but once he’s fully sheathed in you and you’re practically devouring his mouth, he’ll finally get the damn hint. Sex with his octoform won’t be until much later though, but don’t worry, he won’t unattach his dick when the time comes.

Floyd & Jade Leech

Female eels let male eels know they’re ready to mate by opening their jaws very wide, where in which the two will then wrap their bodies around each other and mate for hours at a time. Mating only occurs when the environment is warm enough and there’s plenty of food.

There is little to no courting, these two just go for it the moment you openly yawn in front of them on a particularly warm day at the lounge. All the requirements are met: The lounge is stocked with food, the weather is warm but not too hot, and you did just open your mouth wide like some needy whore right in front of them. Honestly, whether the both of them are present or it’s just one of them, there’s a good chance they will pull you into the nearest empty room and just start going at it. Unless you explicitly say otherwise, they’re down to fuck you the moment you open that pretty, little mouth of yours.

Note: The Leech twins know what yawning is, but if you repeatedly do so in front of them, they’re going to take that to mean you want some fuck. They’re currently on the menu and you just ordered a nice, hot serving of eel dick.

Will wrap themselves around you the best they can given their human forms, but would probably prefer to be in eel form since they’re more used to that form of mating. Yes, they can last up to hours and go multiple rounds. Buckle up ‘cause you’re in it for the long run babe.

Malleus Draconia

Dragons aren’t real, though they are usually portrayed as very possessive lovers who may court by giving jewels and gold. Some male lizard species have been known to scratch the back of females and lick her as a way to ask to mate. If she licks back, then he’ll proceed to mate with her. Many other lizard species also includes males showing off to females, pursuing them, head bobbing, and showing dominance.

Once Malleus actually realizes that his feelings are more than just simply platonic, he’ll begin courting you the ‘ol fashion way, dragon style. He becomes protective over you, will make sure nobody else is courting you and will make it clear that he is the one pursuing you. Will glare and snarl at anyone who looks at you for too long or attempts to woo you. Will show off to you, either through his magic abilities, knowledge on certain subjects, or even strength. Shows dominance by outmatching everyone else at something, which isn’t that hard for the much older and experienced fae. Might bob his head at you, but will stop after you questioned him about it and he got embarrassed over the silly act.

Instead, will start to give you gifts of precious gemstones, gold jewelry, and other valuables, ones that have meaning to them. Like, he’ll usually give you emeralds or dragon-shaped jewelry, or will give you your personal favorite gemstone. Once things start to really hit off and he’s alone with you, will go for it and gently scratch your back, followed by a light lick. Honestly, Lilia or somebody better inform you the meaning of this beforehand because if you don’t reciprocate with a lick of your own, he’ll take it as a rejection and become disheartened. But if you do reciprocate, then you’re in for a long, rough night ‘cause this dude’s dick ain’t human and his goal is to properly ravish you. You will be sore and covered in bitemarks the next day.

Sebek Zigvolt

Crocodile males will secure an area for mating, scaring off any rivals, before beginning the official courtship. The males will then begin to rub their snout along or on top of the female’s head and continue to do so until both are rubbing against each other or “dancing” together. Some vocalizations and bubble blowing in the water may occur as well.

How you managed to catch Sebek’s eyes despite him only having eyes for Malleus is not exactly known, but you did. Congrats, you now have an overzealous manbaby who’s in denial of his feelings and is trying his best to avoid you, only to end up following you when he’s not with Malleus. He wouldn’t even realize it at first, but he acts protective around you and will keep any rivals away. The way he treats you directly doesn’t change much outside of him (trying) to be nicer and not insult you quite as much (as per Lilia’s advice). It isn’t until he starts to notice you reciprocate his efforts that he begins to secure an area for you two (most likely his bedroom or some unused room at his dorm).

When it comes times for the deed and he leads you to the room, he becomes much more affectionate and starts to rub his face and mouth along your head and neck area, breathing in your scent. He’s embarrassed by the action, but can’t help it as it comes almost natural to him. Once you start returning the gesture, he’ll take it as the sign to go ahead and he’ll start creating a deep rumbling sound while fucking you. Is a mix of rough and gentle, going from nipping you to outright biting.

Lilia Vanrouge

Fruit bat males will find a female to roost with and spend extensive amount of time grooming the female. They’ll also vigorously lick the female’s nether regions, possibly to either arouse her or to remove rival sperm.

Similar to the Tweels in that he kind of just goes for it. Dude’s old and has been around the block enough to have confidence that he could just go right into courting you and eventually win you over. Will start spending more time with you, sharing quality time and just hanging out. Will wait until he’s reached a point in the relationship that you’re comfortable around him and now he can start the actual process of courting for mating.

Will invite you over for tea, which becomes rather apparent wasn’t the actual reason as he begins to groom you in the form of brushing your hair and preening your overall appearance. Will chat with you, buttering you up and complimenting you throughout. Will forgo the brush in place of his fingers and he’ll start to nuzzle and kiss your neck. This can take up to hours before it actually reaches the bedroom. When you actually get to the bedroom, prepare for another hour or so of him just going down on you, licking and nipping your lower region until your orgasming again and again and again. Better buckle up because this bat fae’s mating is a day-long experience.

Che’nya

Male cats will mount the female, usually grabbing the back of her neck with his mouth to keep her from pulling away. There aren’t any real courting habits, males just mate females if they reciprocate. Sometimes males will gather around a female and take turns mounting and mating her. Male genitalia have sharp barbs on them, believed to stimulate the female and scrape out rival sperm.

I’m gonna be honest and say I almost forgot Che’nya and don’t have much to say on him. The most normal of the beastman, even more so compared to Jack. If he did court you, then it probably just includes him sneaking into NRC to flirt and mess with you. Will randomly appear and peck you on your face, neck, or mouth. I can also imagine him being unbothered by any of the others being interested in you, like, as long as he gets his own turn with you, he’s fine with it. When you two actually do it, he’ll mount you from the back and bite the back of your neck (much like Leona though gentler). And also like Leona, his dick barbs aren’t sharp and won’t hurt, stimulating you more. Will maybe cuddle and purr with you afterwards, unless you two get caught or something. In which case, he’s pecking you on the lips and disappearing with a laugh in the air.

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madamedevien · 3 years

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Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

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omegasmileyface · 3 years

Text

Not in the Job Description

heres a silly lil Danny Phantom concept based entirely off a half-awake sleep-vision that made me laugh :) my subconscious brain is a genius at coming up with things that make just enough sense to be worth writing

summary: Danny's job at a local restaurant is surprisingly fulfilling, even after being crowned Ghost King. Speaking of that job, however, there are some intricacies to it that are hard to keep in mind during everyday life.

warnings: descriptions of nausea and mild sickness

words: 2180

AO3 link

===

Honestly, life was going pretty well at the moment for Danny Fenton. He wasn't even worried that it was a false security or a calm before a storm, because this kind of semi-serenity had been going on for more than a year. It was a long-term stability brought about by adaptation and putting in effort to get help and accommodation. Jazz would be proud!

Sometime at the beginning of Junior year, the Observants had chased him down and crowned him High Ghost King (much to the chagrin of both involved parties). It certainly added responsibility to Danny's plate, along with some new sensations and a series of crises (what didn't these days?), but a little political discussion with some of the more powerful ghosts ended with Danny deciding that, at least at the moment, the position didn't require him to do much more than he normally did. More ghosts would seek him out for help and he would do his best, and some "paperwork" (though there was very little paper involved and it was a lot of talking and oaths and rituals and such) happened about monthly. Otherwise, though, the Zone didn't need much more help than that, having survived off an absent King for centuries. Well, and the ambient purpose of the King as a sort of core for the Zone, but Danny didn't have to put in time or conscious effort for that.

Eventually that settled into normalcy, and Danny was back to worrying about the balance of schoolwork, self-care, and fighting. He still hadn't given up on the prospect of someday becoming an astronaut, and he was determined to have the grades for it. Don't get him wrong, he'd gotten way better about that! He'd formed a practiced, if not entirely stable, system that kept his grades at a solid B- / C+, while getting a solid 5-ish hours of sleep most nights and not bottling things up too much. It was about halfway through Junior year that he realized, with some help from his friends, that his ghosts fights were honestly pretty civil, at least against the regulars. Civil enough that he knew they had some respect for him, and was willing to risk asking for help. So a few weeks and awkward but not bad conversations later, and he had agreements with almost all his regular "foes" not to cause trouble within Amity from 11pm to 7am, 3pm on weekdays. It was more than half the day off-limits on school days, and plenty of ghosts made up for it to a degree by making themselves more common during the "permitted" hours, but it greatly increased Danny's well-being and school performance anyway. "Rivals" like Skulker and Technus had enough respect for Danny and his Lair to abide, and plenty even cared that he was taking care of himself, even between frequent sparring. Maybe a few were really just in fear of his new crown, but he chose to cautiously pretend that wasn't a possibility.

After graduation — he made Senior year with all As and Bs! — Danny's parents had encouraged him to get a part-time job over the summer. He had been interning at FentonWorks (paid! His parents might not be the most attentive but they certainly weren't unfair) since he had accidentally revealed himself a few years back, and they had been thrilled to hear that he still intended to go into NASA if possible, and had done whatever they could to help. They recommended the job because, as good as a paid scientific internship was on a resume, it would help to have a variety of activity and the opportunity to get recommendations from employers who weren't liable to nepotism. After searching local businesses, Danny found a small sandwich shop founded by a middle-aged couple who had moved in and set up shop just before the ghost attacks began. Being close to the school but not far from the commercial sector and offering small portable food (no one wants to sit down for a meal when a spirit could come crashing through the window at any moment), the place got good enough business to pay the employees a proper living wage. Better yet, they were allowed to take home unsold food! Not to mention the owners were both very kind women who held smiling conversation with employees and customers alike. Danny was more than lucky to land such a nice job, even if it meant he had to get up at 7 five days a week.

All this is to say that it wasn't as surprising as it could have been that he was having a slow and pleasant day at work.

Both the owners were out for the day on some sort of vacation, so today it was just Danny and a short teenager named Casey manning the place. Most of their orders recently had been online due to an explosion causing road work near the restaurant and it was mid-morning, leaving work slow enough that they could afford to just have the two until lunch shift started. Danny was on cashier duty today, but unless the door bell sounded, he was helping Casey in the kitchen.

"Aw, man, we're almost out of tomatoes."

"Really?" Casey looked up to the shelf Danny was inspecting and indeed saw only 3 tomatoes. "Huh, guess they didn't restock yesterday. Well, we probably shouldn't risk needing more before the day's out, do you want me to go get more?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, I can go. I think I could use the fresh air." He said that a lot, especially as an excuse when his ghost sense went off, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He never had liked being confined.

Casey checked the monitor to see if they'd gotten any new online orders. Since there was a grocery store just a block away, any time someone needed a quick restock they tended to just walk.

They looked up to see Danny already had his jacket on and was looking them in the eye. "Would you take over my position until I come back?"

"Of course. Ten minutes?"

With a nod and a smile, Danny was out the back door.

===

After a moment of habitually wiping down the counters, Casey went up to the register in case a customer appeared.

It was even quieter than before for a few minutes, so they busied themself with mini restocks and organization. They were in the middle of stacking some paper coffee cups when they started to feel dizzy. There had been this subtle pressure on their chest since Danny left, which they figured was anxiety for working the restaurant alone for the first time, and now it had solidified into a warm nausea that flared whenever they exhaled.

With the disinterested panic that came from having strange things happen for years, they wondered if they had missed their medication this morning. A quick glance at their phone, however, showed the notification for it checked off.

Putting the phone back away, Casey noticed the tips of their fingers were somewhat translucent. Alright then, it was definitely something to do with ghosts. Great! Just excellent. The panic was less disinterested this time.

They weren't familiar with any sort of ghost illness that made humans translucent, so they definitely needed to call someone to make sure nothing bad happened. It would be best to call the Fentons' public number so they could go over and get looked over by then. In the meantime, they should call Danny and ask him to hurry back. He shouldn't be much longer anyway.

Casey didn't even get the chance to act on their plan, however, before a short humanoid ghost appeared in the dining area. They didn't look to be up to anything, but Casey reached for the emergency ectoblaster beneath the register anyway. The nausea was getting worse, along with a new chill, and they couldn't be sure this new ghost wasn't somehow causing whatever they were going through.

The ghost looked at them with an expression that was almost desperate. "Ah! Kind human, thank you for your time." The ghost... bowed? "I am Eurusid, from the Spoken Channels. There has been a dispute which damaged public meeting grounds in the center of the Channels, and both groups refuse to allow the damage to be repaired except by the other group."

Casey's eyes narrowed. It was becoming difficult to stand with the dizziness, and if not the ghost himself, then whatever he was saying was probably a hallucination. They didn't even think about responding beyond a detached "what".

It was then that Danny re-entered the back door with the new tomatoes. Good thing, too. At least with another person there, Casey could confirm whether they were hallucinating.

===

Placing down the grocery bag and shrugging off his jacket in one motion, a skill only gained by years of laziness efficiency, Danny called toward the register. "Back!"

Once he caught sight of the teen, however, all casualness shed itself from his body and he rushed over to hold them. "Man, Casey, you feeling alright? You look really pale." The realization that their form was slightly translucent, despite the firm human heartbeat beneath, was drowned out by him finally noticing the ghost standing a few feet away. The reaction of his ghost sense had been so minor that he had ignored it.

He was surprised to see that he recognized the specter's face, marred as it may have been from worry and confusion aimed directly at Casey. "Eurusid? What's going on?"

As the ghost, still confused but unwilling to act impolitely, gathered his bearings and began to bow toward him, Danny's coworker shuddered under his hands, regaining his full attention. He thought back through the day's events for hints as to the situation, before swearing, cutting off whatever Eurusid was about to say.

Danny backed up and said, voice as clear as he could, "I recall my position."

Casey's reaction was immediate, a gasp of air like they had been kept from breathing and a return of their skin's human opacity. Danny rushed back over and put his hand on their back to steady them as their eyes narrowed and went slightly unfocused.

Figures, doesn't it? One of the many intricacies that had come up at his coronation Junior year that just hadn't come up enough to keep at the front of his mind. One of the defenses of the High Ghost Crown was the ability of the King to temporarily give their duty to someone else. As long as that person accepts, during a specified time they substitute for the King in dealing with political matters, as well as taking over as much as their ability allowed of the King's function to process the energy of the Realms.

Danny had no idea that this ability could be activated with words as vague as "take over my position", let alone that it could be used with a human. That potential had never come up during the ceremony, so for all he knew, a full ghost in his position couldn't substitute with a human. A human certainly shouldn't be able to take over any part of the energy processing, though maybe in Amity Park the average person processed enough environmental ectoplasmic energy to make it possible. Regardless of residence, though, it could not be good for Casey's body, which had no Core to properly process energy and had no human equivalent except perhaps a small emotional center in the brain, to even attempt to filter and manage some of the inherent energy of a dimension.

Their skin was still clammy and their coordination was shot. Ancients, if this is what an accidental substitution did to a human, Danny would have to word things very carefully when asking for help in the future.

"King Phantom?" Danny looked up to see that Eurusid was still floating there awkwardly. Right. He had two people here to help.

"Sorry, Eurusid. One moment, I'll be right with you." He turned back to his coworker, who looked confused and less lucid than ideal, but probably still lucid enough to realize this ghost had just called him "King Phantom". Well, he'd deal with that once it came to it. "Here, Casey, let's get you some water." He helped them walk back into the kitchen and sat them down on a bench by the back door. There was a chair in the register area, but they probably didn't want to feel exposed to the dining area like that, even with nobody but the ghost there.

Once handed the water, Casey sighed and eagerly drank from it, eyes closed. Danny rubbed his hand on their back a bit and promised to be back shortly before walking back out to meet Eurusid. Whatever he was here about was probably worth immediate attention but Danny was sure there'd be at least a solid minute of apologies on both sides before the matter was addressed. Hopefully both the Spoken Channels and Casey would be alright before the next shift came in.

#danny phantom #my writing #danny phantom fanfiction #ghost king danny #gkau crack baby !#ive been referring to this in my head as 'the wendys story' even though having it be a chain fast food restaurant doesnt quite work #ghost king hcs here very inspired by heavy on the heart light on the head by gothmoth and the a king in chains series by five-rivers #with some Pizzazz thrown in!#throne in . ha #one day ill come up with a complete and proper hc set for it but Not Today #me writing the sentence 'danny made senior year with all as and bs': dont cry dont cry dont say 'god i wish that were me'#oh also bear in mind ive never worked at a restaurant #unedited bc im impatient 😔

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beskarberry · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Advocate

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 5

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 11.2k whoops

Content warnings: VICES: gambling/smoking/drinking (reader drinks) Introduction of chapter-specific OC characters. Lots of angst to fluff, sexy times of course.

A/N: This might be more self indulgent than the first chapters but not because of the smut. I kinda go off about fancy clothes so long descriptions of costumes are a big chunk of this chapter.

<-Previous Next->

You hated everything about Canto Bight.

Everything about the city was so... artificial. The stadium flood lights, the glowing neon signs, even the ocean herself had been excavated from the planet’s stubborn sandstone surface instead of eroded naturally by the march of time. To you it was like looking at Corellia’s gold painted twin, a monument to the hubris of all sentient life.

Even the patrons of the gilded city were fake; their clothes, their makeup, their personalities. Every aspect of them was perfectly curated to deceive and lie, whatever fanciful display would work best to cheat their way to the jackpot. You almost wished you could look past the falseness of it, experience the visual fanfare of light and color that reflected on every surface. You wanted the music and the art and the decor that had been so carefully picked and placed to mean something to you, to sparkle in your heart just as it sparkled in the eyes of the teeming masses. But, all for naught, the gleaming metropolis stung your eyes; and you turned away from it to admire the quaint little space that actually mattered to you.

You shared the tight quarters of the cockpit with the two strange boys that had recently whisked you away to the stars. Mando was seated in the pilot's chair with his tiny green son perched in his lap, trying to get him to eat his dinner without making so much of a mess. You had already eaten, and you were turning the last hunter’s puck over in your hand, reluctant to get this chase started and take away from the familial scene beside you. It would have to happen sooner or later, and you gave the puck a squeeze to fire up the projector. A ghostly blue fog glowed up into the space above your palm, and the face that looked back at you was surprisingly fair; if not for his crimson skin and long black horns you wouldn’t have known he was Devaronian by his elegant features alone.

Elios Blackwater was a dapper debonair, his high cheekbones angled sharply under devious eyes towards a sly, sharp toothed grin. The puck notes didn’t specify what he was wanted for, though from the looks of his charming smile and shifting eyes it could easily be anything from a gamblers quarrel to breaking hearts, with a higher reward for being returned alive rather than dead. He would most likely be in a heavily inhabited area, probably as close to Canto Bight’s aurelian heart as possible. You didn’t know why Mando had taken a bounty puck for such a densely populated world, and you would have loved to know what his plan was to get to the city’s casino center before you had arrived in his life. A pair of ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket would stick out like sore thumbs in this gilded mecca of gamblers. If you were going to get to your quarry without being arrested, you were going to have to blend in.

“We’re going to have to do something about...this.” You said, waving your hand in front of your partner’s ferocious attire, though truthfully you weren’t dressed any more appropriately for the mission at hand. “They’ll see us coming a mile away.”

He glanced down at himself with a tilt of his helmet, ignoring the mess his son was making of his meal. “What do you have in mind?”

You weren’t entirely sure yet. From where the Crest was parked you could see the glittering city’s reflection sparkling on the water far ahead of you down the beach, a sight most would find alluring, but to you it was just harsh glare. Nearby where you had landed were other space craft parked up and down the gravelly, machine-carved beach; the pleasure cruisers of wealthy betters made your little scrapheap look even worse than it already did. You watched out the cockpit’s transperisteel window, noting the movement of patrons and their attending droids loading skiffs with piles of luggage, and got yourself a mighty fine idea.

"I think so, but you're probably not going to like it. Stay here." You rose from your seat and kissed the baby on the head, earning yourself a soft, mush-mouthed chirp before you slid down the ladder and let yourself out of the old rust bucket and into the salty sea air of the Cantonican night. Gravel crunched under your boots, and you took a moment to turn and glance back at the Crest, catching the faintest flicker of scope glare where Mando was nervously watching you from the flight deck. Ahead of you a large cruiser was being unloaded by droids, the owners having long since made their way to the casinos, and you made yourself known to the robotic servants with your most charming damsel-in-distress voice.

"Hello! Excuse me! My luggage is too heavy to carry, can you help me? It's just over here on my ship..." The droid nearest you made a stiff bowing motion and tottered after you with the loaded hoverskiff floating along behind. You guided the droid up the open ramp and into the bowels of the ship to where your difficult luggage lay. It never stood a chance, bits of wire and duraplast flew across the cabin like confetti from the blaster shot to its head. Mando lowered his gun back to his holster, freeing his hands to help you haul the skiff into the narrow cabin space, then quickly close the ramp behind you.

The sled took up most of the walking space in the ship, so you got up on top of it and began looting through the stolen designer bags, pulling resplendent finery out into the hazy light. The first tote was full of piles of silk sewn for something with more arms than the two of you put together, so most of those items were tossed to the floor. The second bag was just capes, each a unique and lovely pattern, but nothing more. You demolished the remaining bags, making piles on the floor for ‘maybes’ and ‘definitely-nots’ until you found what you were looking for: a humanoid woman’s clothes.

Most of the unknown lady’s elegant garments would be just slightly too big on you, but you were able to settle on a soft, garnet colored evening gown that would go just above your knees, with extra length in the back. It had a sloping neckline that plunged at your cleavage, and around the bell of the skirt were silver rhinestones that caught the light of the cabin like dewdrops, the weight of them giving the dress a wistful sway. You wouldn't be able to carry much in such a revealing article, but a blaster and a knife alone had gotten you out of more trouble than you would care to admit.

You were fishing through the feminine things for something to do about your hair when you caught Mando in the corner of your eye. He was leaning against the hull wall, just watching you as you made a fat mess of the Razor's interior. You smiled down at him from your floating perch and held up the fanciful garment that you had picked out for him to see. "You like it?"

"It doesn't suit you, mesh’la." He said with a lazy tilt of his helmet. You had begun to mentally keep track of all the Mando’a he used around you, and you were starting to notice his frequent use of affectionates. You spun slightly so he could get a good look at how the fabric moved in the light, but the hunter gear you currently had on took away from the loveliness of the expensive clothes. You guessed he preferred your killer garb anyway over the flimsy, delicate fabric. Or nothing at all.

"Well, it’ll have to do, and if you don't start picking something out for yourself I’m going to dress you up like a dandy.”

He sighed, long and tired before turning his attention to the silken pile on the floor. You went back to the luggage, finding some knee high boots that were close enough to your size, but had a heel height that was going to make your ankles cry. You picked out some tasteless accessories: some bracelets, and big, jewel-encrusted hair pins to wear as well. The glitzier that you were, the less you would be noticed in this bass-ackward town. When you had made your frivolous selections you hopped off the skiff to help Mando with his costume. He was worse at finding something to wear than you were, having only picked out some of his own black leather gloves and two pairs of pants that were not made for human legs. Mandalorian armor did not come off as far as your metal man was concerned, and you were going to have to find a way to hide his bulk. You convinced him to lose his cloak, chest belts, and the bandoliers on his hips and boots, anything to lighten the load. Loose silks and stiff fiber combos would be your best friend, and you cobbled together what you could for your beskar-burdened buddy.

After what seemed like an eternity you had him dressed to the nines, or at least the eights. You had covered his chest plate in a black silk shirt and stiff black vest. The shirt had wide bottomed sleeves and neat, tight cuffs that hid his vambraces well, but you still made him wear a cinched-waist blazer plus a long, black and silver cape that almost reached the floor. You found a dark red pocket square that matched your dress and tucked it into the pocket of his vest, a subtle, but unmistakable announcement to the world that he was there with you. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric on top of an already massive mountain of metal, but the look was very in-style for Canto Bight. All together he actually passed for something besides a murder machine, and you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. Mando held still for you while you fussed with his outfit with only the occasional huff. As much as he didn't like the idea of walking so boldly through the gilded city, he did enjoy your brazen touch each time you added another article of clothing.

“And now for the finishing touch.” There was nothing you could do about his helmet, so you were just going to have to make it look as nice as you could. You hadn’t changed into your chosen disguise yet, so you strode through the messy cabin with ease until you reached the lock box next to the cot. Inside you found the krayt’s teeth that you had gifted him and pulled them out into the light, waving them at him as you stretched over the heaps of fabric on the ground. He raised his hands in protest.

“What if I lose them?”

“You can wear these or you can wear whatever the hell this is.” You held up an enormous chain of jewels that looked like it belonged in the treasure case at an arcade instead of around somebody's neck. “Besides, I know you won't lose them, you like them too much.” He tilted his helmet at you with disdain, and you realized that was precisely the reason he didn’t want to wear them, such lovely gifts should be kept safe and secure. But he let you press the precious trinkets into the recess of his helmet where his human cheeks would be anyway. The frozen pools of moonlight tied everything about his sin-city look into a perfect, glittery bow. You had grown to admire the look of him in his cultural armor, the ferocity of it, the utility and strength of the beskar that shined no matter how much damage it took; and you were a bit sad to see it hidden. The look of the man standing before you had a wildly different feel, though it was not one you were opposed to.

“You look nice, Din.” The sound of his own name coming from your lips made his heart swell, and he reached out for your hand on instinct to pull your knuckles to his brow in the sweet gesture of his people that you both now used. His movements caused the finery he was masquerading in to catch the cabin’s hazy light, and you got excited to put on your own costume and join him in looking like a fool. When he let your hand fall, you bounded over to your pile, throwing the hunting clothes off of yourself as you went. When you were standing there in nothing but your Tattooinian muck boots you cast a sly glance over your shoulder. As expected, the single black eye of your Mandalorian was locked on your almost-naked form, and you realized that in the time you had been together he had never seen you fully naked; just the parts of you he needed to get to in the moment. “How’s this? You like this better?”

When he didn’t answer right away you looked down at yourself and saw what he was staring at. You had forgotten about the marks of conquest he had put there when he had been driven to a sexual frenzy by the last quarry’s poison, still dotting your thighs with dark purple splotches. Not once had you been upset with him for his actions, you were just thankful you both made it through the ordeal alive, but he still looked at the damning marks with shame. He had been forced to break his protector’s oath against his will, inflicting injury to your precious body with his own two hands. You waited until his visor made its way back up to meet your eyes, and you reached out for him to give you his hand. He sheepishly obeyed, and you brought his hand to your lips, kissing at the all-black leather slowly until you heard him sigh through his modulator. You would forgive him a hundred times if you had to, and then a hundred more if it meant he could forgive himself. You pulled his hands to your waist and leaned up against him, enjoying the feel of new clothes on your skin and letting your hands run up his silken arms. “Well you can have this,” You nodded down at your bare everything with a mischievous grin, “As soon as we catch this fucko.”

This was the last bounty you would need before you made the trip back to Nevarro, but you were still on the fence about how completing your mission made you feel. On one hand you would be free of the Guild’s relentless hunters, but on the other your partnership with the strange metal man and his adorable beanbag of a son would come to a close. You turned back to your outfit and began cinching a pair of thigh holsters to your legs, hiding your wincing face as the leather closed around your bruises; a blaster on one leg and a knife on the other. You pulled on the dress and fixed up your hair as best you could, then stepped out of your good boots and into the slutty knee-highs. There was only one loose end to take care of.

“Where’s baby?” You glanced around the messy cabin, looking for your foundling. In the corner under a pile of capes there was movement, and you cleared the flashy finery away to reveal your bestest little friend. Big, glittering orbs looked up at you from the pile of fabric, and a tiny toothy grin shined from his cute baby face. “Heya booger, you ready to go?” You scooped him up in your arms for a hug before picking a big shiny scarf up to wrap him up with, then placed him carefully down in one of the gaudy designer bags. “If anyone asks, he is a pet.” The child didn’t seem to care, he was just happy to be included, waving his little pudgy baby hands up at you to hold. You squeezed his tiny paw, then turned to Mando, “You ready to go, Lord Beskar?”

He glanced down at himself, tilting his palms up and shrugging. “I guess so, I feel ridiculous.”

“Good enough!” You made for the exit ramp with a big stride, and almost broke your damn ankle on the first step, falling gracelessly into the arms of your partner. He caught you with ease, and your cheeks went red with his strong, gentle hands on you again for the hundredth time. You got to your feet, but you would be leaning heavily on him for most of the night until the boots were broken in. With you hanging off of his arm the two of you looked like a proper couple, just heading out for a night on the town instead of two bloodthirsty bounty hunters on the prowl. You might let yourself pretend though, just for the night.

You took a transport speeder from the beach to the city’s entrance, then made your way through the gilded streets, following the red blink of the bounty fob towards your quarry. You had to stop multiple times, the fucking boots making your feet hurt like you knew they would. Mando stood patiently with you each time, and more than once offered to just carry you. His visor would glide from side to side, always on the alert for anyone that might be following you, or worse, hunting you down. The tracking fob led you to the most obvious choice of casino: the tallest, brightest, shiniest temple of vice smack dab in the city’s center.

The front entryway was dominated by a roaring, gushing fountain, shooting geysers in a perfectly timed pattern high into the Cantonican night sky. The fountain was lit up with bright, multicolored spotlights so that every stream of water and drop of spray glittered back in defiance of the stars that had inspired them. Inside, the casino floor was packed with patrons, ranging in size and species in an infinite array of wealth and power. Chandeliers hung high above you from the soaring cathedral ceilings, sending sparkling lights racing around the endless room like shooting stars. Every surface was bright and gleaming, dozens of pillars and statues illuminated by blinding limelight. Even the floor was magnificent, black and white marble with huge inlaid stars, guiding gamblers through the limitless space towards their wildest desires. Again you wished you could appreciate the extravagance of it all, though the way the lights streamed like mercury over the beskar of your pretend date made something else sparkle behind your eyes.

The smell of inhalants and alcohol burned in your nose, and you took a moment to make sure your purse puppy’s face was covered with something so he wouldn’t have to endure it as much as you were. The sound of gamblers and music and roaring competition was louder than the screams of the hyperspace engine aboard the Crest, the cacophony of it all making you anxious. You were thankful that you weren’t hunting this bounty alone, and you still held on to Mando tightly, letting him lead you over the cosmic marble floor through the streaming masses. The people paid you no mind, moving out of the way without casting a second glance. Your costumes were working exactly as you had intended, and you applauded yourself for how well you had deceived the City of Lies.

You had guessed that if your bounty would be anywhere, it would be at the center of attention, and you were right. Elios Blackwater sat at the atrium bar, surrounded by beautiful and interesting people. The glint of gold jewelry caught the radiant casino lights every time he moved, drawing the eyes of all those around him. He was telling some kind of wild story that had his little crowd hooked on every word, though you could tell from a distance he was all bullshit. Immediately you knew this was a man that was used to having everything he desired, never being denied a single whim in all his days. A plan began to simmer in your skull, and you knew right away your partner was not going to like it. If you were going to get the quarry alone, you were going to have to persuade him to leave the company of his fans, and you only knew one sure-fire method for a man of Blackwater’s tastes. You let yourself off of your escorts’ arm to turn and face him, pulling his hands to your hips and letting your own rest on his shoulders so that to any outsiders you two would be just another pair of passionate dancers making their way through the counterfeit cosmos.

“Mando, do you trust me?” His hidden eyes were still glancing around the room, scanning for any lurking threats.

“Of course.” His words went right over your head, his ears too full of the sounds of potential danger to really hear you. You huffed and ran your hands to his bedazzled helmet, pulling it down to meet your eyes.

“Pay attention, bucket boy. I need to hear you say it and know that you mean it. Do you trust me?” He cocked his head, confused that you would have to ask twice.

“Yes, ner cyar’ika, I trust you.”

“Good.” You let your hands fall back to his armored shoulders, pressing yourself up against him tighter. Your fingers fidgeted in the heavy material of his cloak, he was going to hate this. “Because I need to do something. Alone.”

That got his attention fast.

“No, it’s too dangerous here. I want you where I can protect you. What if there’s hunters?”

“I know, I need you to cover me, but from a distance. I think I can convince Elios to walk right into the carbonite freezer, but I can’t do it with you looming over me.” You wrapped your hands around the back of his helmet, pulling him down so that his forehead met with yours. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would work.” He sighed between your hands, the steam of his breath slipping out from under the helmet’s edge. There was nothing he would rather not do than be away from you, but he did trust you, and he nodded against your embrace.

“I’ll call for you as soon as I’m ready, ok? Just keep your eyes on me, and don’t cause a scene. No matter what.” You couldn’t kiss him like you wanted to, but you still pressed your lips to the side of his beskar before letting go, pulling yourself away from his tender grasp. His hands still floated in the space where you had been as you turned away from him and made your way to the bar, the heavy purse bumping against your weaponized thighs with every flint and tinder step of your sky high heels. As you got closer to the bounty you could hear the shreds of his conversation starting to make their way over the noise of the casino.

“...And I said ‘Darlin’ if you didn’t want to take it home with you, ya shouldn’t have put it in your mouth!” The way he was telling his story gave you the impression that it wasn’t one you wanted to hear, and you started to regret your foolhardy plan. Gold rings and precious jewels sparkled all the way from his fingers to the caps on his horns, making it impossible for most to look away, a fact made apparent by his captivated audience. The beautiful boozers laughed and cheered at his every word, though from his stupidass sounding story you wondered how much of the affection was alcohol induced. You pulled a seat up at the bar a few stools away from the crowd and ordered yourself a shot of spotchka and a couple packs of cookies. You slipped the snacks into your bag for Din’s foundling, you would be needing him for your plan to work as well; and the promise of treats would keep his bright-eyed attention on you.

The taste of spotchka was vile, but you had started your journey though the galaxy on the gigantic starcruisers that were built on your homeworld of Corellia, and you had gotten to know the taste of the sailor-favorite drink at a tender age. You sipped at your brew, listening casually to the Devaronian’s conversation, but never turned your eyes to him. Every once in a while another bar patron would swagger up beside you to offer you another shot. You turned down anything you didn’t order yourself, but you started telling them fabricated stories about your life among the stars, most of which were wild tales of fancy from old holovids you had seen. You wished you could turn around and find your favorite rust bucket, wherever he may be hiding among the festivities, and give him something to reassure him. A nod or a wave, anything to let him know you weren’t just making him jealous on purpose.

Soon you were throwing back brightly glowing shots of brew, and a handful of interested patrons had gathered around you to hear about how you had jerry-rigged a star cruiser to run on spotchka when you were a space pirate smuggling kyber crystals for the resistance, among other things. When you had your head tilted back you cast a glance towards the bounty, and saw what you had been waiting for. His hooded eyes were watching you intently, he didn’t like that someone was getting any of the attention pie that he believed was his alone, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to do something about it. Soon enough the dapper devil rose from his entourage, running a painted claw through his long dark hair before making his way to you, sauntering with every step.

Hook.

“Well hello there, darlin’, name’s Elios. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing chugging spotchka when you could be drinkin’ something as fine as you are?” The debonair’s words were long and slow, making sure that every drawn syllable would be heard. “Bartender! Get this lovely lady a real drink, if ya please.” You weren’t sure what counted as a ‘real drink’, but the dark liquid that was slid over to you stank even worse than spotchka with the strength of its proof. Elios couldn’t stand that someone else might be having more fun than he was, and he was determined to put you out of commission. He wanted to do it in such a way that you would be thanking him for it, preferably while on your knees. “What’s yer name, baby cakes?”

From the other side of the busy casino you could feel the void of a visor making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Mando was standing on the far side of the slot machines where the light was just a little less glaring, so motionless he might have been part of the decorations. He wasn’t sure what your plan was, or how you would talk the quarry into being captured without gaining the suspicion of the wandering security enforcers. He bristled whenever a bar patron started trying to make nice with you, and only got progressively more frustrated when more and more started hanging around you. When he saw the bounty slink his way over to you he wanted to dash across the marble floor and break his fucking neck just for being in your airspace. ‘Don’t make a scene, no matter what’ is what you had told him, and you had asked him to trust you. So he did as he was asked. Watching, waiting.

“Hmm, I don’t think you could handle it.” Oh, Elios didn’t like that one bit, nobody told Mr. Blackwater ‘no’ without consequences. He swirled a glass of the same dark liquid around in one perfectly manicured hand, his polished claws clicking on the side of the glass. You continued to ignore him, but you started on the new drink in front of you. Yucky, at least spotchka was familiar. He took your acceptance of the drink as an invitation to join you at the bar.

“You’re awful sly, baby cakes, tell me yer name so I can make you forget it later.” His pointed teeth flashed out from his crooked smile, and you could smell the stench of expensive cologne and aftershave. You rolled your eyes big and wide so he could see just how unimpressed you were, but your nose was burning from how bad he smelled. This was a bad idea, but only because of how well it was going to work. Fresher soap, where are you?

“I’ll tell you what, if you can out-drink me, I’ll tell you my name.” His wicked smile split his face, showing off rows of brilliant white fangs. Party-boy could probably hold a few good shots, but you were raised by sailors, and you were gonna drink his ass under the table.

“You’re on, sweet cheeks. Bartender! Another round!” Another set of shot glasses plinked to the counter, and vanished just as fast. Elios was eyeing you up and down, seeing if you were all bark and no bite. If he could just get you drunk enough…

Far from where you were drinking the Mandalorian you had asked to trust in you was furious, trying not to thumb the handle of his blaster that poked out from the side of his hip under his cloak. It would be so easy, he could hit the target from here and it would be over, you would be back by his side and not being drooled over by that fucking pathetic excuse for a man.

“He has that effect on people.”

Mando’s helmet snapped on the sounds’ source, so lost in vicious thoughts that he didn’t hear the stranger come to lean against the wall by him. They were tall and thin, translucent green skin and a mop of hair-like cilia growing from their head to their flowy chiffon clothes. They looked exhausted. “That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

“Another!” You hollered, but the glasses were already in front of you, then gone again. The Devaronian hissed back the sting of the high-dollar liquor, shaking his long mane that had started to come undone. You pretended to reel from the liquor's effects, leaning back just a tad too far on your seat. “Again!” The third round of shots came and went, and Elios nearly fell off his stool. Right where I want you. You waved at the bartender for the fourth and final shot that would probably put the devil right on his ass, but that’s not where you were headed with this show of tenacity. You had to get him alone before you made your capture, or the security enforcers that littered the casino floor would descend on you like vultures.

You waited til he had thrown his drink back before you tilted yours, purposely spilling a few drops down your front so the booze would trickle down between your breasts. Elios nearly choked, and you knew you had his full, undivided attention. Din, I’m so sorry.

“Woo! I don’t think I can do any more, Mister Blackwater, you win.” you feigned, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, trying to convince him that the room was spinning for both of you and not just him. His sultry laugh made your skin crawl.

“Please, call me Elios.”

Line.

“Well, Elios, you still wanna know my name? You’re gonna have to work for it.” You placed a hand on his leg, running your fingers up his thigh and around the edge of his waist, pulling at his pockets seductively to drive the point home. Does he have SCALES? What the fuck ew ew ew. He took the hint like a drunk takes to spotchka, flashing you a slurred smile.

“Well… sugar lips, we can take this... elsewhere.”

“Sure thing, Elios, lemme just have my attendant take my Poochie up to my room.” You held the heavy purse up so he could see the big black eyes hiding in its depths.

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“He’s a pet, obviously.”

“What kind’a fuckin’ pet?”

“Purebred.” Your quick answer seemed good enough for Mr. Drinky, and he nodded like that made perfect sense. You raised your fist to the air and snapped your fingers.

The human fortress was at your side in a heartbeat, towering above the two of you. You stuffed the purse in his hands before he could ask where to point his gun. “Here, take Poochums up to my room, mama’s not coming home tonight, if y’know what I mean. Get him washed and fed, and don’t forget to scrub his feet!”

“Yes Ma’am.” The bag was lifted carefully from your fake-drunk hands, and you tried to flash him your best ‘Please-don’t-be-mad-at-me-I-hate-this-too’ face at your partner, but you guessed the look was lost on his visor. The scene did not escape Elios’s eyes like you had hoped it would.

“Now what in the Mmmmaker’s Mammaries is that big ass fuckin’ thing? That some kinda droid? It’s damn fancy.” Shit balls of hell.

“Uh.. Yes! This is the finest in personal assistant droid technology! See, look.” You grabbed Mando’s empty arm and pulled back sharply on the fabric, revealing the delicate button panel of his vambrace. “Only the best money could buy...”

“I gotta get me one of those...” Elios stared bewildered as your personal petsitting droid turned and left. “Well, honey tits, you wanna take this upstairs?” Ugh.

“Oh suurrre… Oh Mr. Blackwater I’m ~soooo~ drunk ahaha…” You were barely buzzed, and you worried that your life among the stars had given your liver bigger balls than a bounty hunter. You wobbled on your stool, for phase two of your plan to work you would have to delay Elios as long as possible. You watched as the man whose heart you had stolen faded away from you, the fancy purse hooped over his shoulder and knocking up against his leg, cape billowing behind him as he went. Alright, Baby Beans, it’s up to you now!

Din was seething under his helmet, pissed as shit that this was what your elaborate ‘plan’ entailed. He was trying not to storm through the casino as he left to take your ‘Poochums’ up to your room, whatever the hell that fucking meant. How could he be so fucking stupid? This was exactly the same ruse you had tried to pull on him from day one. Seduction was your real talent, luring your lovers to their untimely demise. How many times had you pulled this stunt? Was this your master plan all along? Ouch. Play with his heart until you were free of your Guild warrant? Ow. You were just using him to get to Nevarro, then you would fuck off to the stars and leave him behind. After everything you had been through, he was just another notch on your bedp-

“OUCH!”

Din looked down to his side where the pain he was trying to ignore was coming from, and saw a fat green paw sticking out of the ugly expensive purse, digging vicious talons into the side of his leg. His foundling was trying to burrow through his thigh, and his claws might actually have drawn blood. “What, womp rat? What do you want?” There was something in the baby’s other hand, something golden and flashy. Din reached into the bag and pulled the embossed card from his son’s grasp. What’s this? There was a set of numbers etched in gold filigree in the top of the card, their shimmer blasting away the destructive void he had been spiraling into.

Key card! PENTHOUSE key card! You had tricked the bounty into getting close enough to you that you could pick his pocket without him noticing. You were luring Elios right into a trap, and your Mandalorian was the snare. Din felt a mix of emotion ranging from relief to shame, how could he even think for one second that you might be deceiving him? You had asked him to trust you, and he couldn’t even contain his jealousy long enough to make it through one hunt. He felt like such an ass, you were putting your skills to good use, at great risk to your own safety, just like he had asked you to from the beginning. This wasn’t just his hunt anymore, it was a joint effort between the two of you, and it was his turn to run the next leg of the relay. The heavy, silver-laced cloak was tossed to the side as he raced to the elevator, fluttering away behind him as he flew to beat you there.

Meanwhile, you were trying to keep the bounty from falling flat on his face, and the only way to do that was to hold him up yourself. His hands were all over you, the nick of sharp, neat claws catching on the fabric of your evening dress and scratching along your skin. I’m gonna break those fingers, motherfucker. He was slurring his words, making disgusting promises of what he was gonna do to you when you reached his private penthouse. You were just out of range of his boozehole, the lippy thing trying to steal a taste of you. Wobbly steps slowed you both down to almost a crawl, which was exactly what you were trying to do, anything to give Mando time to find the hotel room first. You passed a discarded cloak on the floor, the familiar silver inlay catching the light, and you worried that you might have pushed your partner too far. What if he left? What if he didn’t see the keycard and I’m heading up alone? Please be there, Din. Please don’t leave me with this fucking creep. You both reached the elevator, and Elios fumbled to find his wallet, thankfully having a spare key that he didn’t know he needed. The doors opened, and you realized you would be stuck in your own personal hell for the entire trip up to the top floor suite. Fucking super.

Elios was getting impatient during the ride up, and it took every fiber of your being to keep from retching as his well-moisturized hands ran up and down your spine. The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse, and his perfectly manicured claws dug into your ass to usher you into the room. The top floor suite was dark, save for the lights of Canto Bight shining in through the cathedral windows. You took a mental note of the speeder parked out on the balcony, you would be needing it later. The Devaronian was at your ear, breathing hot, boozy steam around your neck until he was facing you. He went to bite at your mouth, but you stopped him with a finger to his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." You whispered in your most convincing lust-laden voice. The devil chuckled and ran his slimy, forked tongue around the halting digit. Barf.

"Oh yeah, baby cakes? Why’s that?"

You batted your eyelashes and bit your lip into a wry smile before meeting his half-lidded eyes. "Because... you're going to make Daddy very angry."

His lips turned upwards in an aroused sneer, flashing his dazzling, daggerlike teeth, "How could getting a taste of that fiery little mouth’a yours make me angry, darlin’?"

Sinker.

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about him."

Elios didn't even have a chance to turn around to see where your eyes were looking before a black and silver fist broke his nose and sent his perfect teeth soaring across the room, throwing him down to the marble floor. Seeing his busted prettyboy face bleeding at your feet made you feel so relieved that a vicious shiver made its way from your head to your toes, and you let your body shake the devil’s touch off of you like a big wet bantha.

"Fuck! Oh fucking hell, Mando, you have -no idea- how hard it was to keep that up, he’s so gross! I’m gonna chuck his ass in carbonite so fucking hard his horns’ll break off!" Your partner was still squared up, just waiting for the interloper to try and get up and fight. He wanted the bounty to get up, flail, scream, any excuse to hit him again. But Blackwater was out cold, staining the white marble floor with his blood.

"You looked like you were handling it."

The deadpan tone of his voice told you that wasn't exactly a compliment, remembering the jealousy that had seethed out of him on Tatooine after that Trandoshan had tried to capture you. You had two choices: you could either try to defend yourself and your unconventional bounty catching method, or you could turn that jealousy in your favor. He didn’t remember much from his toxic encounter with the Ardennian, but you knew that every filthy, possessive thing he had said to you that night was still somewhere in that chrome dome of his; and you became determined to bring them to the light. You crossed one arm over your chest, raising the other to tap a finger against the corner of your lips.

"Oh? You didn't like that, did you? Didn't like that he had his hands on me? Touching things that don’t belong to him?" He didn't answer, but the creaking of leather from his fists tightening told you what you already knew. "Tell me, Mando."

"N-no." His visor remained fixed on the unconscious body still bleeding on the floor. Not good enough.

"No what?"

"No. I didn't like that." His voice was low and raspy, but only because he was trying to keep the boiling rage in his chest from blowing his fucking helmet off.

"Tell me what you didn't like." You stepped over the quarry to your man, running your fingers from his balled fists over his silk and steel arms until you were at his shoulders. You could feel the slightest shudder under all his layers at your touch.

"I didn't like him touching you. Nobody should put their hands on you, cyar'ika" His fists lowered to his sides but his visor was still on the floor. You let your hands wander up his neck to the bejeweled recesses of his helmet and turned him to meet your eyes.

"Why not?"

"B-because..."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Because you are mine." He growled through his helmet so hard that you swore you saw it vibrate, sending a delicious tingle though your spine. Atta boy.

“Again.”

“You are mine!” Even behind the beskar you could hear the clench of his teeth biting back deeper desires. His hands went to your waist, pulling you tightly to his chest. The fire coming off of him was scalding, you had pushed your luck too far with this one, and you could feel the volcano inside his ribcage boiling over. He was furious. His heavy armored head pushed against your brow, and you let your thumbs wrap around the bottom of his helmet to find the thinnest sliver of skin where the metal met the man.

“That’s right, I’m all yours.” When you had said that line to him the first time, you had been plotting your escape from his clutches, but as the reassuring words left your lips you knew there was nobody else in the galaxy you would have running their hands up your sides; and you mentally crossed ‘seduction’ off of your list of hunting skills for good. His oath of me'dinuir had swore him to your side alone, and now you knew without a shred of doubt that you wanted it to go both ways; whether you were Mandalorian or not.

You kissed at the bottom of his visor, so close to getting to feel the true, living flesh of him, and yet so far. You had to have him, you had to purge the demon’s touch from your body with the purifying fire of your protector’s rage. A choked, needy groan made its way out of the modulator, and you felt the heat of his breath on your skin. How desperately you wanted to taste it, fill your mouth with the flavor of him to replace the vile spotchka. You pushed up on his jaw, giving you just a tiny glance at his scruffy chin, and you forced your kisses into the tight, unyielding space of the beskar prison. It wasn’t enough for you, but it was a start, and you could feel his body starting to unwind at your touch. “Kiss me. Please, Mando.”

“Cyar'ika, it's not safe here.” He hated the sound of his own words, the denial of them crushing his very soul. You glanced around the dark penthouse and saw you were alone save for the crumpled devil on the floor and the designer purse that had been stashed in the corner of the room, its occupant still working on the bags of cookies. No eyes on us.

“I won’t look, just... lift your helmet a tiny bit, tin man, I need you, I need to kiss you.” You guessed you were safe enough from prying eyes, but you wouldn’t spill his name to the night just in case there were any sneaky listeners. You squeezed your own eyes shut and nipped at the armors edge again, and just ever-so-slightly began to push up on the unforgiving metal with your thumbs. You were just waiting for his hands to shoot up, to grab your wrists and halt your actions, but they were locked to your sides. Inch by inch you gradually lifted the armor, he would have all the time in the world to stop you, but when you felt the heat of his lips crash against yours you almost let your knees buckle out from under you. His strong arms were tight on your back, pulling you into him so he could kiss you harder.

So much better than spotchka. He was delicious, his taste, his feel, his scent, everything about him was intoxicating. So much more so than the despicable brew you had been throwing back all night, and a thousand times better than anything Elios could have offered. Blech. You realized then why the bounty had smelled so bad to you, though his perfume was expensive and his clothes freshly pressed, he was wrong for you. The wrongness was so overwhelming that it had nearly made you lose your drink, and you didn’t realize how wrong something could be until you tried to compare it to what was right. Din was right, he smelled of leather and beskar and the sweat of a man that had nearly combusted when someone else was at your side. And fresher soap! Thank the Maker.

A soft leather hand went to your head, pulling you into him so he could taste you better. His tongue ran over your lips, darting into you to find yours so they could dance together. You bit him playfully, and the way his breath hitched in his throat sent the fire of your core shooting all the way to your fingertips; and you knew right then that not even kissing his forbidden face would be enough for you. You pulled yourself from his lips, the snap of teeth following your retreat, reluctant to let you leave from the heat of the moment. Carefully, you let the beskar slide back down to cover him, and the anguished whine he let out into the night air almost broke your heart.

“I know, I know, I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” With him covered you glanced around the room until you saw the private bar. With your thumbs hooked in the pockets of his borrowed vest you guided the two of you towards it until the granite countertop knocked against your ass. You used his shoulders for leverage, hopping up onto the cold surface and wrapping your knees round his waist, happy to find exactly what you were expecting to throbbing between your legs. He pushed himself against you, the feel of his stolen silks on your holstered thighs giving you goosebumps. His heavy metal head fell against your shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him to hold him close while he ground up against your heat. He couldn’t contain himself around you, though you wouldn’t want him to if he could. You rocked your hips in time with his needy thrusts, and the growls in your ear almost made you think he would come undone with his pants still on. Can’t have that now, can we? "Mando, please fuck me, I can't wait anymore."

You heard thunder rumble out of his chest, sending electricity from where he was pressed to your shoulder straight down to where he was pulsing against your core. He was going to bring you the stars, alright, but not the ones in the night sky. He pulled back so he could look into your eyes from behind his visor, bringing a hand up to caress your pleading face.

"No, I don't want to fuck you." Your eyes shot wide, shocked that he wouldn't want you when he was rutting so hard into you that you could almost feel the dampness of precum through his layers. He saw your face and shook his head. "Elios wanted to fuck you, all of those creeps at the bar wanted to fuck you.” His helmet shook, trying to loosen the words he wanted to say. “No... I- I want to be better than them, I want to give you something else, s-something more.” He was struggling, his inexperience making it difficult to say what was on his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be like them, he wanted to be worthy of you in ways they never could.

“Then make love to me instead.”

“Yes!” The words leaving your lips were like music to his ears, so much more lovely than any song. “I want to do that! I want to make love to you, cyar’ika, if you’ll have me?”

You laughed, nodding your head to hide your bright red cheeks. How he managed to be so ferocious and so sweet on the same day was a mystery you didn’t want to solve. He quickly glanced around the room one more time just to be sure you were alone, the light of the gilded city sending streaks of color over the charms you had pressed to his cheeks. Satisfied that you were the only ones awake in the room, he leaned away from you to rip the constricting blazer off of himself so hard the fabric around his chest and shoulders started to tear. Beskar plates twinkled in the limelight, sending stars flying around the room while he worked his pants open. The sight of him springing into view made your heart flutter, among other things. Long and strong, a pearl of precum glimmering in the dark of the penthouse. His hands went to your legs, the leather of his palms snagging on the straps still belted to your thighs as he pushed the elegant fabric of your dress up to your waist.

“You’re soaked.” You wished you could see what he saw through his visor, the sound of hitched breath telling you he could see you blooming for him clear as day, drinking you in with his hidden eyes. He hooked a thumb in the wet fabric of your panties to pull them out of the way, using his other hand to grip his cock and run the tip over your entrance, bumping against your clit while he lubed himself with your slick. You had to lean back until you were laying on the cold granite countertop, tilting your hips to the edge of the bar so he could see all of you on display. He pressed himself up and in, filling you slowly so he could indulge in every inch that disappeared inside. Your stretched walls clenched around him, making him shiver with each coiled squeeze. The Mandalorian you were giving yourself to pulled himself out of you carefully before thrusting back into you again, fighting every animalistic urge to just plow you into the bar. He was going to make good on his word, he wasn’t going to just fuck you.

But maybe he should have.

“Bing!”

The penthouse elevator door chimed, and both of you pointed blasters on the figure that walked out from the pink haze of the lift into the dark of the room. “Elios? I know you’re up here, I’m just going to get- Oh. There you are.” The stranger spotted the crumpled, unconscious body on the floor, crossing the room until they stood over him. “About time someone split that beautiful lip of yours, Lee-lo.” The stranger that Mando had run into on the casino floor turned their tired eyes to the pair of you, noticing your obvious state of passion. “Oh please, don’t stop on my account, that’s not the worst thing I’ve walked into up here.” They squinted in the dark, then gasped softly, “Wait, it’s you! Oh good! I saw you when you were dancing and was just heartbroken when Lee-lo came between you.” The tall stranger did a little dance. “Fucking Elios.” They kicked at the Devaronian on the floor, “All he lives for is breaking hearts. I’m glad you two made up.”

The wisp of a stranger bent down to the motionless figure on the floor, yanking one of the gold rings from his horns. They said something too low for you to hear, then got up and left in another cloud of pink smoke, the elevator door closing behind them.

You both lowered your blasters, trying to wrap your collective heads around what had just happened. Mando was still buried to the hilt inside you, and you could feel him pulsing with need; but he had been right from the beginning. You weren’t safe here.

“That’s probably not the only spare key. We should go.” You whispered, trying to get your blaster back to its holster under your dress. He groaned, he was getting sick of being torn away from you. He pulled himself almost all the way out, thrust in one more time for good luck, and released himself with a pop! He pulled you to your feet, helping you down from the bar and onto the Maker-forsaken boots you still had on. Fuck these. You ripped the boots off, chucking them somewhere into the dark and crossed the room barefoot to where the oversized purse held the foundling. You were happy to see him all tuckered out in a pile of cookie wrappers, probably not the healthiest thing for him, but it worked. Behind you, your armored companion was hauling the quarry over his shoulder none too gently, ‘accidentally’ knocking his bloody head against the wall as he turned back to you. You both made for the balcony door to the speeder you had noticed earlier, tossing the bounty in the back seat like a bag of garbage.

The ride back to the Crest was thick with anticipation, you weren't finished with each other just yet. Mando pulled the speeder right up to the ramp so you wouldn’t have to walk across sharp gravel, chucking the bounty in after you so hard he slid through the messy cabin and smashed into the wall. You slung the damned devil into the carbonite chamber, punching the freeze button with gusto. The ramp closed behind your armored companion, barely giving you a chance to get up onto the hoverskiff that still dominated the cabin floor before the lights went off. You yanked the dress over your head, listening for the sound of more fabric hitting the floor, then the clanking of beskar being tossed carelessly aside. Belts and snaps and zippers went flying, and you had to try not to laugh at the absurd amount of clothes he had to take off. The skiff tilted with new weight, and the body of a Mandalorian was on top of you, warm lips hunting for yours.

He’s naked! Every piece of armor and shred of clothing was gone, and the feel of bare skin against your body was electrifying. His mouth crashed against yours, fervent kisses desperate to taste you again. You let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him into you to kiss back. He was hungry for you, biting at your mouth and tongue like a man starved. Plush lips made their way from your mouth down your neck, nipping at your throat and sucking the tender skin until you had bruises to match the ones on your thighs. His hands wandered down your body, rubbing at your breast and teasing your nipples until you were gasping for more. The devious digits moved on until his hand was between your legs, pushing at your folds and finding your clit to spin circles on. He was becoming an expert at finding what made you squirm and whine from his touch, rolling callused fingertips into you until you were making a delicious mess on the pile of stolen silk.

But he wasn’t done there. The fuzzy kisses went from your breast down your belly to where his fingers were working into you. He pulled his hands from your soaked cunt and replaced them with his face, pushing his tongue up against the tiny ball of nerves that had so much power over you. Short, quick circles between long, languid licks had you arching your back and pulling his hair, demanding more. Lost in the heat of your thighs he was happy to give you everything, pushing the smooth muscle of his mouth into your slit and upwards against your clit until you were seeing stars again.

Your hands couldn’t stop exploring him, from his thick head of curls to the strength of his shoulders. The muscles kept going, tight coils on his back and the warm, rigid wall of his chest. The trail of fuzz on his belly went up farther than you were expecting it to, and the fine hairs tickled your fingers on almost every inch of his skin. Your hands trailed over the numerous, vicious scars that marred his flesh like a road map of every near-death experience he had lived through. Gashes on his arms and burns on his sides had healed over into smooth, textureless skin, the marks of a seasoned hunter that nobody but their barer had ever seen.

Having drank his fill, he pulled his face from the apex of your thighs, pushing your knees apart and quickly sheathing himself in you with a ragged groan. Mando’a praises poured from his lips, some you were familiar but many you weren’t, though all of them made your heart flutter. Strong hands wrapped around your knees to keep you in place on the wobbly sled while he pounded into you, the feeling of bare skin on the backs of your legs making you wish you could see him in the light. But the darkness was the greatest keeper of secrets, hiding your love making from the condemnation of his creed.

Make love. Though the phrase was just another on the long list of euphemisms used for sex, the pair of words weighed heavy with meaning in their new context. You wanted to explore the concept the way your hands explored his body, but the fire of your core was thrumming with heat, demanding your undivided attention. Din fell forward to your chest, the sweat of his efforts sticking to your breasts. Wandering kisses sent fire over your skin as he made his way over your peaks, sucking hard on their tender buds. Beskar-strong hips rocked against yours until you saw fireworks again, bearing down so hard on him with your orgasm that he sank his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. Bites made their way from where he had surely drawn blood on your flesh up your neck til they turned to kisses again. His brow pushed against your forehead, though your lips were right there he still defaulted to the only show of affection his armored inheritance allowed. Hot gasps of air puffed over your skin from the heat of his breath, and you knew he was close. You locked your legs around him, forcing him to pump every last drop of himself into you, painting your walls with his seed until it was spilling down your ass onto the piles of clothes.

The strength of his arms gave up, and he let himself fall against you, his face pushed against your cheek. You could feel his bristles brushing over your skin as his breath heaved, soft but scratchy. His hands wrapped under you and up your back, hugging you to his bare chest so hard the air was squeezed from your lungs. Fuzzy-lipped kisses dotted your cheeks and face, taking extra time to kiss your lips, each one a promise of more to come. You dragged your nails over his back, making him groan and shake at the touch. Never had anyone to scratch that itch, have you, tinman? Tight muscles loosened under your careful touch, making him sink harder onto you until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

You wanted to stay there forever, but as the sweat on your bodies cooled it became sticky and made pulling yourselves apart a chore. Both of you reluctantly made your way off of the skiff, clinging to the walls of the cabin while he hunted for his helmet in the dark. Lights came on gradually once his bucket was back in place so you could find your own clothes, and when you had both gotten yourselves put back together you piled everything you had stolen onto the hoverskiff and pushed it back down the ramp of the Crest. The Mandalorian was back in his beskar, and he cocked his vambrace back and shot a wall of fire onto the little sled, incinerating all evidence of your thievery and passion. The bonfire burned brightly on the gravelly beach of the Cantonican ocean, sending flaming ash into the light of the new dawn.

You decided to keep the red pocket square that you had tucked in on his costume, though you weren't sure what you would need it for again. Sentimental. You went to the supply crates where your backpack and droid mask were kept so you could squirrel the thing away, when you caught the familiar glowing blue of spotchka at the bottom of the larder. The horrible color made you fucking nauseous after today, but even more distressing was that you realized it was just sitting there unsecured when there was an impish child onboard that could easily get into the bottled brew and make himself sick, or worse.

“Din, we need to put this somewhere safer.” You held the liquid lantern up for him to see what you were talking about. “What if our foundling gets into it? He might get really sick or-”

“Our?”

Shit. “Sorry, your foundling. Your foundling might get-” Din crossed the small space of the cabin until he was standing close to you, the child in question tucked against his chest. The baby’s big, nebulous eyes glittered up at you, and you couldn’t help reaching out to rub his sail-like ears. He chirped happily at your touch, and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on him, his father was towering over you, making you squirm under his tilted glare.

“Say that again.”

“Your foundling.”

“No. The other word.”

“Our?”

“All of it.”

“Our foundling?” His helmet cocked to the other side, doing his big metal bird impression. The arm that wasn’t holding the child pulled you up against his chest, squeezed right against the baby in question. The familiar galaxy-erasing hug made you realize how many times you had thought of the child as your own, he was your little buddy, your missing baby when he had been stolen away, your secret weapon that you had hidden in your purse. But he wasn’t your child, he was Din’s, so for him to also be considered as yours…

“Ours.” Above you the word was spoken like it was new, as strange on his tongue as Mando’a was to you. “Our foundling. I like that.”

You couldn’t turn your head up to look at the man who had you wrapped against himself so tightly, but you could smile at the green little child that was flashing you his adorable toothy grin. You little fart, you thought with a laugh, you’re gonna make me go all soft. Almost as though the creature could hear your thoughts he squealed in delight, patting your cheeks with his fat baby paws. You let your arms circle around the boys that had made your life a roller coaster of emotion blasting through the endless sea of stars. It might be a hell of a ride, but you weren't ready to get off any time soon. The memory of the sands of Tatooine where you had been trying to forget the dangers of the universe was starting to fade away, replaced by the moment you were losing yourself in. You were happy to see it go, though your past self would be shocked at how comfortable you had gotten with a magic alien baby and a man with no face.

“Yeah… I like it too.” You hummed into the beskar, feeling Din’s arms tighten even more. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, because the lovely smile had vanished. This is all going to end soon. You buried your face in the tiny space between the foundling and his father’s armor, trying to ignore where the coaster’s rails ended. Only one stop left.

Nevarro, here we come.

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chroniclerdl · 3 years

Text

Seven Fundamentals to Writing Better Yu-Gi-Oh Duelfics

Ever wanted to write a duelfic just as good or better than canon?

Done right, duels are memorable action scenes.

Done wrong, duels shatter the suspension of disbelief. It’s already a big ask to imagine the world revolving around a card game.

You don’t want the tragedy where your readers yank the scrollbar past your duel, or worse, close your tab. Even the small pool of duelfic readers/writers like me will skip huge chunks of your chapters when the duels sag.

By implementing basic storytelling techniques tailored to dueling, you can hook your readers into following the play-by-play.

High Stakes

Consistent Rules

Sneaks Checked

“Balanced” Gameplay

Foreshadowing Victory

Engaging Description

Dramatic Tension

1. High Stakes

When you advertise your story as a duelfic, your first duel tells readers whether or not what you wrote is worth their time.

If your characters duel without a concrete reason to rip the opponent’s throat, readers already know the outcome:

You lose.

Why? The game is pointless. Who’s dropping whatever they’re doing just to read the equivalent of your characters sipping afternoon tea? If you’re introducing the setting and characters, why can’t you introduce exciting threats?

No reader expects your first duel to decide the fate of the world, but your characters still need to bet.

Characters wager life chips.

If your character loses, they suffer death or suicide-inducing despair.

Is it too much to start with life-and-death? No. Think of the life chip as the culmination of hopes and dreams.

As the story progresses, the stakes will rise, must rise. How? Others will entrust the main characters with their own life chips, and/or the life chips acquire additional meaning. Consider this loose analogy: at the end of a poker tournament, gamblers sit at the final table with stacks built from the chips of others.

Life chips mean different things to different characters. Let’s take the Duelist Kingdom arc.

Yugi’s life chip is the hope to save his grandfather (and later, his own soul)

Joey’s life chip is the hope to win the prize money to fund his sister’s medical operation

Kaiba’s life chip is the hope to save his little brother (and later, his own soul)

You don’t even need your final showdown to revolve around the fate of world; it just has to be one or more things that matter to your characters.

Also, make sure to communicate the stakes, or why the characters accept uneven bets.

If you have the chops, you can also play around with disguising the stakes. As in, your character thinks they’re wagering something small, but it’s actually their life chip. However, your readers still need a vague reason to believe that a defeat will devour the character.

Always make sure the characters stake one or more life chips!

2. Consistent Rules

If you watched the Duelist Kingdom arc and tried to understand the moves everyone made, your head exploded.

Ask yourself: will the clever scheme that your hero invented drive readers crazy?

If I write a magic system that requires a wand, this applies to all. I cannot become a genius and suddenly wave my hands to cast magic.

Demonstrate the rules early, preferably in the first duel, and keep them sacred.

If you must make an exception, establish it early. In that case, the exception becomes a well-defined branch of the rules that the readers can anticipate.

Can the players magically draw the card they need, whenever they want?

If you can establish the when and why, by all means. The readers proceed with the understanding that the players can reach into their deck like a glorified toolbox.

For example, Duel Links has a concept called “skills” that function like a player’s special ability. At the time I wrote this, Yami Yugi’s “Destiny Draw” skill lets the player take any card from their deck once per duel after losing 2000LP (and even if they stacked the top of the deck earlier!).

Card should also have the same, predictable effect. If the card prevents attacks, I doubt the text discusses physical properties or mentions holding things in the air. But you knew that, right?

The rules are the laws of the universe.

3. Sneaks Checked

I love duels. I also love getting what I want.

Why does getting what I want have to be through a duel?

If we talk, maybe we can come to an agreement. If I blackmail you, maybe you’ll give in to my demands. If I shoot you, I can loot your corpse. Give the readers a good reason as to why your characters would bother with the hassle of honest dueling and can’t wiggle from the consequences of losing.

Often, the duel takes place in the context of a tournament. Hopefully, the tournament officials are keeping a good eye on the players and cracking down on cheaters.

However, even that’s not a guarantee. What’s the key concept?

Power.

The competitors have equivalent capacity for coercion (usually violence) or have a neutral referee presiding over the match with the most capacity for coercion (shoutout to gambling manga Usogui).

Anyone who enters a game otherwise has lost before the first move.

In Yu-Gi-Oh, magical and sci-fi enforcement are common. The Shadow Realm can trap the loser in a desolate hell. In a digital world, the loser suffers deletion. Or just have good tournament officials.

Be vigilant when your duel doesn’t call upon these tropes.

Your amoral characters won’t mind blindsiding your other characters, and they won’t mind blindsiding you with a plot hole.

If you’re not careful, the readers will ask you why they played uncharacteristically fair.

4. “Balanced” Gameplay

Duels should be fair and fun…for the villain.

Ostensibly, everyone plays a balanced game, designed to give both sides a sporting chance. In reality, the villain tilts the field to their favor with one or more tricks up their sleeves. Why would your villain ever fight fair?

But that’s fine. We love rooting for the underdog and watching the villain get their comeuppance.

Overpowered ability to let the villain read minds? Deck full of unbalanced cards that makes the villain’s monsters invincible with no drawback? Creator who knows every strategy in the game? Readers will turn the page as they wonder how the hero will prevail.

The more obstacles you can throw in the hero’s way, the better.

Got custom cards? No problem, just follow a couple guidelines. After all, some duelists are more equal than others.

The hero’s deck is full of regular cards that have a cost to use. For every play they want to make, their cards insist that they give up their attack, discard to play, etc.

The villain’s deck is full of rare cards that power up their game for free. So long as you can justify why the card made it to print, the villain can play whatever they want.

For every step your hero takes, the villain gets two.

5. Foreshadowing Victory

How many times have you watched a duel where the protagonist comes up with this never-before-seen card that does exactly what the protagonist needs to clinch the win? In the final showdown, no less? It’s like the writers begged to be called amateurs and idiots.

No other genre tolerates such laziness.

However, readers don’t want an infodump of the characters’ decks. Show the cards in action. To cover the deck, you'll probably need multiple duels.

This also implies you have more freedom in how your character defeats their early opponents in the duelfic.

Does that previous statement contradict what I said about never-before-seen cards clinching the win as the mark of laziness? No, because here’s the rule:

Tolerance for the hero’s new cards decreases as the story progresses.

(Notice that I specify the hero’s new cards; your villains exist to make life harder by inventing unfair tricks.)

When you must include new cards for the hero late in the duelfic, at least find a way to make them first backfire.

Now, some writers have lots of knowledge about the card pool and metagame. Can they assume the readers a priori know the hero has access to any of the available cards in a given archetype?

I’d err on the side of caution and properly foreshadow the cards before they appear late in the duelfic. Not every reader is a walking card database. They have no reason to assume something exists unless you show the card.

Take the tolerance rule into consideration when planning your duels. If you know the awesome combo you want to use for the final turn in the duelfic climax, that’s your cue to scatter the cards into the earlier duels.

Plan the last duel first and your early duels last.

6. Description

Every reader wants a front-row seat to the action.

They’re paying you their time, so make it worth the admission: sleek combatants & budget-busting fights. Kaiba invented Solid Vision technology for a reason, so help readers envision your duels.

Who’s fighting? Describe the point-of-view’s impression of the monsters’ appearances. Red-Eyes Black Dragon should be self-explanatory.

What about a decorated monster like Time Wizard?

You could go into detail about how the red clock humanoid has yellow gears that form epaulets and purple, pointy boots and a green mustache made from clock hands and so on, but such a level of minutiae bogs pacing and invites skimming.

Readers just need to hear about a purple-caped, red clock humanoid with a wand to form an image. Their imaginations can handle the little details.

Paint appearances in broad strokes and one or two brief sentences.

How are the monsters fighting? Duel Monsters is a game where the target takes the aggressor’s attack like a champ. That doesn’t mean you can’t spice it up.

For example, my opponent’s dragon attacks my weaker knight with a fireball. My knight, interested in not dying, raises his shield. Unfortunately, he screams as the flames engulf him.

You wouldn’t just stand still with a straight face if someone armed with a knife lunged for your gut.

A fight scene is a string of action and reaction.

Most people also experience life in more senses than just sight.

A dragon’s fireball is a bright reddish-orange, hot, dries the air, smoky, and explodes with a boom on impact. I never tasted a fireball, and I hope I never do, but that’s still four senses: sight, touch, smell, and sound.

Include multiple sensory details.

Let’s spare a moment to talk about the heads-up display (HUD).

In Yu-Gi-Oh, cards have multiple stats and abilities. You’re free to mention whatever you deem necessary. No set formula exists. On one extreme, you can mention nothing to keep the narrative clean at the risk of confusing the readers. At the other extreme, infodumps about the monster’s abilities provide great detail but wreck the pacing. But there’s a cozy middle.

State only what you need from the card.

If your duels occurred before the era of Synchro, you don’t need details about levels. You can just display the basic stats to determine the stronger monster. If a deck has Pendulum monsters, just mention the scale numbers when they're played as scales. And so on.

You can also make an index of new cards at the end of a chapter.

BONUS TIP! Understanding show, don’t tell.

What is show, don’t tell? At its core, this concept refers to immersing your readers in the senses and feelings instead of exposition. Unfortunately, that definition is a bit vague to execute. After writing for a while, I had my lightbulb moment.

Don’t TELL the readers how to think or force-feed them a conclusion.

SHOW your readers the evidence.

Here’s a written example from Joey vs. Rex in Duelist Kingdom. See if you can spot what makes this prose telling instead of showing.

“Joey watched nervously as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!”

You can see two failures: “nervously” and the second sentence.

Adverbs like “nervously” and other “-ly” friends get a bad rep because rookies tend to use them as telling crutches (especially beware adverbs after dialogue tags!). “Nervously” tells me how Joey reacts. But what does “nervously” look like? One character might bite their thumb. Another might fidget in their seat. The adverb in this context lacks nuance.

We also have the second sentence: “He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!” When you’re explaining the “why” to something, you’re telling. It’s like talking down to your readers.

Contrast with the next example.

“A bead of sweat rolled off Joey’s face as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.”

The first sentence shows me Joey’s physical reaction. I see him sweating, so I think he’s nervous.

We also see a second physical reaction: “He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.” This comes on the heels of the first sentence, and I also have knowledge of when Joey used the Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo in a prior duel. Combined, I think Joey is ruminating about a missed chance.

Readers are smart; they’ll catch your intention if you show the proof.

7. Dramatic Tension

I bet you know what it's like to draw a bad hand.

Imagine: The hero staggers into the arena, and the villain just needs to win one duel to take over the world. The villain draws a bunch of powerups with no monster, but the hero draws a one-turn-kill combo.

Anticlimactic. The readers throw that duelfic straight into the trash.

Don’t just write real-life duels. “It really happened” doesn’t mean it’s emotionally satisfying.

That’s why we have literary structure.

Success and setback pace together with progressive intensity to maximize dramatic tension and emotional payoff.

I’ll spare the nitty-gritty theory detail, but your duels should look like this on a basic level:

Part 1: Villain’s basic threats. Introduces the villain’s deck and style.

Part 2: Villain’s minor strategy. The villain’s first serious attempt to defeat the hero.

Part 3: Villain’s major strategy. The hero’s reversal! But the villain has worse in store.

Part 4: Hero’s imminent defeat. The hero must break through, or else will instantly lose!

Ideally, you’re also integrating the story itself into the duel; themes and duels synergize to create a stronger effect.

You may notice how the format resembles the three-act structure.

Act I is Part 1

Act II until the Act II midpoint is Part 2

Act II midpoint until Act III is Part 3

Act III is part 4.

I’ll use Yugi/Pharaoh vs. Pegasus in Duelist Kingdom as an example.

Part 1: Mind scan. Pegasus can read minds to counter combos.

Part 2: Toon World. Indestructible, cartoonified monsters attack.

Part 3: Shadow game. Toons destroyed! But playing a shadow game weakens Yugi.

Part 4: Yugi passes out. The Pharaoh must find a new way to stop Pegasus’s mind scan!

Figure out each part of the structure for your duels before writing the turn-by-turn plays.

By the way, modern real-life Yu-Gi-Oh duels don’t suit drama because the rules provide weak constraints to creating strong boards. A good modern deck usually establishes a scary turn one board and jumps straight into Part 4, whereas other card games like Magic: The Gathering and Hearthstone force the powerhouse cards to wait several turns until the player builds the mana to pay costs.

You can still write a good modern duel. Here’s a basic outline of Arc-V’s duel between Sora and Shay. Technically, “tragedy” is the structure of this duel, so I’ll make Shay the “hero” to flip it and keep matters simplified.

Part 1: Basic monsters. These clash before a monster appears from the Extra Deck.

Part 2: Frightfurs. They come one after another to crush Shay’s Raidraptors.

Part 3: Sora’s wrath. Rise Falcon survives! But Sora’s malevolent nature comes to light.

Part 4: Frightfur Chimera. Sora chomps candy and summons his biggest fusion horror!

If following the four parts is too difficult for you, that’s okay. They're just logical extensions of one basic concept. Keep the following in mind, and you’ll never go wrong:

The villain’s subsequent threats become increasingly overwhelming.

Conclusion

Much of writing a duel boils down to storytelling technique.

Let’s tl;dr the main takeaways.

High Stakes: Minimum ante is the life chip, worth a character’s hopes and dreams.

Consistent Rules: Everyone plays by the same logic.

Sneaks Checked: Characters can’t skip the duels with violence and coercion.

“Balanced” Gameplay: Villains enjoy advantages.

Foreshadowing Victory: Readers have a chance to predict the winning combo.

Engaging Description: Immerse senses and invite reactions.

Dramatic Tension: The villain makes progressively stronger threats.

As a duelfic reader/writer, I can gauge a writer's ability by measuring their duels with the fundamentals. Many fan writers struggle; even the canon writers struggle.

But writing a duelfic isn’t rocket science. With practice, minding the fundamentals will become second nature.

And don't forget to tag your story as a duelfic. It's a whole genre in fanfic, so sort it properly and help readers from the future find you.

May the heart of the cards be with you.

…

Want to see in-depth examples of my advice? I rewrote the Orichalcos arc to reimagine its untapped potential without the failures of the canon presentation. You can find it on FFnet and AO3.

#yugioh #ygo #yugioh fanfiction #yugioh fandom #fanfic writing #duelfic #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #how to write #listicles

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arc-saber · 3 years

Text

The Way Forward - Did I write a Mandalorian Fic?

I fic-ing did. Or part of it. Look. I was bored and I’m almost always thinking about Star Wars. It was bound to happen.

No, but really. I’m not really a fanfic writer. I’m not great at it. and clearly, I start with a single, stupid idea and get side-tracked until I have a WAY TOO LONG bit of story. But my main pet peeve about a lot of fic is inconsistent characterization. So then I was like “WELL CAN U DO ANY BETTER, SMARTASS?” Answer? Mmnnmmnsssnng? I dunno. We’ll see.

Din Djarin finds himself in a predicament some years after parting ways with Grogu. Someone unexpectedly shows up to help. I W0ndEr WhO!?

Forgive my lazy backstory-ing... Story below the cut.

PART I

The Dark Saber. It had once been described to him as a symbol more than an item of power on its own. But its history said otherwise. It was both. The ancient blade was not only a feat of engineering that wedded ancient sorcery and Mandalorian tactical sense, but it was the manifestation of power on Mandalore itself. It had been forged, stolen, retrieved, lost and found again — its past was as dynamic as the story of Mandalore itself.

But today it was a tool and Din Djarin was using it to cut a hole in a scrapped hull so that he didn’t burn to death in a sudden deluge of acid rain.

The screeching metal and insulation giving way to the unyielding blade manifested on his helmet’s HUD as static while the rest of his feed grew grainy with sensor damage from the rain. Very technically, Din had known what he was getting into when he arrived on Lotho Minor, but he hadn’t been presented with a lot of options during the chaotic spiral landing he’d been forced into by his pursuers. It bothered him that he hadn’t known their affiliation and it was a troubling indictment of his life that there were too many groups with cause to target him as a general mark to make an educated guess … let alone the number of people scattered across the galaxy who had cause to target him specifically. It also bothered him that he didn’t know if these particular pursuers had broken off when he’d plunged into the junk planet’s acidic atmosphere. Or if it was personal and they had followed him to the surface.

With a heavy kick, he toppled his impromptu door into the cavity of the remains of a freighter and plunged inside after it. His armor had deflected most of the acid damage, but everywhere that beskar wasn’t was smoking and starting to sting as the rain soaked through the padding. He knew he should strip off what he could and try to allow it to dry, but after depositing himself with gravity against the far bulkhead, he was having trouble finding the will to move just yet.

About two clicks away, his shabby X4 gunship was little more than a smoking heap — his less than graceful descent having caused some pretty severe hull damage, not to mention now whatever connectors the rain was melting away. So unless he could miraculously a) find the parts he needed buried in Lotho Minor’s literal mountains of scrap or b) even more miraculously find an operational ship to get himself off the surface, he was stranded. Letting his head tilt back wearily, he let out a sigh that felt like it had risen up in him like a bubble through pitch. He was tired. He had been tired for three years — possibly longer than that — but when he’d been caught up in the concern for someone other than just himself, it had distracted him from it. His people. Then of course the kid. He sighed again, feeling as though the first hadn’t quite reset him as much as he needed. He should be relieved to only be responsible for his own skin again; what would he do here if he was also trying to keep a helpless child alive along with him? But the fact remained: whenever that brief time he’d spent as the child’s guardian crossed his mind, he missed it. Missed Grogu.

He didn’t know why lately in particular the odd little sorcerer had crossed his mind so often, but now hardly a night passed when he didn’t factor into Din’s fitful dreams somehow. Most of it was pure memory, but some seemed different — moments when he felt like he was being reached for. It was probably a result of wishful thinking. And right now, wallowing was not going to fix his situation. When he’d either sat out the worst of the acid evaporating, or simply dulled to the sting of it, he laboriously reached for the lightrod that was tucked into his belt. Raising it over his head, he could just make out the shapes of the ship’s interior by its meager glow. Most of what was left of the freighter had been picked clean by whatever locals there were here. Staying put would give him shelter, but nothing more than that. He lowered the lightrod again, disappointed, and pushed himself back to his feet. His unceremonious entry had granted him about a three foot opening through which he could now peek out and try to assess the weather.

A flash of movement and light bouncing off a metallic barrel was all the warning he got. Din jerked himself back behind the hull, milliseconds before a red blast scored the metal right next to his head. Falling back with a grunt, he wedged himself into the dark as much as he could while drawing his own blaster. He checked the charge. Decent. Outside, the sound of footsteps had distinguished from the rain just enough for him to guess at two pursuers. He edged back to the opening and did a quick double glimpse, ducking down as he popped his head out the second time, lining up a shot with the movement he saw. Two figures. Humanoid for the most part and well equipped against the hostile environment in full vac suits. “Dank — “ Another blast lit up the hull briefly overhead. “Ffffarrik.”

His free hand went to the hilt that hung at his belt. He could stay here and deplete his charge trying to take them both out before either got to him… or use the blade in the one capacity it had that had never failed him. Intimidation. Din could use a sword. He could use pretty much anything. But it wasn’t his first choice. If the Dark Saber was any other blade, he wouldn’t consider it, but the few times he’d ignited it, the effect was notable. Most people didn’t know exactly what it was, but they knew enough that they didn’t want to try to fight it. Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t dumped it down a canyon somewhere for Bo-Katan Kryze to go find on her own. It had caused him enough trouble over the past few years that that would make the most sense. Yet he held onto it and because of that, had suffered not a few varied encounters with Kryze and her clan and their attempts to force him into a tradition and history he knew nothing about and found he didn’t care for. That wasn’t his path — his way. It was something else entirely that had, before it knew him, labelled him a zealot.

He ignited the saber in his off hand, keeping his blaster at the ready. They were close now, but they had slowed down in the absence of return fire, approaching his shelter with caution. They would crowd to one side of the opening, one coming in first to provide cover, the second following up with the needed accuracy. Sure enough, he felt the hull vibrate as his pursuers flattened themselves against it. With little time, Din stepped back to give himself enough room to plunge the dark blade straight through the hull at about where he figured the second body would be. It met some affirming resistance and a modulated shout of shock came from the other pursuer. Din had hoped the sight of the blade would have scared off the remaining enemy, but with a stubborn war cry, the other was suddenly upon him, having whipped around the opening with a barrage of blasts chasing Din chaotically back to the back wall. When he felt one ricochet off his beskar, he’d lunged forward into a roll, losing the hilt of the Dark Saber in the process, but coming up at an advantageous position to fire his blaster.

A direct hit. He saw the flare of energy meeting his enemy’s breastplate and had almost enough time to lower his blaster with a spin towards the holster before the full weight of his attacker plowed into him. Confusion barely had a moment to sink in before he realized his error. He wasn’t the only one in beskar. Now this up close and personal, he could see the vac suit peeling away from the coated breastplate of Mandalorian armor. He only had a very brief moment to gasp out an admittedly daft: “What — ?” before the second attacker, proving to not be as skewered as he’d have liked, flung themselves into the opening, one injured arm hanging at their side, but the other wielding a blaster in an attempt to train on Din amid his grapple with the other.

“Wait— wait!” but they weren’t there to talk. He knew precisely what they were there for, and it was laying on the ground a few feet from any of them. Din had tried to yield the Dark Saber before. A few times, actually. But its inherent rules seemed to have cornered the clans, and him, into a more deadly negotiation for it. They would take it when he was maimed or dead. So now he would just as soon they didn’t take it. His attempts at getting their attention had only earned him a hard elbow to the neck, tossing him effectively into survival mode. With an uncomfortable twist of the body, he got a foot up on the bulkhead behind him and activated his jetpack. The unexpected surge caught his attacker off guard and plowed both of them straight out the opening, into the second shooter and rolled them for several yards along the littered ground.

The impact of their landing flung them apart, but the advantage of that for Din was an advantage for all of them and he was still outnumbered when he rolled to his feet, blaster raised. He swapped his aim from one to the other of his attackers, trying to give the impression that he had both of them covered at once while they simply had to train their blasters on him and start to close in slowly. “Are you with Bo-Katan?” he called out, hoping to get at least one talking. They did pause, but the grim chuckle told him he’d not only guessed wrong, but he also might have encountered a rival of Bo-Katan’s for the throne of Mandalore. “Of course.”

The prospect that he might die here — on a literal garbage planet — only filled him with weary resignation. But then — for just a moment — immense disappointment as he suddenly remembered a promise he’d made to Grogu as they parted. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured to himself as he stood on the brink of lowering his head and his weapon.

But the two others had stopped and craned around, one rapidly looking back at Din as if they suspected whatever he’d murmured had just summoned a problem for them. Unbeknownst to them, it was simply his outlandishly bad luck that had summoned a problem for all of them.

With a shriek like wrending metal — and indeed that was probably partially what it was — one of the mountains of scrap that had previously been looming over them, gave a violent buck, smaller bits of scrap now joining the acid that pelted them, shaking free from the towering metal monster that emerged and resolved into a four legged, open-mawed form that seemed to be made of the planet’s refuse itself, but fuelled by an oily hot fire from within its belly. As it swung around, a pronged foot came inches from flattening Din where he stood. He reeled back from the monstrous intrusion, no longer able to see his previous two attackers while he scrambled to get away from the brand new horror making itself his problem.

No words. No thoughts. Just survival as he reflexively activated his jetpack again and pushed off at an acute angle front he ground and away from the beast as it dove past him, mouth gaping for an improbable bite of pure scrap metal from the side of one of the hills. Perhaps the monster itself was distracted by its meal, but the teetering hillside caved and an avalanche of spare parts was suddenly rolling down from higher than even Din’s current altitude. Bits and pieces rang as they bounced off his armor and he strove to outrun the larger chunks he knew were coming. He managed to dodge the caved in hull of what looked to be part of a Mon Calamari cruiser, but found himself straight in the path of an untold tonnage of metal that was soon sweeping him out of the air and along with it in a tumble of junk that splayed out between the hills like a river of metal… and then in a breathless moment, charged straight over the edge of a dark ravine, carrying Din down with it.

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #fanfic #luke skywalker #grogu #i dunno i tag like i'm dying #will it get sexy!?#PROBABLY A LITTLE!?#dinluke #hopefully #we'll see if I can pull this out of a nosedive

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hayden-thefuck-whywouldyoudothis · 3 years

Text

HAYDEN LORE

for @thatoneao3writer because i am too lazy to send an ask rn

not the happiest with how this turned out, but i believe it will suffice for now.

So, you know the hc that Glatt would haunt Michael on the Dream SMP? Well, guess what? I am obligated to traumatise a child as the Dream Kinnie of the discord, and so, I will be taking the place of Glatt.

The murderer replaces the dictator.

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

Silence.

It always starts with silence, doesn’t it?

And for good reason.

It’s pure.

A clean slate.

Always was, always will be.

Right?

“No.” He shakes his head, “No, it’s not right. Listen, listen to me, Tubbo.” Ranboo grabs Tubbo by the shoulders, the optimal way to get the teen to listen, especially when he’s being stubborn. “You have to let him move through grief on his own. You can’t force it. You- you can’t-” Ranboo’s voice breaks, and Tubbo’s face softens, giving the taller a firm hug.

“Boo? Bo? Is everything okay?” Michael had snuck up on them. Tubbo and Ranboo share a look, before Ranboo forces a chuckle, picking his ‘son’ up to give him a hug.

“Hey Bub. Everythings just fine.” Ranboo assures the child, giving him a tight hug. Michael feels tears on his dad’s face, and pulls away from the hug. He watches his fathers face, contemplating. He giggles all of a sudden, putting his small hands on Ranboo’s cheeks, feeling him give a small smile, tears still streaming down his face.

“Dad!” Michael smiles. “I love you.” Ranboo smiles, pulling all three into a hug. After a beat, they separate, and Ranboo let's Michael down on the floor, urging him to go play and let the other two talk.

The tears are still there.

He does a good job of hiding the pain.

…

Michael listens.

What else would he do?

The two most important people in his life were distraught and trying so hard to hide it.

The more he listened, the more he learned. ‘Their close friend Tommy was grieving. They had all lost a friend. Their friend named Wilbur. He was a bad man, but he had been a good friend. He killed people. He-’

“So did I. Doesn’t make anyone special.” Someone says from behind where Michael is sitting. He looks around.

“Wh- who- who said th- that?” He manages to force out, There is a chuckle to his left, the voice sending shivers up his spine. There was something not right about it, it was off. Something moves, and a humanoid becomes visible. They are transparent, but their hands are burnt black, covered in ashes.

“Michael, right?” They ask, floating closer, eerily. Michael nods, recoiling when they offer a handshake. “Hmm,” They look Michael up and down, evaluating, analyzing. “You know, it feels good to be back.” Michael takes another good look. At first glance, they seem completely normal, at least before they speak. But then you look closer. You see the burn marks, and the ash, and the blood.

‘Why is there so much blood?’

“Well that has an easy answer! You should really be asking harder questions, Michael.” They laugh. It’s terrifying. “The blood is from the veins of the bodies dead at my feet, piling higher and higher. The blood of innocent people always was sweeter than that of the guilty.” And that's when the person moves, floating towards Ranboo and Tubbo. They don’t seem to notice. Michael gasps, and they look back at him, tilting their head and giving a smile. Without warning there is a dagger in each hand, at his parents' necks.

They don’t seem to mind.

Without thinking, Michael screams. It’s loud and heart-shattering. It’s like he was witnessing murder. Ranboo and Tubbo stop talking, running over to comfort the child. The person doesn’t move, just smiles.

“It was nice to meet me, right Michael? I would say the same in your own regard, but I’ve been watching for a long time. See you soon.”

And they disappear.

That was only the beginning.

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

The next time they showed up, Michael was all alone. Ranboo and Tubbo had to leave, had ‘something to do’. Tommy had come and collected them late at night, right as Michael had gone to bed, this being one of the nights that Michael was staying in the Tower. Bad had helped him get ready for bed, making sure he had his chicken plush before saying goodnight and leaving, promising that Tubbo and Ranboo would be back by morning.

Michael knew the truth, that the two people who meant the most to him were most likely in danger at that very moment. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was turning 6 soon!!! Hopefully Tubbo and Ranboo would be back soon, Michael desperately wanted to go to the park tomorrow.

“Can’t go to the park if they're dead.”

Michael pales at the voice. It’s back. ‘Why is it back?’ A bone-chilling laugh.

“Why Michael, your fear summoned me. There really is quite a lot of it. Fear of abandonment, fear of death, fear of losing a loved one, fear of being alone.” They chuckle, picking up one of Michaels toys, tossing it around as a form of entertainment, as if scaring a child wasn’t enough. “I really just saved you from that one, huh? No matter, you’re terrified of me, and that gives me all the power I could want, not that that’s what I’m after.” Michael looks at them, thinking.

‘Who is this? How did they get in here? Where are Boo and Bo? I really want them now, so I can have a hug and a brownie from the Titans kitchen. I want-’

“Hmmmm, that really is a very specific request Michael. But, you did ask one good question. Who am I? Who do you think I am Michael?”

He freezes, trying to think of what to call the person floating in front of him. After a moment, he gives up saying,

“You’re a scary man.” The person laughs.

“Well not quite, Michael, but close. I am Hayden Eyens. A hunter, a ghost, a storyteller, a prisoner, a witch, and, above all, a murderer. As for how I got in here, I can get to wherever I want or need to be.” Michael curls up against the headboard of the bed, not completely understanding everything that the person- no, Hayden- had said. But he did understand one thing.

Murderer.

It’s what everyone calls Wilbur.

“Let that sit with you Michael. I hope we talk again soon.” Hayden fades away, laughing maniacally.

Michael doesn’t sleep that night.

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

It doesn’t end there.

Hayden shows up at the worst times, feeding off of the fear that Michael hates so much. Every once in a while, Hayden’s visits are nice, and they just talk, and Michael learns, listening to the stories told so colourfully that it was like looking at a painting. He learns about how Hayden had grown up, having a similar start in life to Michael. Loving parents who were no longer there for one reason or another, eventually leading to the ghosts' untimely demise at the hands of the village they had grown up in. Michael listens to Hayden talk about manipulation and murder. It’s not very nice to listen to, but it is preferable to the bad days.

The bad days are the days where Hayden manipulates him, messing with his mind and his sense of right and wrong. The days when Hayden possesses him, trapping his conscious inside of himself, making him claustrophobic and terrified of possession.

It makes him think of the accident. What had happened when Michael had gotten very hurt by a bad man, and he had been stuck where he couldn’t get away, couldn’t escape. Once, Hayden had explained how the possession worked.

“Your conscious is the lesser one, of course. My mind pokes and prods and searches until it finds a way in. And when it does-” They smile. “When it does, my mind takes control. And it forces your mind into a tiny, tiny box. It is so refreshing. An escape from my own guilt.” Before Michael could even ask what they felt guilty for, Hayden was gone again, sure to return soon enough.

It went on for a long time, day in and day out, never subsiding long enough for a true break or recovery. The manipulation and the fear and the claustrophobia grow worse, almost to the point where Michael often couldn’t be left alone in some rooms in Bo’s house, Uncle Tommy’s house, or even the Titan’s Tower.

And one day, out of the blue, Hayden disappeared. The most peculiar thing happened as well, for right before Hayden had disappeared, Bo and Boo had seen them. They had flown at the trio at the Bee n’ Boo late one night, and they had freaked out. That was why Michael freaked out as well. Not because a ghost had flown at him, for he was used to that already, but seeing his favourite people freak out.

Later, Michael heard Ranboo and Tubbo talking. Apparently, there were more people like Hayden, though they weren’t all bad. Tanboo and Tubbo had met them. To repeat what Tubbo had said, it had ‘scared the shit out of them’, whatever that meant.

And that was the end of it.

Or so he believed.

Once a killer, always a killer.

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

HELLO

Quick and easy, here is some info about this:

1)This is tied to my fic and that will become somewhat evident in the next update.

2)This takes place during the aftermath of Wilbur's death, before the Askers were introduced to the Titans and the HIVE and such.

3)This was kinda difficult to write, ngl. Michael is very young in this AU, so it is difficult to use complicated themes. Therefore, my solution is that(sticking with what is already canon) Michael was left with Tubbo when he was 3. By the time this takes place, Michael is almost 6. I’d like to think that Tubbo was about 15 or so when he “adopted” Michael, making him 17 or so at this point.

4) I know that the trauma was not super apparent in this, but I feel it is important to establish Michaels trauma and fear of ghosts and Wilbur for my next fic update.

Alright, I am off to work on the next update.

Talk soon,

Hayden <3

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voidcat · 4 years

Text

– Stardust

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/You

Genre: fluff/comfort, heart to heart on reader’s part (questioning your place in the universe and all)

Summary: Sleep does not come some nights when it gets loud inside your head. Pebbles thrown at your window feels something out of movies. Oikawa Tooru being the one to do feels unreal. So you do what everyone does in dreams, is this a dream?, and follow his lead.

Word Count: 4.3k (i poured my heart out pls respond)

A/N: I didn’t write it with a song in mind but Kimochi Warui (When? When? When? When? When? When? When?) sounded fitting while proofreading. Take it as a suggestion if you want. – ao3 - PART 2

It’s late.

Too late to still be up. Too late to be thinking like this.

Too late to be up, awake, vibrating with all these overwhelming thoughts filling your head, wanting to break free, scratching the inside of your skull like feral animals, dying to get out.

It’s late and you keep lying down just like that. Hands clasped over your stomach, eyes locked onto the ceiling, trying not to think, keeping your mind blank like a newly bought sketchbook.

You lie like that for seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds.

You lie awake, the dim moon light entering your room lazily. All too familiar thoughts plaguing your mind, telling things you’ve known since childhood over and over and over until you grow numb to the noise.

Tck.

You consider checking the time but you’re afraid it’ll still be too early for the new day to start.

Tck.

Was that an actual sound or the newest trick of your mind?

Tck.

They say third time is the charm. Third time also means it’s too much of a specific occurrence to be a coincidence. The noise seems to be coming from outside, something small hitting your window.

Irritation and curiosity taking over you at last, not to mention boredom, you make way to the window and open it.

You see Oikawa Tooru of all people waving with his phone at you, a little aggressively.

Walking back to your nightstand and picking up your phone, you receive a message.

>[Does your folks wake up early?]

>[Or check up on you first thing in the morning?]

[No. why?] Hitting the send button you wait, walking back there and looking at him again. Face lightened by the glow of his phone, you can make up his eyes and nose.

>[Wear something warm.]

>[And make that spicy tea thingy you like so much if you want.]

>[I’m waiting by the door.]

Weird is seeing Oikawa Tooru under your window at an hour no one else is awake. Him telling you to get dressed and come outside? That’s creepy and worrying.

[Why]

>[I’m doing you a favor out of the goodness of my heart for once.] You want to roll your eyes at that. Since when does he know what being good means? Towards you especially.

>[No shady business, I promise.]

>[Trust me.]

As if knowing what went in your mind, these texts show up on your screen. You come to a halt.

Your relationship with Oikawa was never good. You would ignore one another on the good days and be utterly destructive and spiteful on the bad days. He never gave you a reason or made a gesture to earn your trust, you don’t even recall hearing those words from him much. They are reserved for Iwaizumi and the team only.

So why do you find yourself in a dilemma, as if there’s something to choose, a decision to make? Because the logical thing for you to do, the in-character thing for you to do, is to say no, go back to bed and hope to fall asleep at some point. The usual set of action for you is to refuse whatever he has to offer and go back to your own thing.

But you’re done with the logical and the in-character. So you send a quick [I’ll be down in 5.], make way to prepare something warm first and change your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. A sweatshirt should be enough.

Being too lazy and out-of-it to function once in a while pays, because instead of having to brew the tea and wait for a long while, you just heat up the already brewed and stashed one and pour it to your thermos.

Silently opening the door and getting out, you see Oikawa leaning against the wall.

He walks away when he sees you, you follow without a word. Soon enough you’re met with a car. Since when he has a car?

Wait, no. Don’t ask, don’t wait for an answer. Don’t look at the stupid car, don’t examine it. It is a dream after all, right? What’s the point in observing things when you’ll forget about them first thing in the morning?

Following his lead, you get inside the passenger seat, hear him start the engine, watch his hand reach for the stereo. A low hum arise.

It sounds like he picked a channel on random, the music isn’t bad per se, the volume is down. So it doesn’t exactly bother you either. Getting comfortable in your seat and resting your head against the window, you watch the blur of images go by.

There is no moon tonight, the only source of light is the street lamps coming into view and leaving as fast. Houses, buildings, trees, everything belonging to the day pass by in a fog and smear of colors. Almost like a quick brush of oil paint. It’s calming in a quiet before the thunderstorm kind of way.

As the road goes under the wheels, less and less houses come in to your view.

“Where to?”

Oikawa gives you a quick glance. He almost looks surprised to see you speak. Did he just assume you’d stay quiet all night?

“You’ll see.” His tone doesn’t match his face.

“What’s the meaning of it?”

“Consider it a favor.” This marks the end of your short lived conversation.

You don’t need to recognize the road he takes to understand he’s driving out of town, out of Miyagi. The why of it keeps floating in your head, you can’t apply the ‘it’s a dream’ tactic any more either, you are too awake for that, in both senses.

Turning your attention back on the sidelines, you let your mind wander off to meaningless assumptions.

A light behind the trees, you imagine a lonely night creature, lurking around to find his lost love.

You spot an animal you can’t identify and make up a story about an once-successful maiden, falling fool to a wicked spell.

You look at the trees and imagine nature coming to life in humanoid form, mutating and taking its revenge on human race.

Hearing a ribbit nearby and you recall the time your mother read you the Princess and the Frog years ago.

You turn left to look at Oikawa. Finding your phone inside your pocket and raising it in a show-and-tell manner, you wait for him to take notice and turn off the stereo. You press play.

Satie’s Once Upon A Time In Paris fills the air.

You note the relaxation in his shoulders. You let the melody take over your body as well.

Closing your eyes and holding your hands in the air, you can see the keys in front of you.

Hitting the keys one by one, reaching for the pedal, you can feel it flow through you. Head moving on its own, dancing with the melody, Gymnopedie no.1 as calm and serene as ever. Simple like a short quote on love from a poet.

It ends silently, Gnossienne no.3 enters with much more emotion.

It’s almost comical how many times you’ve played this exact piece but almost never listened to others playing. It sounds like you in some ways, some tints and emphasis different than how you’d play but that’s all you got right now.

You don’t need to break out of the music’s hold or open your eyes to catch Oikawa’s gaze on you once in a while. You went through all this before on so many occasions. Be it on public transportation and a piece you connect with comes on, you can’t stop your fingers from trying to play it on air, making keys out of nitrogen and oxygen in the air. Your body starting to move on its own after a while. Strangers giving you funny looks all the while.

The notes gain meaning and heaviness, hanging in the air and making way for the following ones as fast.

When the B bemols come, you can feel a stinging feeling in your eyes.

Since when does Gnossienne no.3 make you want to cry? Why now of all times?

You don’t care, you don’t want the answers, you don’t want to understand or reach a new level of understanding within yourself. Just shutting yourself out completely and taking in all the music with a deep breathe, you lean back as far as you can into the seat.

Gnossienne no.4 starts and your hands no longer itch to play.

When Oikawa pulls up at last, the music has long ended.

Getting off with your thermos in one hand, you look around.

Not a single building, a sign of life in sight. Where the hell did he bring you?

You can see his figure searching for something in the back seat, some shuffling reaches your ear. You look at the few and far between trees in the distance. It is a dead night. Not even wind, not even some comical tumbleweeds are in sight to add some motion. Time has stopped completely.

You don’t realize Oikawa’s signals for the second time that night, just as you didn’t hear him throwing pebbles at your window.

Noticing the loud thud, as him patting the hood of his car a little too late, only when he starts to get loud, you look back up. He’s sitting there, patting the space next to him, the gesture all too familiar.

Your mind wanders back to the moments you’d do the same, asking your cat to come sit with you, listen to you ramble, maybe purr for you, hear your sobs or meow at your antics. Tilting your hand with her head, bumping your legs with her tail. Those moments painted golden, filtered with a gray film, already gone, leaving nothing but a sharp pain in your chest.

You climb and sit, careful not to have any physical contact with him.

“Why are we here?” you try one last time.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” He says. Nodding your head at that, you’re not exactly surprised. The way he always surrounds himself with people, no matter the proximity and bond he shares with them.

He answered a question, maybe he can answer few more before I drive him to the limit, you think. “Why me?” This nags at your brain more than any other current question you have for him.

“It seemed fitting.”

“Why not Hajime or Makki, or even Mattsun?”

“Iwa-chan has come on little trips such as this with me before. I didn’t want to drag him tonight. Asking anyone else I’m close with didn’t sound like a good idea. And frankly? You seemed like you could use a break like this today.”

Observant prick.

“So, what exactly? We share one cozy moment tonight and return to our daily selves of hating one another in the morning?” His silence is a yes enough. “Sure, sounds good then.”

After the little conversation, you are back examining the surroundings, the comforting stillness in the air, the silence, the emptiness and the blackness of it all.

It gets boring after a while. Not wanting to disturb Oikawa further and at a loss of what else to do in the middle of nowhere, you look up at last.

Oh.

You forget to breathe for a few seconds. And that doesn’t even seem to be a problem in your eyes.

Has he done this before? How long has he been going out at ungodly hours for this?

You knew Oikawa Tooru was obsessed with space and aliens, thanks to Iwaizumi, but you never expected it to be on a more serious, in-depth level. Not like this.

Never like this.

Billions of stars hanging in the night sky, most millions of years old, blinking from a long gone past, probably dead in their current time.

A calm breeze washing over your wholly, reminding you just how small you are, your life is and how it is all okay because in the big picture you’re all nothing but dust. Destined to be forgotten by history in few centuries, if not decades.

Seeing all these stars, colorful lights what you hope are planets, an arm of the Milky Way, flowing like a waterfall and you feel a sense of security you haven’t felt in a while.

There is something comforting about the night sky, the way it can show you your unimportance in the big picture, your place in all this. You feel whole with the universe. You belong.

So you look up, and up and up. Stare at the sky, blink at the stars, smile at the constellations you spot and remember their stories, the gods and the myths, the heroes and the queens…

You look back at Oikawa then. As if remembering only now that he is there by your side.

Facing the sky in a manner just like yours, you can see the stars on his face. Shining on his hair, cheeks and in his eyes. Almost like stardust.

He looks ethereal, unreachable, enchanting. And a little vulnerable. All that tension, layers of masks he puts on each day, all the fake smiles and empty look in his eyes are gone.

Raw and pure.

This is the truest of Oikawa you’ve ever seen.

The admiration can be read from his eyes. His face holding an emotion you’ve seen on him once or twice. Not intense like this, never like this. You’ve seen the same look on him for Iwaizumi but only for a second, when he’s sure no one is watching.

With the same eyes, he watches the starry night sky.

He looks like he belongs up there. Not in a “be an astronaut and go to space” but in a “should be there, amongst the stars, his memory up there, to be remembered by everyone gazing upon the starry night. Like a constellation, become a constellation, a legend and a story, and so much more, just like Orion and Andromeda.”

This is the closest to Oikawa Tooru you’ve ever been. The thought gives you a shiver.

Seeming to notice that, he gives you a puzzled look and raises his right arm. You realize the blanket around his form then. He’s making an offer.

“Don’t worry, three people can fit in easily, it’s wide enough for the both of us.” When his face turned to you, it’s dark, no source of light to reflect on his skin.

You scoot over to him, under the blanket. The two of you refocus back on the scene above you.

Remembering the little mug inside your front pocket, you open the lid of your thermos and start pouring some tea, the steam leaving a little trail behind. You hold out the mug to Oikawa, he just looks at you, the confusion clear on his face.

Why are you offering me the tea you brought for yourself?

What makes you think I’d trust you enough to taste something you made?

“We said tonight was our little secret, right? I can use the cap as a mug, don’t worry.”

Your words and clarification seems to convince him somewhat, holding the mug with both hands, he smells it before taking a sip.

Silence falls over again and it’s much nicer this time.

Not even the coldness can get to you or pull you out of the warm embrace you’re in. The warmth around your shoulders, more provided by the idea of the blanket than the blanket itself. Like a thin veil, separating the real world from your little bubble of escape.

It’s new moon, no reflecting lunar light to block your view of stars. Sitting under the tent of black, blue, white and red; it feels divine. Divine to live in the moment, to truly breathe, to witness something so enthralling and forever.

To stand by yourself, stripped bare of everything; your layers, titles, names and ticks, clothes and paints, to be a newborn again, to reborn again, all alone, in an endless room, empty and cold, filled with stars and gods, stories to tell and dreams to see.

To feel whole again, alone again, hopeless again but reach a self-realization again, to taste nectar and discover the secrets of the universe, converse with the long gone philosophers and waltz with supernovas.

You’re not alone. Not completely.

Maybe left alone with your thoughts in this dead land and you know how one can never have company in their own mind, forever trapped alone. Yet in that moment, you’re not alone. Moving your head to steal a glance at the boy next to you again, you understand it well. It all happens so fast.

“Isn’t it ironic? How as humans we use a word like ‘star’ for untouchable celebrities, important people and such while in reality stars are nothing but these giant balls of plasma-“ gesturing a ball with your hands now, thermos sitting between your legs, “-with their ongoing chemical reactions, sputtering molecules of hydrogen and helium and all, until they come to an end with their current phase of life. If you can call that life.” You say all these with your eyes locked onto the stars, Oikawa’s locked on you. You keep going.

“Speaking of life, what is even life? Aren’t we just a bunch of organic components somehow managing to come together, build a system and gain conscious somehow? Just trying to survive until an outer force comes or our cells come off? Isn’t it technically our cells living, in a way?”

“Aren’t we just piles of protein just walking around and doing things that make no sense but to us? Until we come to an end with our current phase of life? Doing what we see fit or fun or appropriate until it all ends.” It’s not a question any more. He doesn’t give you an answer.

“Aren’t we all children of the stars in a different point of view? All our molecules and elements coming from them. I mean, look at them. We see them blinking and smirking and smiling at us but for all we know they could’ve ended long ago. They could’ve become part of a new life for all we know. They break down and give birth to us, pieces of us; and in return we go back to them when we are gone. Despite being made of stardust, we live pretty shit lives huh?” You give him a lopsided smile, facing him as you say your last words.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” he replies.

“For far too long to pinpoint an exact date actually.” You almost say in a singsong voice. He frowns at that slightly.

“But I am right! Right? I mean, you’re a space nerd! You must know what I’m talking about.”

“Understanding and putting it into words in such a depressing way are two different things.”

Pouting at that, you look the opposite direction sharply. “Whatever, I know I am right.”

His gaze is still on you. “Is that what you’re like most of the time? I don’t get how Iwa-chan deals with you.” He must be shaking his head now.

“Iwa-chan can’t read minds last time I checked.” You deadpan.

His laugh fills the air at that. Light and lively, carefree; you doubt you’ve heard him laugh before. It sounds wonderful.

You wonder how things would’ve been between you and Oikawa, if the circumstances were different. If you never met Iwaizumi that day, would your paths still cross? Would you finish your Aoba Johsai years never meeting him?

Would you meet Oikawa on your own? Could you ever be friends, instead of dancing around one another and spitting out insults whenever you can? Would you like him in another world? Value his friendship, the person he is? Would the two of you have met before or become something more?

All these unanswered questions hanging in the air and you find yourself looking at him again.

His smile looks different now, he looks different, changed. Almost breathtaking. Is that what Iwaizumi means by his ‘fake smiles’?

A honest smile looks good on him.

You find yourself smiling back.

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “If you still want to complain about the meaningless of life and all that, be my guest. I promise I won’t listen.”

Taken aback by his wording, you give him a confused look.

“Tonight doesn’t exist, remember?”

“…Right.” You decide to lean back and lie under the stars.

Feeling a tug at the blanket after a while, you see him placing the mug down next to the tire. You hand him your thermos as he regains his composure, he complies silently and leans back when he’s done.

All there is in the air is your faint breathing now. Never matching one another, sometimes loud, sometimes ghostly. There is no rhythm, no adjusting subconsciously. Completely independent.

You take a deep breath and start.

“It feels grey most of the time. Not in a ‘there’s never two sides, everything is grey, blah blah.’ But more like a numbness of grey.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, nothing to show or to indicate that he is listening. You continue talking.

“Like lacking all color and feeling in life, blocking all there is to see and enjoy and I am left with nothing but… grey.

Grey to the point of everything is filtered, there are no boundaries, it all feels the same, plays the same and I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting. Hurting myself, being hurt myself and hurting the ones around me. Not the ones I love, I don’t even know love. What is love?” You turn to look at him.

“I tried thinking about it, reading about it, understanding it on a chemical and hormonal way. Consulted mathematics and never got an answer. It feels made up, a fairy tale to feel better, to attach ourselves to one another.

I fear I came across love and didn’t notice it, I fear I brushed it off for something else and now it’s too late.”

With each pause, it gets easier to speak, harder to talk. Finding the right words, using your vocal chords, moving your tongue, writing your sentences in your mind. You don’t feel the tears gathering around your eyes or going down your cheeks. You wait for the robot title, to be called heartless and how you have a rock in your chest. They never come.

“Do you really fear of hurting him?” There’s no doubt he is talking about Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know.”

“But you care for him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think before you answer.” He says then, voice stern.

“I think I care for him but I fear I will ruin him.”

The unspoken ‘how so?’ is in the air.

“I feel grey to the point of dust and decay. I fear everything I touch either drives away from me or decays. I don’t want to lose him. I think I care for him. But I don’t want to watch him stay by my side and crumble one by one.

I don’t want to go from grey to blue.”

“Doesn’t he make you happy? I’ve seen genuine smiles on you when you’re with him. You almost light up when he enter a room or sits beside you.”

“What’s the point of happiness if it’s dependent on one person? It is not fair to either parties.”

He starts tsking. “Too many don’ts for that age. You’ll end up with wrinkles before your thirties.”

He stops prying after that.

The air begins to grow colder, a little breeze picks up.

The stars are as cold as ever, blinking diamonds in the sky.

You swear you see the arm of Milky Way coming into motion, flowing like a stream.

For what feels like an hour, it is quiescent. You decide to break it one last time.

“Speaking of stars, you and Iwaizumi are like neutron stars. Can be found alone or orbiting one another, chasing after each other, forever together and merged at last. Both stars on your own but as captivating when together.”

The hour taking its toll on you, your senses grow duller. You can’t hear his breathing without focusing, even the stars are getting blurry.

“Then you’re like a black dwarf.” Oikawa speaks up. “Because you feel unreal most of the time.”

You both fall back into silence. You don’t ask him if he meant it as a compliment and he doesn’t answer.

You don’t need to know which way he meant, in a way, you already know the response to that.

Tonight isn’t real. It’ll cease to exist in a few hours and you let these rare moments sink in. Probably the closest you’ll ever be to Oikawa Tooru, closest see him like this. It almost feels familiar, like you’ve done this before, went on stargazing with him and opened your heart out to him. It feels like a dream, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You chuckle at your attempt of a joke lightly.

It is serene around the two of you and in your mind. A placidity you haven’t had without the help of a distraction in a long while.

“Thanks Tooru.”

His name falls out of your lips like you use it on the daily. Like the comforting shuffle of a worn out sweater as you put it on, the chirping of this family of birds living by your house for decades, the warm meow of your cat when you’re headed to bed. It sounds natural.

Scooting closer to him until your head rests on his chest. He just wraps his arm around you, pulling you further. Not a single word on your way of addressing him. And not a word from you on his way of holding you.

The moment will cease to exist in the morning, along with your confessions and the blinking lights of the stars. In a few hours it’ll no longer be real. So you decide to give it a shot at being close to him in all senses, share something the two of you will never have. Wrapping your arm around his torso, listening closely to his heart. Your head under his chin, his hand atop yours, you fall asleep until the sun comes.

157 notes · View notes

mithrilwren · 4 years

Text

Ceremony

Wedding: You touch adult humanoids willing to be bonded together in marriage. For the next 7 days, each target gains a +2 bonus to AC while they are within 30 feet of each other. A creature can benefit from this rite again only if widowed.

Over the course of the Stolen Century, Barry and Lup shamelessly exploit a convenient magical loophole.

(Also on Ao3)

---

49.

Three months into the forty-ninth year, Barry turns to look at Lup. Her face is lit by the cascade of neon flashes from the frogs in the trees above, croaking their many-coloured song, and the air is cold on his tongue, and his hand is in hers as they walk through the night air. She notices him watching. She always does, and her eyes glint in amusement: purple and azure and green and gold.

“What’re you thinking?”

He takes a breath and says, “We’re going to get married, aren’t we?”

He says it not with nervous hesitation, but with the wonder of realization, like a child dazzled at their first snowfall. Lup’s smile is wicked, but the hand around his squeezes gently.

“Well, duh.”

And they do. Not that year, because Lup’s not having a wedding on the planet of radioactive frog slime, and Barry likes the evenness of 50 for an anniversary. It’s a nicer number than 49, at any rate. Some just are.

This world ends quietly. The Hunger comes and the whole crew, safe and sound aboard the Starblaster, watches from the bridge viewport as the neon lights that once sang amidst the blanket of leaves twinkle and then fade. Not even Taako, who’d spend the whole year cursing the frogs for disturbing his sleep, says a word.

None of them has ever seen silence fall before.

They all keep quiet, and still, and then they all fade too.

50.

The fiftieth year is spent planning. Lup tells Taako about their plan, and then Taako teases her about it in front of Magnus, who can’t contain his excitement long enough for damage control and suddenly the whole crew knows that this is the year they’re finally making it official, and they are pumped. Everyone is eager to sink into any strategizing endeavour that doesn’t involve thousands of lives, and preventing the destruction thereof.

Davenport and Magnus set to work chasing the light of creation on this new world, this fiftieth home – a vast oceania, with towns dotting the edges of the many archipelagos that make up the landmass of the planet. They find it easily enough in the rocky shoals of one of the smaller islands, before the locals can get too attached to the new meteorite in their bay. With that problem squared away, everyone’s attention is back on the wedding, and the first ever IPRE Party Planning Committee is brought to order.

Taako’s got the food on lock, because of course he does, but he also helps Lup pick a dress from one of the open-aired markets in town: a breezy lilac slip with golden threads that catch the highlights in her hair.

Lucretia gets all their paperwork in order in case they want to file properly when they get back to their own world or… well, in any case, it’s good to have a record. She’s also unofficially in charge of streamers, because nobody but her and Magnus are sufficiently inoculated towards slimy ocean creatures to spend their evenings weaving strands of shimmery seaweed into party decorations.

Davenport cozies up enough to the local mayor to score some fine liquor for toasts. He sneaks a few bottles extra into his quarters, for safekeeping.

Magnus works so hard. He spends every spare minute practicing his carving, getting ready for the main event. At first, he fills Fisher’s tank with progressively more detailed ducks – an attempt to sooth the loneliness of the now-orphaned child, as much as any other purpose. But soon he hides away in a little cave by the coast, only returning to the ship to retrieve more boughs from those he collected from the forests of the previous planet. He refuses to let anyone see what he’s making until it’s absolutely finished.

Merle… frets.

“I mean, you could just ask Davenport. I figure, since he’s the captain and all... Isn’t he, you know, vested with the powers that be?”

“We could,” Lup nods. “Or we could ask you. Like we just did.”

Merle rubs at the back of his neck, using every inch of height disparity to avoid looking at Lup and Barry’s eyes. “I’m not- are you really sure you want me doing this? Me?”

“Why not you?” Barry asks, genuinely curious.

“I know I’m like, a cleric...”

“Debatable!” chimes Taako from the other side of the wall, and Merle grits his teeth just a little harder.

“Not helping, dear brother mine!” Lup calls cheerfully, and shoots a subtle charm behind her back that stands the hair on Barry’s arm on end. Moments later, there’s a thud and a slew of curses, and Lup smiles. “You were saying?”

“I’ve honestly,” Merle lowers his voice in case Taako is still in earshot. “I’ve never done one of these before. It’s the type of thing they train you for when you’re fully initiated and I never got that far. There’s special words that you’re supposed to use to complete the bonding, and a spell, and I just… I don’t want to screw this up, ok?”

“Merle,” says Lup, bending at the waist till she’s on eye level with Merle’s flushed face. “There is nothing, nothing, that you could do on my wedding day that would make me happier than to completely fuck it up. Where’s the story in perfection? Where’s the pizzazz. Say the wrong words, blow something up! I live for uncertainty.”

“Please don’t actually blow anything up if you can help it, though-” Barry interjects.

“But if you do, I’ll be behind you, 100%. As I push you between me and any sparks that get too close to the bomb-ass dress Taako and I picked out.”

“Oh yes, I feel much better now,” Merle grumbles, but he also stops arguing, which means they’ve got the priest, which is really, the last thing they needed.

Lup and Barry get up one morning – a full two months before the Hunger’s arrival – and suddenly, it’s the day. Taako forces eggs and coffee down their throats, prescribing four hundred calories apiece before they’re allowed to get dressed. Merle picks wildflowers and lays them out in matching corsages on the breakfast table before rushing off to resume his muttered practicing. Davenport and Lucretia take them each aside and help them into their outfits, and Barry has never felt more nervous in his life than as he slips on the lightweight suit. Blue, to match the sea, and because he lives to meet expectations.

And then everyone else is outside, and they’re standing hand in hand, waiting to walk down from the open door of the ship, and Barry turns to look at Lup. “We’re getting married,” he manages to get out through his rapidly closing throat.

“Sure are, champ,” she says quietly.

It’s funny. He’d always figured he’d be the first one to cry.

Everyone’s waiting when they finally step through the door. Two thick streamers of seaweed form an aisle from the gangway to where Merle stands beneath Magnus’s project: a giant archway of hewn branches, twisting eagerly in an arc towards the sky. Whatever rough patches and nicks remain in the wood are covered by intertwining flowers, perfectly matched to the garlands around their wrists. On either side of the aisle, their friends sit cross-legged in the white sand: Taako and Davenport on one side, and Lucretia and Magnus on the other. Cradled in Magnus’s lap is Fisher, who hums cheerfully at the sunlight and the joy of living, probably.

They all end up sitting in the sand, even Merle, and it feels less like a ceremony than a congregation of friends sharing a lazy afternoon, and Barry wouldn’t have it any other way. Merle stumbles his way through his lines, but he manages all right in the end, or at least Barry assumes he does. He’s too busy staring at Lup to listen, committing every second of this perfect day to memory: her loose curls twisting in the breeze, her smudged mascara, her bare feet half-buried under the sand.

When he tunes back in, it’s to the last words of Merle’s benediction, and his chest swells with warmth and love and- that’s a little too much warmth, actually, and judging by the alarmed look on Lup’s face, she’s feeling the same strange glow in her chest.

“Well, shit,” Merle breathes. “It actually worked.” Before Barry can ask, he’s patting them both gleefully on the shoulder. “By the power invested in me, apparently, you’re now husband and wife! And also, you get a bonus week of Pan’s blessing – so now’s a good time to get into a boss fight I guess, if you’re itching for one.”

Barry doesn’t hear that last part too clearly. He’s too busy being shoved into the sand by his wife oh my god oh my god and kissed senseless.

Merle wasn’t lying about the blessing either. When they’re together, there’s this warmth of surety, like anyone or anything who tried to separate them would need a miracle to succeed. Magnus accidentally hucks a rock in Lup’s direction and it glances off her shoulder like a rubber ball. Barry stubs his toe on the edge of a reef and barely feels the sting. The warmth is strongest when they’re pressed against each other, every inch of them connected, and so they stay like that for three wonderful, magical days – never out of arm’s reach.

They go swimming, just the two of them, on the fourth day. Barry’s never been so pleased that Taako taught him as he is now. They’re just twirling together, treading water out past the dropoff, and the sky is growing dark when Lup says they might to head in, it’s getting chilly, darling, and then the hail starts to fall.

At first, there are only little pieces that ping in the water all around them, nipping at their bare shoulders like blackflies as they start to swim back. Then a great chunk of ice slams into the spot Barry’s outstretched hand was reaching towards. All around them a pounding rhythm picks up pace, and Lup starts muttering shit, shit as they double their speed. Through bleary, salt-drenched eyes Barry thinks he sees the shadow of a figure standing on the shore with arms outstretched, but he can’t hear what they’re calling over the wind and the waves and the relentless pounding in his ears. All he can hear is Lup and her desperate muttering as she tries to form a sigil in the air with the hand he isn’t desperately grasping, dragging along. With a cry, she sends a blast of force cascading out in a sphere around them, and for a moment, the roar of the sea and the storm disappear and it’s just the two of them in silence, clinging to each other-

And then red blooms behind Barry’s eyes and he’s sinking and with every foot he slips the water grows colder, or maybe it’s him that’s gone cold, without her. Or-

Or-

He wakes to find Lup already wrapped around him on the Starblaster deck, and the supernatural warmth of Pan’s blessing is gone but she’s safe and he’s alive and the press of her arms is enough for him any day.

She murmurs hoarsely, words meant only for his ears, and he can tell she’s crying even without seeing her face. “These last months, Barry… god, I missed you so much, you can’t even know-” He squeezes her shoulders and she sighs, before lifting her head and declaring to the room of equally tearful onlookers,

“This man had the nerve to fucking leave me in the middle of our honeymoon? That’s it, Barry Bluejeans.” Her smile is wet and determined and beautiful.

“I demand a do-over.”

51.

For Lup, the announcement is mostly a joke, but then everyone is… kind of on board and she… kind of very much wants them to be.

She got her perfect fairytale wedding once, and she doesn’t want – doesn’t need – to replace that, but to lose her husband three days after getting him? She’s imagined some pretty bleak futures in her time, and even the worst of them didn’t tip the scale to quite that depressing. They may have all eternity to cycle. Might as well try for the perfect fairytale honeymoon too.

The second wedding is a more rushed affair. The new planet comes with warring factions and a power struggle and the Light lost somewhere in the fray of muddy battlegrounds, and it takes all of their combined efforts to retrieve the thing before one despot or another can get their hands on it. By the time they do, they’ve got less than a month till the Hunger comes, and most of the crew are footsore and weary from the last push. In fact, Lup’s pretty sure it’s not going to happen at all. She doesn’t bring it up – no use adding one more mission to the pile – but it pulls at parts of her that she’d thought she buried, the memories of lonesome nights spent wondering if there was any happiness in the world that couldn’t be taken away.

Against all expectations, the one who brings it up is Merle.

He comes and knocks at their door and she answers, and waits patiently for him to stop shuffling his feet. Which is to say, she patiently says, “Spit it the fuck out, Merle.”

“Well, uh, what day were you wantin’ the wedding to be? Now that we’ve got this whole situation under wraps, I thought you’d-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought with his head smothered in Lup’s shirt as she pulls him into a tight hug.

The roles are different now, but maybe they all are too. The years go by quicker, and they all seem a little older with each cycle, though their bodies stay the same. Lup likes to think the change is for the better.

Davenport finds a copse of trees somehow spared the ravages of war and they set down there, working to clear the area as quickly as possible. He coordinates decorations, not refugees, and his shoulders untense for the first time in six months.

Magnus apologizes for leaving the arch behind on the last world. The apology is for Barry’s benefit, not Lup’s, because Barry doesn’t need to know that no matter how hard Magnus had worked on it, and how much she wanted to spare his feelings, Lup couldn’t bear the sight of that arch after the night of the storm. She’s not sure what he did with his creation after she told him, but she never saw it again. Maybe it’s lying at the bottom of the same ocean that Barry- nope. That’s not a thought that needs to happen.

Taako hangs fairy lights from the eaves with his wand, and they all settle in on the newly-swept ground. The world around them couldn’t be more different than a seaside paradise, but they’re all still a congregation of friends. Merle is more comfortable this time around, even injecting a couple jokes into the stuffy liturgy, and though the overwhelming exhilaration of the first wedding is dampened, there’s an ease to the affair that’s new and welcome.

Merle places his hands on their shoulders again and says, “By the power invested in me, blah blah, you know the drill-” He startles backwards, grey eyebrows flying up into his hairline as a familiar warmth settles back into Lup’s chest. She cocks her head.

“What’s up?”

He blinks. “It’s just… the spell. The blessing from Pan. It’s a one-time-per-couple deal. You’re not supposed to be able to place it twice on the same people, not unless…”

“Go on,” she says, as he greens, suddenly cagey.

“Well, there’s a clause in the case of… if someone is widowed. Then they can get it again. Usually that means with another person though-”

“I think our whole existence is an affront to the natural order. Let’s not sweat the technicalities.” And she pulls Barry in for a kiss, because he’s her husband, and because she can.

They barely leave their room for the next week. Lup won’t admit to being afraid of the moment shattering again, and Barry is similarly reticent, and so they talk about everything else in the world except death. Barry learns a bit more about Lup and Taako’s childhood, and he tells her about the cat he rescued from a garbage can near his university, and they read, and make love, and sleep, and wake up to find the other still there. The rest of the crew give their cabin a wide berth.

It’s not quite a fairytale, but it’s nice. And that’s more than good enough.

On the evening of the seventh day, Lup is lazily drawing patterns on a sleeping Barry’s shoulder when she feels the warmth in her chest begin to ebb. She digs her nails in and shakes, heart beating too fast all at once because no, this can’t be happening, it can’t, not again, until Barry flips over with a yawn and she regains control of her lungs.

“What’s up?” he asks, and then his eyes widen, hand going to his own chest. “Guess that’s that.”

“End of the honeymoon,” she says faintly. Her chest is cold, like swallowed seawater.

“Time to rejoin the world of the living?”

“…Nah,” she says, and burrows her head back into his shoulder. His heart thuds against her ear with a gentle pulse, and she slows her breathing to match its rhythm.

They stay like that, curled into each other, until the silence is replaced by the roar of engines and Davenport’s voice through the intercom. Liftoff. Everyone to their stations. Lup closes her eyes and pulls Barry back down when he tries to get up.

She’s never been good at following orders.

58.

“Do you honestly think I would abuse Pan’s divine favour for something this trivial?” Barry, Lup, the entire cosmos sideeyes Merle. “… Yeah, fair enough. Fine,” he sighs, resigned. “Where do you want me?”

It was actually Barry’s idea. The scientist within him was burning away at the question, and true to form, Lup was just as eager to test out the constraints of any new and interesting magic.

“We can do it right here, if you want,” Barry says, gesturing down at the galley table they’re all seated at. Well, that he and Merle at seated at – technically, Lup is seated on. From the other side of the room, Lucretia pricks her ears up, obviously interested in what they’re doing, but keeping her nose firmly buried in her book.

“What, no garlands and twinkles this time around?” Merle says.

“I’ve had two beautiful wedding days already. I’m ok with this one being quick and dirty,” Lup explains.

Merle rubs his hands together, mouth twitching nervously beneath his beard. “Well, alright then. I guess we’re doing this… now?”

“Not getting any younger,” Lup says, which is both so completely true and completely untrue that Barry’s head spins too much to make a joke out of it. “Hey, Luce! Got a sec?”

Lucretia pads quietly from the other side of the room, her book still propped open in the crook of her arm. “What’s going on?”

“Getting married again, darling,” Lup says sweetly, and tugs her down till she’s seated in the chair next to Barry. “Want to be our witness?”

She looks confused a moment, but then slowly nods. “Sure. I’d be honoured.”

“Great!” Lup reaches down from her perch and ruffles her hair, which only drags a small frown to Lucretia’s face. “Let’s do this!”

Merle skips straight to the good stuff this time around, getting the blessing out in practically one breath, and Barry readies himself to feel the warmth in his chest, and-

Nothing.

“Huh,” all three of them say at once.

“Maybe Pan’s taking a nap,” Merle says. “Want me to try again?” Lucretia flips a page in her book, settling in for the long haul.

They do try again, more slowly this time, and Merle repeats every work of the liturgy, and Barry and Lup say their entire vows, and again, nothing.

“Sorry. Guess I lost my juju.”

“No, this actually tells us something interesting,” Barry reassures him. “I’d be wondering what happened to us at the end of our cycles, whether we just die and get remade, or if we blink out of reality and reappear. If we actually died, I’d assume the blessing would be nullified. Since it’s not, we can rule out death as what’s happening at the end of each year.”

“That’s only sort-of comforting, babe,” Lup says, patting his arm.

“I’m hoping neither of you are planning on dying again, just so you can reap my holy tax benefits.”

“Never,” Lup promises, and Barry thinks it’s another joke, until he turns and looks at Lup’s face. Her mouth is set in a grim line. The hand on his shoulder tightens, then tightens again. “Not if I can help it.”

59.

“Barry. Darling. Love of my life.”

“What?” he says, as Lup pulls him into her arms, back on the deck of the Starblaster once more. This time there are no tears, but she looks a little more faded than he’s ever seen her.

“Please tell me you didn’t take that crossbow bolt for science.”

He puts a hand over his chest, where only a moment before there had been a bleeding hole.

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even answer. He just holds her close.

78.

They fucked up.

They fucked up, oh fuck oh f-

Lup tears her eyes away from Magnus’s limp body, sprawled across the obsidian floor mere feet from the Light, his torn shirt cast in hazy red from the streams of magma that cascade from the ceiling. Another rock breaks free and crashes to the floor, and Lup can’t see Taako anymore, she can’t see him she-

“Lup!” Barry’s hand catches her and drags her back as a spire falls onto the place she was standing, shattering into jagged shrapnel that bites at her calves and thighs. “We have to go!”

“Taako’s still-”

“Taako’s gone, Lup!”

And he is. She saw him take that fateful misstep. She saw where he fell.

Nobody, not even her, could survive that much fire.

Then run maybe ten paces before another rock crashes down in front of them and they have to pivot back towards where they came. She can’t see anyone anymore, not Davenport or Lucretia or Merle and why did they all come, why did they get this careless? Yes, the stones were heavy to move but someone should have stayed behind-

Another rock tumbles from the ceiling and smashes into Lup’s arm. She’s flung forward, nearly wrenched from Barry’s grip by the impact, half-sobbing from frustration. They can see the exit from here… but they aren’t going to make it. It’s just too far.

None of them are going to make it.

Oh, fuck.

They have to try. They have to. Even if everyone else is dead, they have to-

A hand, smaller than Barry’s, grabs her shirt by the tails and yanks her back towards the wall. She feels Barry moving in the same direction and they both slam into the stone at once, coming face to face with Merle’s sweat-stained face.

“What-” but he’s already chanting, eyes closed, muttering words too gentle for the horrific sounds of death and destruction as the room collapses around them, and when he finishes Lup’s chest warms, and warms, and she does sob now, because it feels good. It feels like hope, when there was none.

“Bring us home,” Merle says, and shoves the two of them towards the blackened cavern entrance. “Go!”

Lup tries to grab his hand but he shoves her away, and she and Barry take off running, bounding around projectiles with catlike grace as they move in sync, like they share the same body. She only looks back when their feet pass the threshold, and she sees Merle still standing there against the wall, watching them with a sad, relieved smile.

Another rock loosens. She hears the crack as it breaks away, but Lup turns before she can see where it lands.

82.

The night before the ritual, Merle takes the two of them aside.

“So,” he says. “You’re really going through with it.”

“Yeah, Merle,” says Lup. “We really are.”

He smiles, something tight and curling and frightened. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Lup smiles back. “Didn’t think so, but I had to ask.” He takes out his book, and both Barry and Lup frown in confusion as he flips it open to a familiar page. “One last time, for old time’s sake?”

They look at each other. “Why?” asks Barry. “Once we’re liches, I’m sure the spell will dissipate. I doubt it transfers between metaphysical bodies.”

Merle snorts out through his nose, then turns his head away, rubbing one heel of his hand against his cheek, just above the tufts of his white beard. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.” His voice goes husky near the middle, but he refinds its center before he turns back to them. “But this is what I can do, so if there’s even a chance that’ll it’ll help…”

“Then we’ll take it,” Lup says, grabbing Merle’s hand before he can close the book. “Shit. Thank you.”

“Thanks for what? I haven’t done nothing yet.”

“For everything.” She swallows. “For everything. And if this doesn’t work-”

“Lup-“ Barry warns.

“If this doesn’t work,” Lup continues. “I just need you to know that. Alright? You did everything you could.”

“What are you talking about?” Merle laughs. “Of course it’s going to work. I’ve done it five times now. Have a little more faith.” He looks at Lup, and she looks at him, and their shared gaze is warm, and understanding. “So don’t you worry, I’m going to take good care of both of you. That’s my job.”

“Thanks, Merle,” Barry says, echoing loops words, and Merle’s wobbling tone.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this.” He takes both their hands and places them on top of the book. “By the powers vested in me…”

Merle’s words fade out as Barry looks at Lup. Her brilliant eyes meet his, and even as the warmth swells, the look they share is one of farewell.

No matter what happens tomorrow, this’ll be the last time they share this.

But no matter what happens, they’re going to be together.

Come hell or high water, he’s never going to leave her alone again.

~&$(No DATE given@(*#

It’s cold up here, in the sky.

Barry wraps his jacket around Lup’s shoulders, and she leans in under his arm, swinging her legs to keep warm, or just to keep moving. Her bare feet flicker as the lights below pass by – a sparkling metropolis by the sea, and they can see it all from their perch on the last metal outcropping of the base: Neverwinter, in all its evening glory. After everything, impossibly, safe and sound.

Lup slides a little farther, sticking her big toe out as far as she can reach it, and suddenly the entire foot becomes buoyant, like it weighs nothing at all. Lup giggles at the sudden loss of gravity, and Barry redoubles his grip on the fluttering pages in his lap.

It figures, that Lucretia would have still had these. If there’s one thing she takes seriously, it’s her paperwork.

“What do’ya think?” Lup says. “If I spit, do you think it would hit someone, or would it just burn up in the atmosphere?” Before he gets a chance to answer, she hocks a loogie and lets it fly. They both watch the orb of spit vanish into the frosty air.

“It’s more likely that it’ll find its way back around the moon and land on someone up here.”

“Even better.” Lup grins, and Barry pulls her in all the tighter.

He’s missed this.

He’s missed so much, and this most of all.

“This feels silly,” he admits, shuffling through the papers. “I don’t even know why Lucretia wanted them in the first place. It’s not like we even officially exist anymore. Nobody’s going to come checking to see if our personnel records are up to date.”

“Yeah, but what Luce wants, Luce gets,” and there’s a bite to the words that wasn’t there before, and the air gets a little colder, and he shivers for the both of them.

Even with so many things mended, there are some they can’t undo.

Still, Lup’s voice softens as she takes the first page and holds it up to the light of the second moon, the real moon. “You sure you don’t want one last ceremony? Just for old times’ sake?”

He chuckles, imagining Merle’s face if they asked. “I’m good. All I want is you, at my side, forever and always.”

“That’s some corny shit, Bluejeans.” He shrugs, and she tucks her feet back up under her. “But you know I love it.” She puts the page back down onto the pile and pulls a pen out from behind her ear, then passes it to Barry. “So, what do you say? Will you make me an honest woman, officially?”

In every lifetime, in every moment, past and present, his answer has never changed.

“Yes. I will.”

He takes the pen and scribbles his name down on the dotted line, then passes the pen back. Lup adds her own signature to the other, and they both sit back, staring at the blocky letters of script at the top of the page.

Certificate of Marriage

No ceremony, no warmth, no mystical connection. They set the papers aside and kiss under the lights from above and below, and it’s only them, and that’s plenty. That’s all they need to be.

Forever and always, connected.

#taz #taz balance #taz fic #blupjeans #barry bluejeans #lup #my writing #i started this fic all the way back in 2018 #it feels wonderful to finally finish it #even if it's been a while since i've listened to balance these characters still have my heart

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