#so all he has to really do is deal with normal domestic village life

[xxxevilfilms]

Burn The Groove To Death

Info: It's Valentine’s Day and Chaos decides it's time to take his relationship with Giovanna to the next level.

Warnings For: Branding, Noncon, Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Yandere(?), Dirty Talk, General Ickiness

As I said in my last post, yandere Chaos is best Chaos. Please heed the warnings, I don't write anything wholesome, and this is definitely something no one with a weak constitution should read. This is from my kinktober/one-shot series on my ao3. Actual fic is under the cut!

Chaos loved Giovanna. She wasn’t the most affectionate woman in the world, but Chaos loved her all the same. She had her quirks like any other girl, and in spite of her lack of affection and inability to express her own love for him, Chaos took her intractability in stride and did whatever he could to support his...girlfriend?

Wife?

Lover?

Fuck it, might as well call her his wife. It’s not like she’s going anywhere anytime soon.

The shopkeepers, neighbors, and gardeners who lived in the quaint little mountain village he’s settled into refer to her as his wife and in turn refer to Chaos as a good husband, a dutiful provider who has done a phenomenal job tending to his wife’s needs and wants. Giovanna doesn’t say anything when she hears the praise the townsfolk give to Chaos and his actions, opting to stay silent and look away whenever his name falls off their ignorant tongues. That was the most she did in public though; at home, she was much worse. Giovanna wasn’t the most demonstrative of the love Chaos was sure she held for him and liked to chew him out or sneak up on him with a weapon of her own choosing when she was really mad. Thankfully he was always able to shut her down quickly before she or that mangy dog of hers could do too much damage. 

It was honestly quite funny. A normal man would toss their girl out in a heartbeat for such awful behavior, but Chaos, in his insanity, loved it; he loved his unruly baby and the eternal flame that burned bright behind those gorgeous cerulean depths of her. He so desperately wanted to smother it and turn Giovanna into the proper whore wife she’s destined to become, what he’s written out for her in his metaphorical synopsis. She was a mulish, fierce little bitch that Chaos found great joy breaking down. For the longest time, he’s wanted to go further, watch her crack and split like a dead leaf as he fucked, beat, and spat the fear of God into her very being, but he was never sure how to do that until now.

He always enjoyed the concept of Valentine’s Day despite its vapidness. Dedicating an entire twenty-four hours of life to your lover was a saccharine concept, but Chaos appreciated the idea. Some couples were simply too busy with their individual schedules to spend time with one another, so to invent a holiday where you’re forced to acknowledge your significant other’s presence regardless of how you truly feel about them was an ingenious design in spite of the pallid, sentimental shroud that blankets the holiday. He wanted to give Giovanna that experience, force her to notice him, accept him, take him, and remember him not just for one day, but for the rest of her natural-born life.

It was like a light bulb went off in his head when he saw the Valentine’s Day deals that were pasted on the walls and windows of flower shops and bakeries, and Chaos refused to let that bulb burn out and die. He instead threw on his best clothes, visited the finest florists and hardware stores in town, and bought Giovanna a bouquet of beautiful pink azaleas and what might as well be her engagement ring.

After cruising through town for his “wife’s” gifts, Chaos finally returns to the cabin he kept Giovanna in and quickly opens the door to greet her with presents in hand. Upon entering their home, he sees Giovanna gazing longingly out the window, her eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling in disgust when she notices his presence. She doesn’t even bother meeting his gaze and keeps her eyes trained on the blowing leaves and trembling branches of the trees outside.

“Hey there, doll face.” He greeted airily, the older man nudging his face into her own once he was close to her. “Someone’s a little grouchy, huh? Lighten up, hon, it’s Valentine’s.”

Giovanna says nothing for a time.

“You reek...”

“Must be my cologne. I heard chicks dig natural musk.”

The former secret service agent sighed and tried turning her back towards him, but was halted by Chaos’ hand shooting to her shoulder.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait up a second, okay?” He uses his strength to turn her toward him, so she can see the expensive dress shirt, slacks, suspenders, and overcoat that he stole from some luxury outlet store. “Don’t you wanna see what I got you?”

Crossing her arms, Giovanna takes in the assortment of pretty flowers cradled by Chaos’ thick arm and the brown bag tucked under its twin. It made her scoff and finally decide to indulge in the man once it became apparent that he was serious.

“Fine, I’ll bite,” She rolled her eyes. “The hell is this?”

“Flowers. Azaleas, tiger lilies, and uh...some other fuckin’ thing I can’t remember.” He handed, or rather forced, the bouquet into Giovanna’s arm and flashed her a mad grin. “But they’re pretty though, yeah? Pretty flowers for my pretty baby.”

“Keep your damn weeds...” Giovanna grimaced at the bouquet in her hands before promptly shoving it back into Chaos’ arms. “I don't care what you do, I'm not falling for it."

"Ooh, that's not nice, doll. You really gonna be like that after I dump all this money on you?" He then laughed and asked, "Someone's getting a bit spoiled, ain't she?"

"Leave me alone," Giovanna bit back. "Why don't you fuck off back to the florist and return them then?"

"C’mon, baby. Chill it with the histrionics, you don’t wanna play this game, do you?" Chaos asked, the lilt in his voice so chipper it made Giovanna tremble like a bursting volcano. "I wanna treat you good tonight, doll, don't be like this. This ain’t no way for a wife to treat her husband last time I checked."

The utterance of such a title was enough to send her over the edge. Her nostrils flared while the bind on her forehead shifted from pale brown to bright red as brilliant green fur began manifesting behind her right shoulder.

Chaos responded accordingly. 

The bouquet falls to the floor in a heap when Chaos’s hand flies to Giovanna’s scalp, his long fingers weaving themselves into his wife’s auburn locks to yank her to the floor before she could summon Rei. Giovanna screamed and clawed at his wrist in response, manicured nails trying their hardest to render Chaos’ flesh as she’s dragged across the floor and through the hallway by her captor so he could take her to their bedroom. He chuckled at her struggle as he fought through the pinpricks of pain that she scratched into his skin. She was feisty today, and he liked it when she was feisty.

"I'm not and I'll never be your damn wife!" She shouted. "So unless you want to get splattered on a wall again, get out of my--”

“Man, Gio, you just love stirring me up, huh? Just love causing trouble for yourself? Man, it’s almost like you hate me or something!” Letting out a barely restrained cackle, Chaos hoists Giovanna to her feet so he can throw her on the bed. For the briefest moments, the apostle watches the younger woman scramble against the sheets to clutch her stinging scalp but halts any further movement from her by summoning a magical incantation that bounds her wriggling limbs to her sides. Giovanna growls, spits, and curses at Chaos like a wounded animal soon after, her creased brows and rictus grimace prompting Chaos to grab the brown paper bag that was stuffed under his arm and present its contents to her.

“Well, I think you’ll find a reason to hate me in a second...” Chaos ogled her squirming figure as he fetched for the heavy piece of iron and steel that sat prone in the bag. “Hell, you might even wanna kill me after you see this one, baby...”

Chaos sees Giovanna’s angry eyes tremble with fear when she sees him pull out a long and solid hunk of metal that measures over a foot long, topped with a near-perfect iron casting of the emblem imprinted onto Chaos’ chest.

Like the smart girl she is, Giovanna instantly recognizes what it is Chaos holds in his hand and visibly pales at what he has in mind for her.

“What the actual fuck is that...!?” She screamed out. “Get that shit away from, or I swear to fucking God, Kurt...!”

“What? Think of it as your wedding ring. I think it’s time we made this shit official, hon.” Chaos reassured. “Now on your belly, it won’t hurt as bad if I sear it on your ass.”

“No, no ! Get the fuck off me!”Giovanna fights against the invisible restraints that tie her limbs down but is helpless to Chaos’ ministrations. He flips her over, adjusts her legs so that she’s kneeling into the mattress with her ass in the air, and wastes no time dipping his fingers into the waistband of her sweats to pull them down to the backs of her knees. Giovanna cries out and squirms with all her might to get out from under her captor, but is given a smack on her left ass cheek when she tries.

“You should’ve been an actress, baby. I swear, the theatrics you pull off are a riot,” Chaos summons a small blue ball of burning hot fire from his hand to hold it up to the brand. “But you gotta stop moving, hon. The last thing we need is this fucker getting on your face.”

 “I knew you were crazy, but fucking hell...!” Giovanna yelled into the sheets. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, alright? Spoil me, pamper me, do whatever the fuck you want, but please, Kurt, not this shit!”

“I know I was being a bitch, we can talk this out, right? I’m sorry, I really am, I just get a little stir-crazy when you’re out for too long!” She’s on the verge of hyperventilating when sweltering heat radiating from the brand warms her sweating skin. “Come the fuck ON , Kurt! I don’t wanna fucking do this with you!”

“Eh? I am spoiling you, doll, what are you talking about?” He watched the brand’s iron glow bright orange from the fire while he tutted at his wife’s behavior. “I’m not kidding when I say this is your wedding ring. An eternal declaration of my love to you, a symbol of my dedication to our relationship, and uh...whatever else I saw in that shitty Hallmark card.” Once the brand began glowing red, Chaos took it off the fire and extinguished the flame before sitting back on his calves to get a good look at his wife’s big plump ass. Giovanna visibly shakes and shudders like a leaf when the sound of fire crackling against turgid metal ceases and pleads to Chaos again for mercy.

“Oh yeah, lemme hear you beg, baby,” Chaos moved the brand closer to her sweating skin and simpered evilly. “Lemme hear it.”

Giovanna pleaded more as the tears she tried holding back fell freely down her cheeks, but her pleas are silenced when Chaos finally held the brand to her left buttock.

The scream that left her soon after made him hard as a rock.

A long, broken, blood-curdling wail erupted from Giovanna’s throat when the brand made contact with her rear. Her skin sizzles and crackles under the heat of the iron’s weight, the metal making quick work of her ass by burning its emblem into her taut flesh with the help of its sadistic owner. Giovanna instinctively tried scrambling away from her crazed “husband” by waggling her hips as hard as she could but is stopped by Chaos who grabs the back of her neck and holds her down so he could press the brand harder into her buttock as punishment. Smoke quickly billowed around her burn the longer he forces the iron into her abused flesh, the pressure and pain ripping another fresh scream from Giovanna that sends a jolt straight to his cock. The fat of her ass jiggles and squishes around the iron’s deathly hot surface so prettily, Chaos entertains the thought of fucking her while he burns her ass to a crisp, but decides against it for now. Right now he wants to savor the moment, savor the thrill that came with forcing his gorgeous wife to take his “love,” and quickly praises her resilience by whispering honeyed poison into her ears.

“Feels good, don’t it, Gio? You're taking this fucking thing so good, how bout I give you a matching set, right on the other cheek, eh?" He jostled the brand against her flesh then to tease the idea, making her cry more.

"G-Get the f-fuck off of me NOW , Kurt...!" She wept. "It fucking hurts, it hurts so fucking much! Just stop it already!"

"I know, baby, I know, but just a little longer, yeah? Doing so good for me, can't wait to dick that sweet cunt down after we're done." He cooed sweetly. "Then I’ll clean ya up and you'll have a fresh new tat to show off... Well to me at least. We wouldn’t want any scum-sucking degenerates to see this beauty on ya!”

Chaos lets the brand linger on her burnt flesh for a moment longer before deciding to finally take it off. Giovanna belted out a strangled groan when he does, the younger woman unable to do much but lay there and shake her ass in the air in a desperate bid to give it some relief. As she snivels from the pain, Chaos ogles the heart-shaped charr mark he left in Giovanna’s flesh to admire the weeping flesh and ruptured blisters that marred her flawless brown skin. Chaos liked what he saw and whistled at the sight before bending over to give her wound a reverent kiss, his tongue catching the distinct taste of burnt meat on his lips when Giovanna twitched violently at the touch.

“So pretty, baby girl... Even better than the flowers I got ya,” He smirked from ear to ear and then sat up to fuss with the buckle keeping his slacks up. “Almost too pretty...” Uncinching his belt and pulling down his fly, Chaos frees his heavy cock from the confines of his dress pants to grip it in his hand and hold it over Giovanna’s sex. “That’s so goddamn hot, holy fuck...”

“Nngh...” Too exhausted to fight, Giovanna lets Chaos spit on his hand and rub her cunt with his fingers to lubricate her, her red eyes closing and voice catching in her sore throat when she felt the older man push in. She grunts and groans during it all, unable to fight and unable to push him away, and Chaos revels in the mess he’s made of her by tracing his thumb over the fresh brand on her ass again. Giovanna shrieked and then wished death upon him for that, but the empty threat and the sight of his “heart” on her flesh only makes Chaos fuck her harder, harder and faster like the slut he wants her to be.

“Now you’re my wife not only in name but in body, too...” He breathed out, pace unfaltering and breath already labored. “I love you, baby, I fucking love you and this tight hot cunt...”

Giovanna doesn’t say anything and opts to wait for Chaos to finish by closing her eyes and giving in to the exhaustion that quickly overwhelms her body.

#guilty gear #dead dove do not eat #evilfics #happy chaos #ggst #giovanna guilty gear #yandere

[yi-dashi-a]

Some Rambling on a ‘No Wuju Cleansing During the War’ Timeline

//Funnily enough, I feel like the nature of Yi’s angst wouldn’t change too much in the end if Wuju was to survive the war intact. Wuju would still exist in occupied lands supposedly, so they would still be suppressed in that way. They wouldn’t have influence anymore but, in accordance with the headcanon, internal volatility of the hierarchy would probably still manage to pull Wuju apart.

Some stipulations just to start with. There would be three major players in Wuju in a post war Ionia: Yi himself, his crippled and deteriorating Father, and his exiled Grandfather who secretly pulls strings to buy for power. Yi’s disciples would presumably all still die during the war, as that is described as happening before the cleansing of Wuju. Some of Grandpapa’s Wuju Swordsmen might be dead, because they ended up joining the war effort, but I’m going to assume that at least one or two survive just because they’re Wuju Masters in their own rights.

And whether or not Yi actively defends his village from the Melters or if they just simply didn’t attack in this AU, I feel it’s safe to assume that Yi would have still ended up back in occupied Shon-Xan. This timeline also assumes that Yi’s Grandfather doesn’t still commit suicide upon seeing the encroaching armies, though in my mind I feel like this would still happen. Perhaps below I’ll discuss both possibilities, but the one where he lives seems much more interesting to me. Already there are a lot of variations. I suppose that’s what happens when you have a lot of headcanons.

Primarily, Yi would take up a roll as a resistance fighter, and I can see him being very loud about it. This in of itself might cause Wuju to get cleansed later on in the timeline, and then Yi would proceed like in canon but a few years later than normal. If the Noxians continue to only take offense with Yi, then I suspect that Yi would end up being captured or killed in some capacity. As strong as he is, he took many of Shon-Xan’s greatest warriors with him to war, and came back alone. Unless he spent the time to quietly open up the Wuju School for free, or soldiers had trained in his absence and didn’t end up going to war, he would go on as a one man army against Noxus. This of course either results in Shon-Xan gaining independence, or Yi being squashed. I feel as if in lands that are firmly occupied, Yi has a lot more of a chance to get squashed and made an example out of.

For the safety of his family he may even go into hiding, and then his lore would continue as it is in canon. Wukong would then be his right hand man in a continued resistance, though again for the safety of his family he might think it better off if Wu and Yi eventually left Shon-Xan to fight the resistance elsewhere. Once again, the canon and headcanon timeline would be preserved somewhat

Some time during Yi’s freedom fighting however, Yi’s mother would still be growing elderly. Her death would be the catalyst that would tear Wuju down from the inside. Silently afraid of her magical powers, Yi’s Grandpapa would take the opportunity to swoop down and try to usurp the position of Head of School from Yi’s Papa, potentially killing the crippled man in the process. Grandpapa then becomes the first Wuju Practitioner to hold the title of Yi Wushi twice in his life.

If Grandpapa is dead however, Yi’s father might petition somehow for Yi to return to the Wuju village in order to complete his training. Yi’s father, existing in pain mostly because of a spinal injury, would do his best to teach Yi in the final Wuju techniques. He would then cease to practice Wuju, thereby ceasing his agelessness, and he might pass on in the years that follow in order to, what he would no doubt say, ‘Ride up North to see my love again...’

But back to Grandpapa being alive. Plenty of things could happen then. He’d most certainly try to gather up his family and try to teach the youngest children, his great, and great-great grandchildren, in Wuju; stealing them from their mothers and indoctrinating them under his near perfected cult like techniques at this point. He’d also petition for another wife, though in this new occupied Shon-Xan it might not be as easy to just pay a dowry. If Noxian law is enacted in the land, he may find it extremely difficult to do things as he once did them centuries ago, possibly resulting in an escalation of his behaviors and him taking a wife by force. And, if the Cabal still wants Wuju gone at this point, he may have to contend with being sniped at distance, though I wouldn’t be surprised if assassination came in other forms.

Noxians might take offense to his proclamations that he owns the land, and he may be slain in a standoff with them. It’s either that or he once again encourages the Noxians to ethnically cleanse Wuju at an even later date, though that’s about as far as I can speculate without branching off too far. Grandpapa would at least expect to outlive the Noxian occupation, so maybe that alone might stay his hand and keep him on the down low until his grandson’s freedom fighting efforts were successful.

That is until news reaches Yi and he finds out that not only his mother has passed on, but that his father was murdered. If he hasn’t been assassinated at this point, or squashed by Noxians as described before, then it’s back to the Wuju Lands for Yi. I don’t know who would win in a fight to the death between Yi and his Grandpapa, though I want to tend to the side of Grandpapa, with his centuries of experience under his belt and his own students. If Yi won though, then once again Yi would almost be in the position that the canon has him in.

He would be Master Yi, but he wouldn’t have been trained to fulfill that roll. No one would be left alive to teach him the remaining techniques or stories he didn’t know, and he’d be left, perhaps still in occupied Shon-Xan, to try and reconstruct Wuju on his own. Of course he would have his aging sisters, their children, and their grandchildren to help him figure it out, but it would be a rough climb for Wuju from there. Once again, there are also assassins to contend with.

Overall, the way I paint Wuju in headcanon is that it was basically destined to fall down in the state that it was in, which is how I rationalize how powerful, ageless swordsmen just kind of rolled over and died during the war. In this version of things however, Yi is just a bit older, more jaded, yet at least somewhat hopeful that he has time to change things in this AU. I’m honestly unsure, however, if this turn of events is actually better for him as a person in the end.

#GOGGLES OFF 『ooc』 #YOU WISH TO LEARN THE HARD WAY I SEE 『Headcanon Essays』 #AU talk #it's all very interesting #more interesting even than the already standing War Vet Comes Home AU where Shon-Xan is defended by Yi #so all he has to really do is deal with normal domestic village life #tw #trigger warning #tw: suicide mention

[forever-rogue]

Stutter Something Profound

A/N: Y’all wanted part 2, so you get part 2 with some sub!Din! It did get a little soft, I might add, but enjoy! Happy Valentine’s Day from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) -  oral (m and f receiving, unprotected sex, etc...)

DOUSE THE LIGHTS (PART 1)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Quiet down,” Din’s voice was sharp and biting as your brow furrowed and you turned to him with a look of confusion marring your features.

“I didn’t say a word,” you huffed in response as you turned your attention back to the little bean sitting across the cold, metallic floor from you. His favorite little ball was in his tiny hands as the two of you rolled it back and forth to each other. You’d been stuck in hyperspace for some time, and there really wasn’t much else to do. It was like the Mandalorian - Din,  you reminded yourself - refused to have even a modicum of fun. He’d been even more quiet and stoic than normal recently. 

Ever since - 

“Yes, you did,” he turned his head sharply, surely almost breaking his neck as he turned to look at the two of you from the captain’s seat. You quirked a brow in question before gesturing between yourself and the small child. He huffed sharply through his nose, the sound a loud, bitter thing as it reverberated off the walls, “keep it down.”

“That’s what I thought we were doing,” you snapped back before rolling your eyes and turning back to your small compatriot. He cooed gently before smiling and taking the ball as you rolled it back to him. You couldn’t help but smile at the little one; he always had the best and most calming aura about him. Before you could stop yourself, under your breath you murmured, “maybe you just need to calm down a little.”

"Excuse me?" oh. You just knew there was a scowl on his face, those plush lips pulled in a frown. Maker, those lips, delicious and soft, has been all over your body, mapping and marking almost every single inch of skin. You'd been thinking about them ever since that night - his touch, his taste, his feel. All of it.

Nothing had been the same since. 

And yet nothing had changed.

"You heard me, Din," it was the first time you'd used his name since that night. It was a challenge as much as a question. It was silent, almost dead silent, as he slowly rose to his full height. He presented an impressive sight, covered in gleaming beskar, as his chest rose and fell steadily. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stepped closer, each footfall loud and purposeful. Shit, shit, shit. You’d fucked up and this was it. You were always pushing and pushing and pushing, and you’d finally pushed enough. Maybe he’d reached his limit. 

He came over to you and slowly crouched down, predatory in every way, reaching over and taking your chin in his gloved hand as you turned your face up to meet his own. You were left breathless as you stared back into the black T of his visor, wishing you could see the expression in his eyes, “are you telling me what to do?”

Part of you wanted to remain small and shrink away, but another part of you, this one was feeling particularly strong in the moment and there was no holding it down, “yes.”

“Uh huh honey,” he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip causing you to part them slightly, “you sure about that?”

“Y-yes,” your head was already spinning with all sorts of thoughts and fantasies. He dipped his finger slightly into your mouth and you had to resist the urge to suck on it.  But then you remembered - you remembered what you had told him last time. As you laid in his arms and made a promise that you planned on making good on, “yes. I am, Din.”

“Hmmm,” it was a soft gentle growl as he released your chin and stepped back, standing up again. Your heart was fluttering wildly as he walked towards the ladder, to head down, “we’ll be on Sorgan soon. Keep him with you.”

You waited until he was gone and thoroughly disappeared before hanging your head and sighing shakily. Before you could get too caught up in your head, a small bit of laughter and gentle cooing captured your attention. You looked up and found your little friend grinning at you, his little teeth on display as he made grabby hands for the small metal ball. 

“Of course, my sweet bean,” you smiled fondly at him, giving him what he wanted, “anything for you. At least one of my boys isn’t being a Mr. Grumpy Boots!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is Sorgan?” you asked softly as you held the little one in your arms, already falling behind Din as made it a point to stop and study your surroundings. It was a beautiful place, lush and green and teaming with the sounds of all sorts of animals in the distance. He made a small noncommittal sound without so much as looking back at you. You rolled your eyes at him before sticking out your tongue and blowing a quiet raspberry, causing the little one to giggle. It appeared that he still wasn’t over being grumpy, and you were sure that he was still sour over your little outburst. 

You remained quiet as you followed after him, deciding that it was best not to push his buttons. Although you weren’t so concerned with the possibility of what he would do. You knew that he wasn’t going to abandon you in some remote part of the galaxy as you once had feared; no, perhaps he’d even give you another...punishment like he had previously.

But you weren’t sure he ever would mention again. You’d wanted to bring it up, desperately so, but you just...didn’t quite know how. The morning after you’d woken up a few times only to find yourself still wrapped up in his arms, resting your head on his chest as he snored lightly. When you’d gone to get up for the day at hand, he was long gone, already dressed and going about business as usual.

You'd tried not to be upset, not to let it get it to you...but kriff. It was a one time deal but Maker, you wished it weren't. But who were you to question and interrogate him on the matter? Besides the words that needed to be exchanged, or your little altercation earlier, he'd avoided you like the plague. It was even worse than being stranded in the most desolate desert in the outer rim.

"Keep up," he called over your shoulder as you realized you'd been caught up on your myriad of daydreams and fallen far behind. You huffed as you picked up the pace to keep up with his long strides, "we're almost there."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost there ended up being another half hour of trekking through the woods until you reached the small village that served as your destination. Part of you had been tempted to complain, but the other half was thrilled to be able to get out and stretch your legs and see something other than metallic walls or dirt and decay. The air was fresh and light, doing wonders for your spirit and lungs. The little one seemed to be enjoying everything as much as you were - his eyes were wide and curious and as he studied the new surroundings. At the sight of a few butterflies, he reached out to try and capture one, almost tumbling out of your arms at one point. Giggling, you slowed your pace and set him on the forest floor, letting him follow behind the two of you all while keeping a close eye on him.

Eventually, the sounds of life - children’s laughter, animals, and animated chatter met your ears and you found yourself in a picturesque, small village. You look at everything in awe as your green bean toddled over to the nearest group of children. Instinct took over and you moved over to grab him, but Din grabbed your arm and shook his head, as you frowned at him, “he’s fine. He knows them.”

“Okay,” you nodded, but nonetheless your guard was up. You were more protective over Din and the little one than anything else. If something happened to either one of them you didn’t know what you’d do. Din must have sensed your hesitation as he lightly put his hand on your arm and pulled you along with him. Nodding, you silently acquiesced to his request.

It was another short walk to the center of the town, where you spied a small group of people milling about, almost as if they were expecting them. Din gave them a nod, but kept you close at his side. 

“Mandalorian,” a beautiful woman with long hair walked over to the two of you as Din held his hand out to her but you stepped slightly behind him. She had a kind face and eyes, and you could tell she meant no ill will, "you've returned."

"As I said I would," he insisted as he shook her hand. Turning her attention to you, she looked you up and down, observing you with intense scrutiny, and yet you did not feel afraid. Whatever had happened between the two of them, you could tell she was looking out for him.

Holding out your own hand, you steeled yourself as you offered it to her and gave a kind smile accompanied by your name. 

"Omera," she had deemed you worthy of her name and seemingly her approval, "you're…"

"She's mine," he insisted sharply, causing both you and Omera to look at him in surprise. Inside, you were beaming and bursting with joy and pride at the surprising revelation. You weren't sure if it was purely situational or he had meant it as more - as what it was, but Maker - your face felt hot and knees weak. 

"She's your…"

"Mine," he repeated simply with a curt nod and an air of finality. His hand found the small of your back as you raised your eyebrows at the woman in shock, practically glowing from inside.

"Very well Mandalorian," the woman turned on her heel and motioned for the two of you to follow, "we're pleased to see you and the little one again. You may stay as long as you'd like; let me show your quarters."

Hesitating for a moment, you watched as the two of them started to walk away, leaving you behind. All of this seemed so surreal - domestic, uncomplicated, and...free. It almost felt surreal and you were afraid it would all end up being a dream. Too good to be true - a taste of what your life could be. Maybe...maybe one.

"Sweet girl," perking up at the use of the almost sacred nickname you caught his gaze. Holding out his hand to you, it wasn't but a mere moment before you took it, nervously - tentatively - and let him pull you towards his body. And then softly, almost as if it was just the two of you and not a whole gaggle of people around you, Din leaned in, "keep up."

What was even going on anymore? Surely this had to be a dream...but then again the warmth of his hand in yours was tangibly real. This was actually happening.

»»————-　♡　————-««

"This is it, huh?" looking around the small cabin, you quickly decided that you liked it. It was quaint and cozy and warm - everything that the Crest wasn't. Definitely something you would appreciate for a week or two and definitely something you would miss as soon as you left. The little one had been busy with his old friends, and Omera had graciously offered to take him for the night. As much as you both loved him, it was nice to have a little bit of time to yourselves.

"Not to your liking, princess?" his hands were on his hips as he watched you closely. It was teasing - lilting and with a small tone of amusement. Shaking your head you turned to him and offered a small smile, "you'll be comfortable here. Better than the ship and it'll give you an opportunity to stretch your legs."

"I like it," you agreed, "its nice to slow down for a change. Who knew you had a heart and a brain after all, Din?"

"Very funny, brat," the way you tingled at his use of the word was enough to render you speechless. He paused for a moment, thoughtful and quiet, "I don’t hate you, you know."

"Huh?" your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden declaration and the doe eyed look on your face enough to make his own cheeks tinge with a pink flush. Once again he was eternally thankful for the beskar helmet. He slowly reached up and grabbed your chin between his fingers as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I know I'm not always...the easiest to get along with," he all but whispered, "but I do appreciate you more than you know."

"Hmmm," your body was electric as his touch sent sparks down your spine, "I know, Din. I...fuck. I appreciate you too. I've been...thinking about you."

"Have you, naughty little thing?"

"Mhmm," you closed your eyes and keened into its touch, "ever since that night…"

"Then what do you want?" his voice was low - dangerous - as his hand tightened around your throat, squeezing ever so slightly. Your pupils were dilated, eyes practically black with lust as a small sound escaped your lips. How easy it would have been to give in and let him have his way with you, "tell me little brat. Use your words."

"You," it was almost a whimper as the heat pooled low in your belly and the delicious, tingling ache between your legs started. How easy that would be to let him use your for his (and your pleasure). Even within the thick haze of arousal, you reminded yourself of your promise.

He would be your good boy.

Almost out of nowhere, your hand was on his wrist, delicate compared to his large gloved one, and pulling him away from you. 

"What are you-"

"I'm in charge, Din Djarin," you reminded him, a surge of confidence running through your blood as desire seeped into every fiber of your beating. Your heart was beating wildly as you anticipated his reaction, treading carefully to make sure you didn't overstep any boundaries, "I made a promise last time and I don't break promises."

He chuckled - a dark, delicious sound that sparked pure fire in your bones. Instead of a smart remark for once he...acquiesced.

"Tell me what you do want."

"Strip," you echoed his words from the last time you'd found yourself in this position, "and get on your knees."

"As you wish,” he pulled back and started to slowly peel off his gloves, his gaze trained on you the entire time. You felt like a shy maiden, rather than a woman about to make a grown man cry, as a flush rose up in your neck and face; but you didn’t shift your gaze away.

Din made a show of pulling off each piece of armor, bit by Beskar bit, in painfully slow manner. The cocky Mandalorian knew exactly what he was doing. As soon as he was left in his underclothes, you could see that his cock was already painfully hard and straining at his trousers. A sense of pride welled up in your chest as you realized you were the cause of it all. Keeping the helmet on for the moment, his large hands skimmed the hem of his shirt as you almost lost your patience and tore it off for him. Languidly, methodically, he left the shirt up and tugged it over his head, letting it fall with an unceremonious small sound to the floor. 

He was beautiful - even more in the fading light of day than he had been in the dark. Tan, golden skin littered with freckles and scars came into view as your breath hitched in your throat. Maker. You bit your lip as he tilted his head to the side to gauge your reaction. Trying to play it cool, you motioned for him to continue his fingers trailed over the waistband of his pants. The dusting of dark hair that disappeared into his pants was enough to make your mouth water as you remembered the promise it held. 

Din popped open the button and slowly unzipped his pants before tugging his pants down his legs and kicked them off along with his boots. Apparently you weren’t the only one getting impatient. Making a small, musing sound in the back of your throat you walked over to him, admiring his beauty - and his hard cock that was already leaking fat beads of pre-cum. Smirking, you trailed a hand down his warm skin, raking your nails over it as you pressed a few lazy kisses along his broad shoulders. You were almost positive that you could hear a small sigh leave his lips. 

“You are beautiful, Din Djarin,” you murmured as you pressed featherlight kisses to his neck, noting that he swallowed thickly, “it’s a shame no one sees - but a privilege to have you at my mercy.”

Before letting him get a word in edgewise, you went over to the windows and made sure everything was tightly closed and curtains were drawn before turning off the bedside lamps. There was almost no light left in the small room, save for the candle near the door; just enough to get by but not enough to actually see anything. Flouncing back over to Din, his large, warm hands found purchase on your waist as you reached up and tentatively rested your hands on the side of his helmet. 

“Do you trust me, Din?” you whispered, a far cry from how domineering you intended on being. His hands circled around your wrist as he offered you a soft nod. You lifted your hands up, along with his as you pulled off the beskar and gently set it down along with the rest of his armor. 

When he was fully stripped, a sharp contrast to you being fully clothed, he immediately tried to crash his lips onto yours to kiss you; a hungry, feverish thing. You smirked against his lips before quickly pulling away and placing a finger on his lips and shaking your head, “no, no, no honey. Not yet.”

“Brat-”

“Hmmm,” your hands went to his shoulders as you pushed him down and onto his knees, “it seems to me like you’re the one not listening. Won’t you be a good boy, Din?” 

Knowing what you wanted immediately, his hands went to your waist as he undid your pants and pushed them to the ground, helping you to step out of them. You knew normally he would have argued with you or something but today something was different; almost like you had him under some sort of spell. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured as his hands ran up your thighs, stopping to paw at your bum and giving it a good squeeze, pulling a squeal of delight from your lips. He chuckled against your skin, placing kisses along your thighs and hips before working over to your mound. Running a finger through your already soaked folds, he gathered some of the your arousal before it in his mouth and sucking it clean, “like fucking candy.”

“Din,” it was a herculean task not to completely surrender control to him and have his face. He hummed in content as he nudged your legs further apart and you could feel his breath fanning against your warm, wet center. Carding a hand through his dark locks, you gently yanked his head away, “we don’t have to do this…”

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he rasped as you nodded slowly, “I can handle it  - whatever you want.”

His gentle reassurance was enough to get you back on your game as you brought his face to your core, where you were getting desperate for his touch, “eat it.”

Warm hands anchored themselves to your hips as he buried his face in between your thighs, licking up your soaked folds like a starving man. It was such an unexpected, pleasant rush that you almost lost your balance as you braced yourself against the wall. A small whimper escaped your lips as Din continued to lap at you, his aquiline nose nudged against your clit. For all the talents this man had, eating pussy was definitely one of them. 

“Kriff,” it wasn’t long before your legs started to shake as the pleasure in your belly grew and grew and threatened to snap. He was not shy or soft spoken as he murmured filthy praises against your heat as he licked and suckled on your clit and folders before plunging his tongue into your velvety walls. He was quick to balance you as you almost staggered forward, “Din…”

“So good,” he praised as he reached up and added two thick fingers to his ministrations, curling them in a come hither motion as he quickly found your sweet - the one that made you see absolute stars. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt nothing but warmth radiate throughout your body and pressed his face firmly against you. You felt the vibrations of his chuckle as he continued on, just a little further and harder until you were over the edge. A large hand had snaked up your body to cup and squeeze your breasts through your shirt as you keened into him.

This time you didn’t even bother to hold back your mewls and moan as you came all over his tongue and fingers. Making a sound of approval, he worked you through your orgasm until you were a shaking, whining mess above him. His name came off your tongue in reverence as he stabilized you and lapped up every last bit of your arousal. 

“Maker,” you finally managed to catch your breath after a few minutes as you pulled out of his grasp and helped him to his feet. In the soft candlelight you could see your juices glistening on his face. Unable to stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck and crashed your lips onto his, kissing him in a fervent tangle of tongue and teeth. He responded eagerly, taking his time to taste you and explore your mouth as your wicked hands roamed his body. Din almost choked on a moan as you grabbed his weeping cock in your hand, coating it in the reminder of your wetness. A smile grew on your face as you pulled back and looked at him innocently, “good boy, Din. It must be painful, huh? To be this hard and have no relief? Do you want me to make it better?”

“Mouth,” it was a soft whisper -  a plea, “use your mouth.”

“Hmm,” you mused as you continued to stroke his length, noting how he seemed to thrust into your hand more with each passing second, “I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet.”

A mess of sounds, guttural and visceral, met your arms as you played with him before massaging his balls just to push him as far as he could go. It wasn’t only before you felt him twitch in your hand and could hear the struggle as he tried not to come in your hand.

“Sweet girl,” he stammered out as he closed his eyes in bliss; but you beat him to the punch and pulled your hand away, creating a painstaking distance between your bodies. He hissed at the loss of contact and his orgasm as you ripped your shirt and bra off, letting the offending articles join the heap of his clothing, “fuck!”

“I told you that you hadn’t earned it yet,” you reminded him with a saccharine smile, “only good boys get to cum.”

“I am going to-”

“Get on the bed and lie on your back,” you insisted sharply. He huffed sharply before marching over and getting on top of the plush blankets. Looking around for a moment, you knew exactly what you were searching for, hoping you hadn’t misplaced the crimson silk fabric. After a few moments of digging, you made a small noise of triumph as you found the object of your affection. Walking back over with a sway of your lips, you displayed the fabric to him, “hands up and behind your head.”

“What are you doing?” it was a tone of wonder and amusement as you raised an eyebrow and hoped he was able to see it.

“You’re not allowed to use your hands,” you grinned as you stole a kiss before grabbing his wrists in your hands, “no touching, Din. Not until I say so.”

The Mandalorian  - your Mandalorian - grunted as you threaded the fabric through the headboard and secured his wrists. It wasn’t necessarily a strong, tight hold, but it was enough to get your point across. No touching. Din could have easily broken through the thin fabric, but he wasn’t going to try again - he was going to be a good boy.

"What are you going to do sweet girl?" he asked as you spread your legs on either side of his hips, your wetness brushing the soft curls of his pubic hair. Grinning almost sinfully, you grabbed his jaw and turned his face towards, only making out the highs and lows of his features. Leaning down you kissed him, chasing after his lips with your own.

"Have my way with you," you whispered as you kissed the shell of his ear before working along his jaw and neck, making it a point to nip and suck at the delicate skin. And then, as you reached the hollow of his throat and placed a chaste kiss there, he practically whimpered, "oh, my sweet boy."

Din tugged lightly on the restraints, enough to shake the headboard slightly, but not enough to do anything. Shimmying down his body you tenderly touched and kissed every part of his body making sure each little freckle and mark and scar were given attention. The man practically melted under your touch; no one had ever given him this type of love and attention before. In the past it had all been either sloppy blowjobs or quick fucks; it had never mattered about him or the other person before, the only end game was release. But this...this was different. Delicate, gentle - caring.

Kissing along the V of his abdomen before nosing along his soft pubic hair, your raked your nails up and down his legs.

"When's the last time someone loved you, Din Djarin?" it was a hushed whisper, one you really expected an answer to you, but Din had almost inhumanly adept hearing - perks of a lifetime as a bounty hunter.

"Never."

"Well I do," it was an easy confession that startled both of you. You had meant it as both a I'm going to love you just now and I'm in love with you all at once. But that was something to be delved further into another time, "I do very much."

Before he could say anything else, you licked a long stripe up his shaft. His reaction was immediate as he bucked his hips up causing you to just push them back down. Laughing lightly, you tutted at him before taking him in your mouth - as much as you anyway. He was big and it did take some effort to get as much of him as possible. 

It wasn't long before he was writhing under you as you licked and sucked him to an inch of his life. Making a point to hollow your cheeks and be noisy, you played with balls as you pushed him closer and closer to his release. Your mouth was already costing with your spit and his salty pre-cum and his cock twitched in your mouth. Just before he came, you pulled off of him and say back on your haunches watching his chest rise and fall rapidly.

"I was almost-"

"I know," it was a sticky sweet answer as you ghosted a hand over his body. Your hand found its way around his throat as you squeezed; more intensity than he had applied to you, but not enough to hurt, "tell me, sweet boy, are you going to let me sit on your face?”

“Use me,” he insisted as you kissed your way up his body and stopped at his lips and captured them in a searing kiss. His were perfect against yours - soft, full, and plush. Before getting too lost in his kiss, you positioned yourself over his face, and his eager hands tried to reach for you, only to find out that he couldn’t. A small groan of frustration left his lips as you grinned and ran a hand through his dark curls, “sweet girl.”

“Use your mouth, Din,” you braced yourself on the headboard as you lowered yourself down to meet his mouth. If you had thought he was eager before, you were sorely mistaken. The man in question lapped at your freshly soaked folds like it was the last thing he would ever do. His nose was perfect against your sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue delved into you and caused you to cry out in pleasure. Seeming satisfied with his work, you felt him grin against you, his beard tickled you in all the best ways, “fuck. So good - so, so good.”

“Sweet girl,” he murmured against your skin as you felt yourself melt into a puddle of jelly. His praise along with this ministrations was enough to have you seeing stars as you closed your eyes and felt that familiar coil start to snap in your belly. Rocking against his face, he picked up his pace until you were just about to cum again, but instead of letting your orgasm fully wash over you, you pulled back and moved off of your face, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shock your head before kissing him, tasting yourself on his tongue, “you’re perfect. Want to cum on all over your cock, Din. Feel you inside of me.”

“Please,” he was practically beginning at this point; he was harder than he ever been and needed to be inside of you, “come on, sweet girl.”

Swinging a leg over his hips, you grabbed his hard cock and pumped him a few times before lining himself up at your entrance. Slowly sinking down on him, the two of you moaned in unison, as he stretched you fully and completely.

“Din,” his name was but a soft, reverent whisper off your lips as you put your hands on his chest and started to bounce at a slow pace up and down his cock. He felt perfect inside of you, hitting all the right spots as your clit rubbed against his pubic hair. He thrust his hips up to meet each of your bounces, pulling harder and harder at the bindings. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck as you pressed your chest against his and kissed every part of him that your lips found, “so close - sweet boy.”

“Me too,” he agreed, his voice crackling and rough, “gonna cum inside you.”

“Yes,” you breathed as your warms started to contract around him and you felt him twitch within you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you buried your face into his neck, whimpering against his skin, “Din.”

“Sweet girl,” he so desperately whispered he could wrap his arms around but instead kept his hips as close to yours as possible, “so good - so perfect.”

You all but collapsed in his arms as you laid on top of him, the two of you working to catch your breath. Once you came down from your high, you kissed his nose, and slowly moved to undo the bindings and free him from his confines. As soon as his arms and wrists were free, he wrapped his arms around you and traced his fingers up and down your back in soft patterns. Relaxing into his arms, you sighed contentedly, “you can be a good boy, Din.”

“Only for you,” he whispered softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I...I love you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah?” you asked as you rolled over and next to him. He hesitated for a moment but then slowly confirmed with a soft nod, “good. I...I love you, Din Djarin. I have for a while.” 

“I never...would have thought,” he murmured as he pulled into you his arms without even thinking - so easy and effortless. You eagerly complied, letting him pull you tightly against his chest as you tangled your legs with his. You weren’t sure what this all meant, or would lead to, but it was definitely something you could get used to. 

“Really?” you laughed lightly, a musical wonderful sound that he adored, even on his grumpiest days, as you took his hand and brought it to your lips, and placed a tender kiss to his knuckles. How he hadn’t known was beyond you - it all seemed so obvious. Din made a small sound, “I thought it was so obvious. It was to me at least, honey.  Even when we’re at each other’s throats - it was with love. Besides, I like when you get mad. It’s sexy.”

“You’re such a brat - my brat,” he buried his face into the pillow, but not before pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “you’re amazing.” 

“You’re just saying that because I finally let you cum,” you teased as you felt your eyes getting heavy, “worth it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a yawn, “but I’m getting you back for that next time. No hands? That’s just cruel.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “are we just going to keep taking turns? I could get used to that, Din.”

“I hope you do, sweet girl,” he murmured, “I hope you do.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #douse the lights #stutter something profound

[alice-in-wonderart]

Can I request a pregnancy hcs for Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, Wei WuXian, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen? Thank you!!!

Hello, hello, dear. These turned out a tad shorter, since it's 5 characters, (and pregnancy is Xtreme to write) but regardless - I hope you enjoy ❤️ One fluffy request coming right up~

Lan Wangji

"I'm pregnant" "Mn"

It's not like he isn't happy, he just needs some time to realise what you've just told him. And boy oh boy, does he realise it.

*cue smol content smile*

Lan Wangji has already taken care of a child, he raised Lan Yuan. But a baby? That would be a novelty to him for sure. But a novelty he's more than ready for. Even if he doesn't think so.

Despite that, he'd take great measures to make sure he'll be the best father possible.

His excitement would be hidden, but fully noticeable to you. His eyes would sparkle more, he'd generally appear more relaxed, he'd spend more time with you. (as much as possible, that is) The only other person who'd see the excitement in his icy stare would be Lan Xichen, who'd be the second to learn of the pregnancy, right after LWJ.

Now, he isn't the #DreamHusband™️ without a reason. He'd be fully prepared with anything you might need during those 9 months. He'd talk to his brother, albeit reluctantly, for any advice on how to deal with any side effects of the pregnancy, so he could make sure you are heathy and happy.

He'd silently watch over you, always making sure you are not in harm's way. His cold glares would double towards anybody who'd dare approach you about anything, outside of Lan Xichen, Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui.

He wouldn't necessarily stop you from going anywhere, although he'd want to but rather - he'd just tag along. You want to go down town? He'd escort you. Want to cook something? He'll help. Oh look, a puppy! Protective husband mode - on.

Sometimes, before the two of you go to sleep, he'd lay a strong hand over your stomach, gently rubbing your skin, basking in the joy, that you are carrying his child - the product of your love. And should the baby kick? A surprised, almost mute yelp would escape his thin lips, before he'd move to leave a gentle kiss on your stomach.

He never thought, never even imagined, that one day he'd have a family of his own, with a wonderful wife right next to him, and a child to call him papa. He didn't even so much as thought he could have one of those "happy endings". It seemed such distant a future, almost as if it was make-belief. Yet during those rare moments in the dead of night, he'd think, that perhaps a happy ending is possible. Perhaps he'd get to experience that normal, domestic lifestyle loving families have. And then sleep would come a little easier, knowing you'll stay by his side until the very end.

Lan Xichen

"Oh?"

What wonderful news! He'd be the most calm and collected out of everybody. He'd hug you, pouring all of his love into the hug, promising to be by your side until the very end, that he'll try his best to be a good father, to take care of you and your child and to love you unconditionally. (which he already does)

The two of you decided not to tell everybody just yet. It would be while before it became noticeable, so you decided to keep it to yourself to avoid unnecessary attention and possible bad omens or whatever. The only person who'd know would be Lan Wangji.

At first glance, nothing much would change. He'd still have responsibilities to get to, he'd still be your loving, kind, compassionate husband.

But every time he is left alone, his mind would immediately travel to you. In fact, such occurrences would begin happening while he's presumably busy too. Zoning out and day dreaming while working were pretty uncommon for Lan Xichen, yet the constant thought of you and your well-being would cloud his vision.

That, in turn, would be a dead giveaway that something was happening in his more personal life. The first to address this would be none other than Wei Wuxian, who'd turn to LWJ. Slowly but surely, more people would begin noticing the slight, yet unusual changes in Lan Xichen. He'd leave a little earlier, reply a little later and he could be spotted with you every second away from work.

When you decided to finally announce the pregnancy, a collective "I knew it" would be all but the response you'd expect.

Behind closed doors, he'd be so sweet and affectionate with you. And don't get me started on how much he'd play music to the baby you. He'd want your child to grow up with music, which included singing and playing different instruments around you before it was even born. And you wouldn't really mind - after all, Lan Xichen's music rivalled the gods' voices, or so it was said.

In fact, with time you'd realise, that your child would indeed react to his music. If the baby was exceptionally wild, kicking and moving around, Lan Xichen's calm melodies would put it at rest. (had this happen to a friend, it was crazy) Even his voice would act as a natural lullaby to the baby.

And you already knew, that the child would grow up to fall in love with music, just like his father.

Wei Wuxian

"Wait what? Really???"

*Happy pterodactyl noises*

The happiness. The joy. The love. The pride. Wei Wuxian would be beyond ecstatic! He'd be on cloud nine the moment your announcement hit his ears. He'd have the most OVER-THE-TOP MELODRAMATIC reaction to your pregnancy imaginable.

Imagine a tsunami. Now replace the water with joy. This is how EXTREME his happiNESS IS.

But then, he'd sit down and talk to you about it properly, about how this baby would change your life together, what you'd need to do, how you'd do it. Together you'd figure out your future, as much as possible that is.

He'd make sure both you and the baby would be well taken care of, well-fed, living a nice, domestic life. He knew poverty, famine and sickness. They were his old friends. He knew what is was like growing up without much on your plate. He knew of every struggle imaginable, which came with being less fortunate, so he'd be ready to do absolutely everything to provide for you.

Once he settled down, believing he's planned ahead well, the realization would finally kick in - Wei Ying, The Yiling Patriarch, Founder of Demonic Cultivation and the pinnacle of darkness and despair, was about to be a father. And with that came in the insecurities. He'd constantly worry whether he'd be a good father, whether he'd set a good example, whether his reputation would ruin his child's life. He knew how judgemental society is, how quick it is to draw conclusions and ostracise those, who stood out. In those moments you'd have to remind him of how far he's come and how much farther you'll go together - as a family.

And a family he's wanted all of his life.

He's had some practice when it comes to kids. After all, for a brief moment he'd taken care of little A-Yuan. But then again, he was already old enough to speak, talk and think completely on his own. Wei Wuxian had never had the chance to actually take care of a baby, a newborn. That thought both terrified and thrilled him.

He'd be quick to announce of the pregnancy to all of his closest friends, but try to avoid spreading the news. Even though he was no longer considered the villain™️, you can never know who's scheming from within the shadows. With that in mind, the Twin Jades, Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang, Wen Ning and the Juniors would be the ones he'd excitedly inform. Soon he was going to have his own progeny! Would it be a strong, fearless handsome boy like its father, or an intelligent, masterfully cunning and dangerously beautiful girl like its mother? Stay tuned to find out!

And boy, would he celebrate the pregnancy! You'd almost make him quit drinking just to sympathise with you. Almost.

Xiao Xingchen

"We're going to have a family? Together?"

Words wouldn't be enough to describe what he'd feel. Fleeting worry in between bouts of utter elation and delight, mixed with a hint of surprise and a whole lot of internally sappy thoughts occupied his better judgement. He'd pull you in for a gentle hug, before moving to rest a hand on your head, stroking your hair, whispering lovingly how delightful a family with you would be and how he couldn't wait to meet his child.

He'd want to teach his child everything he knows, everything he was taught and everything he believes in. You'd have to remind him, that there's still much time to go before he'd have a chance to do that. A toddler can only do so much, you see.

Of course, the question about his endless travels would come up eventually. Truthfully, Xiao Xingchen would be more than willing to set his travelling aside for the time being, at least until your child is old enough to travel with you. In fact, a domestic family lifestyle suddenly wouldn't seem so out-of-reach for him and that would bring him utter delight.

The thought of a having his own loving family with a wonderful wife and adorable children had rarely crossed his mind, seeming as nothing more than a distant thought. But as you stood beside him, with a small baby bump and a child on the way, he'd realise that indeed the gods had smiled his way in the best possible way.

He'd often rest his hands on your stomach, wanting to feel the baby kick. Of course, he'd also use that excuse to be ever-closer to you. Physical affection would double, as Xiao Xingxhen found himself attached to you whenever any of you had time.

You two would often joke around about the baby too, since laughter was something sacred to both of you. And Xiao Xingchen would absolutely never fail to make you laugh, whenever worry would overcome you.

" Maybe our child will be as tall as a giraffe" "A-Chen, my love, it's 3 in the morning. Go to SLEEP."

He'd never taken care of a child before, hell you were his first love, but you'd seen him around kids when passing through different villages. His caring nature and innocent heart made him a wonderful father.

He'd never expected to one day have a family, but the very thought that you were there and you were carrying his child, would make his heart swell with pride and love. After all, he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Song Lan

"..."

Tall, dark and handsome over here would be utterly starstuck. He never thought he'd get to a point in his life, where he'd actually become a father. He never thought he'd have children, who would become his legacy. And as all that raced through his head, worry swept over him. Did YOU want that?

"Are you happy...we're having a baby?" The first words he'd utter.

"Of course! Are you not?"

The moment he sees your worried expression, his eyes would soften and he'd pull you in, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. "I am surprised, worried, yet thoroughly overjoyed." he'd mumble into your hair and the world around you would melt away.

Song Lan is a man of a few words, but many actions. He'd become twice as protective, keeping a steady hand on your shoulder as you walked thorough town, going out of his way to make sure you're comfortable and content, safe and sound, and of course happy.

He'd try his best to spoil you, getting you absolutely everything you might want or need. He'd even cook for you! He'd put you as his number one priority. After all, you were all he had left.

Would he silently panic whenever your stomach hurt, or you were feeling sick, or just in general felt any discomfort? Yes. Has he read a ton about pregnancy to make sure he was prepared for anything? Yes. Did he imagine every worst-case scenario in existence? Yes. Did any of that happen whatsoever? No. But Song Lan - big scary, dark and broody Song Lan, would absolutely cower at the thought that something so much as MIGHT go wrong. Of course, he wouldn't show it.

Well into the later stages of the pregnancy, he'd try to spend as much time with you as possible, to make sure he was there when the baby was going to be born. You'd already have a few names planned out, no matter the gender. The two of you would be READY. Hands down the most prepared.

He'd often lie with you, imagining what it would be like, being a father. He'd wonder whether you'd have a girl or a boy, whether it would resemble you or him more, whether it would be quiet and stone-faced, or kind-hearted and cheerful. And your answer to all of his what ifs would remain the same. "We're about to find out."

And those exact words would make his heart swell, both with love and anticipation. Of course, he wouldn't show it. But you knew better.

Thank you for reading~

#wei wuxian #grandmaster of demonic arts #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao su zhi #mo dao zu shi #cql #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #wei ying #lan wangji #song lan #lan zhan #xiao xingchen #xiao xicheng #xiao xingchen x reader #the untamed x reader #the untamed #lan xichen #mdzs lan zhan #mdzs lan wangji #mdzs lan xichen #mdzs wwx #mdzs lwj #twin jades of gusu #twin jades of lan #yiling wei #cql fic #cql lwj #cql fanfic #cql wwx

[wallwriterstuff]

It’s A Chore || Whole Guard ||

Summary: I have spent a weekend cleaning my parent’s house top to bottom and am now sick of chores, so it got me thinking about which chores the guard dislike the most! 

Warnings: Felix’s one is perhaps a little dark with mild descriptions of death. 

Alec

Alec is no stranger to hard work (he grew up in a time when he was expected to take on a fair bit of menial work from a young age just to keep his family fed) but that doesn’t mean he enjoys any of it. Alec isn’t one to use his fireplace for obvious reasons, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the guard don’t. Both he and Jane had argued that collecting firewood is something they should be exempt from but Aro’s yet to be persuaded by any of Alec’s arguments, his main one being that vampires don’t get cold so lighting a fire is both an unnecessary luxury and a safety hazard that every guard should be independently responsible for. Aro sees it as a sort of exposure therapy. Alec sees it as his own personal form of torture.

They live slap bang in the city centre, so they have to traipse just beyond city limits to gather the wood they need. Most people class it as a day off and a chance to fool around with the group that gets sent out every few weeks to collect enough to keep up stock levels for their floor, but Alec absolutely detests every moment. He can still remember collecting firewood near the village he grew up in and though it’s far easier now with his strength, he can recall exactly how bad swinging that axe made his shoulders and back ache. He can also recall the catcalls from the other village boys tormenting him about letting his devil sister freeze. It’s just not an activity he enjoys, so his solution was very simple.

Employ a human to do it.

Alec’s aversion to collecting firewood has kept one otherwise poor family on his payroll for centuries, and they deliver right to his door for a little extra tip he is always glad to give them. There are rumours amongst the family of course that their employer hasn’t aged a day since great-great-great-great Grandpa was employed by him but so long as Alec keeps paying them to chop the trees when it’s his turn, none of them ever bring it up.

Demetri:

This man has a love hate relationship with chores. He knows poverty, the stink of it clinging to your clothes, the dirt crusting under your nails and coating everything you own simply because your so busy working to live you don’t have time to clean. For that reason, he’s quite happy to do the chores required to keep his room clean and is one of those people who calls out others who aren’t doing their bit to keep the common areas of the castle clean to – he was the one who made the cleaning rota and every lower guard member that has ever complained about it very quickly shuts up when they realise he created and enforces it religiously.

On the flip side, ever since Amun created him he has been pulled out of squalor and living in the lap of luxury. He’s spent a millennium in the finest clothes, his food hand-picked and delivered to him, his quarters giving him more space than he was ever accustomed to before. So why should he do chores? He refuses to live in his own mess, so on one hand he’s happy to do his chores but on the flip side surely they can just pay someone else to do them? He has much more important things to do. While you can catch him dusting, polishing, changing bed sheets etc, one thing he absolutely cannot do is sew.

Now he has plenty of money, wealth is easy to accrue as a vampire, and he’s used it plenty to buy what he deems fashionable, but if there’s one human habit he hasn’t been able to shift in all the years he’s lived it’s the reuse and recycle policy. Why should he buy new clothes when he can reuse old ones? That requires a bit of skill in sewing, and unfortunately Demetri has very little. Consequently, he pays to have clothes repaired…and for sewing lessons. He’s just successfully darned his first pair of socks all by himself and is unjustifiably smug about it, but for everything else he pays a professional – no sense in wasting that ostentatious shirt he bought in the 60’s when it could come back into fashion at ANY moment.

Felix:

Felix is generally very happy with his place on the guard, but there’s one thing that really bugs him sometimes, and that’s the one particular chore he gets called on for a lot. There’s a lot of tourists that come through the castle on a fortnightly basis, and since they don’t leave…how do you get rid of them? With a contingent of lower guard under his command, it’s left for Felix to dispose of the bodies more often than not. The higher-ranking guard members do take turns to chip in and help with the clean-up, but more than one person has started to realise that more often than not Felix is the one left to the task.

He has a bulky frame and he’s exponentially strong, so he can shift a fair amount of bodies in record time once clean up begins. He strips the bodies of valuables, as the last of the blood drips down the drain, and once they’re ready for moving, he can take several at once down to the ovens near the dungeons and start cremating them. He’s good at his job, but he doesn’t like doing it. Burning flesh smells bad and if he’s brutally honest, he doesn’t want to end up looking twice at the people he’s fed from. It’s very obvious they all died in pain and more often than not their faces aren’t peaceful, mouths frozen open mid-scream and glassy eyes staring back at him till he closes them.

He’s made noise once or twice about being put on clean up duty less, but sadly he’s made himself invaluable at this task. He only does it so efficiently because he can’t wait to get the morbid task over with.

Jane:

Jane is…not spoiled per say, but she tends to get what she wants a lot. Her role as a woman in her human life was entirely domestic. She was meant to be a dainty little housewife so it’s really not a big deal for her to do the chores necessary to keep her room clean. There’s something oddly comforting actually, about cleaning her room. It’s one of the few things that makes her feel normal actually and she quite relishes the chance to drop the scary guard act. Hell, sometimes a quiet evening polishing her coin collection (whichever case happens to be on display gets polished once a week like clockwork) actually makes her smile.

What Jane appreciates less is having to clean the common areas. Demetri’s rota is the bane of her existence and she has tried multiple times to sabotage it but Demetri always has spare copies, and no amount of torture so far has gotten him to give up the location of these copies for her to destroy them. As far as Jane is concerned, she is responsible for her mess and her mess alone. Why should she clean up after anyone else? Nobody in the guard regardless of rank is younger than a few decades at best so they are all grown up enough to know to clean up after themselves, especially when they indulge in the secretary without permission and left a horrific blood stain she had to use three different types of Zoflora on to get rid of the smell.

#twilight #twilight headcanon #volturi #alec volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #demetri volturi #volturi headcanon

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for Domestic!Cal

Cal Kestis x reader

warnings:

a/n: 💖

prompt: @sgarrett49: “Hi! May I please request a Cal Kestis x reader where it’s just them being cute and domestic on the Mantis? I need some more Cal fics in my life lol!”

cal just really wants “normal” sometimes

obviously, cal can be a goof when he wants to be

when he beats greez to it, he makes dinner

which everyone is sort of relieved about, especially yourself

“where did you learn to cook like this, cal?”

“a master never reveals his secrets”

“bold of you to call yourself master”

“you know what i mean”

sometimes he just tells corny jokes to get a reaction from you

you cant tell if you hate it or not

he really just wants to hear your laugh

“why was master yoda such a good gardener?”

“what are you talking about?”

“because he had a green thumb”

*cue cal snickering while you swat him for telling such an awful joke*

you still laughed, though, and that was all he could as for

he definitely trains near sundown and returns to find you sound asleep

probably waiting for him judging by the book laying on your chest

cal will tuck you in

greez has gone on supply runs, TRUSTING you two with the ship, then finding you and cal spinning in the cockpit chairs

you regret nothing

cal cannot fold clothes he just cant/wont

“if i find one more poncho in our bed i’m rounding them all up and donating them to the next village we visit”

“nooo! i worked hard to collect those!”

“i will forgive you for one kiss”

“i can offer three”

“deal”

definitely the type of dude to do the thing where he grabs you and peppers ur face with kisses

he dances around to his wonky music all the time

he makes you dance with him

“what’s this band called again?”

“The Hu!”

late night cuddles

sometimes when he’s really tired he starts to talk about his past in detail and you enjoy learning new things about him so much

you almost feel honored???

sick y/n gets all of his attention

yes, he almost always gets sick afterwards

i feel like since cal was a scrapper he has to keep his hands busy, so he brushes his fingers through your hair so much that you barely notice it

that’s all, folks!

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis imagine #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars x y/n #star wars #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi fallen order imagine #jedi fallen order

[captainillogical]

Home Ch.3

The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn’t quite had the chance at a normal life.

Distant Lands sequel.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants​

Chapter Rating: Explicit

A/N: I’m sorry about the previous version guys, wasn’t my intention to write it that way, and thanks for all the feedback. Changed some things, added another thousand or so words, and re-wrote some dialogue. Thank you Star for all your help p:

This chapter is NSFW. I’m pretty sure one of the people that sent me shit was a minor, so I’d like to say this again, ya’ll. No minors.

-

"Why do 'ya seem a little out of breath? You run up the stairs?" Your girlfriend asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No reason," You lie, she doesn't need to know of whatever that was. It was probably nothing, anyway. You're just paranoid. "Met another human that lives a few floors down from us though."

"Another human lives here? Huh," She answers, interested. She's got half your boxes open, and has already stacked most of the books inside your bookcase in the living room. It's.. it's stacked like a fire hazard. You don't know what you were expecting. "Bismuth did say that more humans were starting to live in this area. Was he nice?"

"Yeah, he did ask me a lot of questions about you though."

She gives you a particular look. "Why'd he ask about me.."

"I might've mentioned I was living with my girlfriend." You say sheepishly.

"Aw jeez," She groans, wiping her face a bit dramatically with her gloved hand. 

"Am I supposed to keep quiet about it?"

"No! No. I just haven't had the chance to tell any of our neighbors about it yet." She replies guiltily. She pushes a twintail over her shoulder, getting it out of the way as she digs into an open box.

"Spinel!" You hiss out.

"What! I've been busy!" She wails. "And also, two of the quartzes on this floor are such huge gossips that I've maybe avoided the conversation with them! They've pried SO much already about my past and it's kinda 'irritatin. I know once they figure out that you're livin' with me, they're gonna bombard me with even more questions."

"Ugh, okay, you get a pass today."

"Today," She repeats, deadpan. "I should get a pass whenever."

"Nah, you're not special enough." You chuckle, grabbing some of your books to restack them into something actually resembling a bookcase.

"I am to you," She pouts a little, which is really endearing. 

"Ehhhhhhh," You start, sarcastically, until you feel a pinch on your ass and you cut off mid sentence to yelp. You whip your head around to glare at your girlfriend. "Spinel!"

"Deserved it." She grins, peering at you from the side. You contemplate throwing a book at her, but your stomach rumbles instead.

"Can you finish opening all of these boxes? I'm gonna make myself some food real quick," You say, finishing restacking that one shelf and walking into the kitchen. "I wanna be completely unpacked tonight if possible. I hate moving for this reason."

You hear her make an offended noise from the living room. "Was how I stacked these not good enough for you?!"

"I hate to break this to you, but like," You pause to open your fridge, rifling through what you bought earlier. "Pretty sure they were one bump away from being all over the floor."

"Looked fine to me."

"Have you ever had to organize anything, ever?" You take the ingredients out to make a sandwich, plopping the contents on the counter.

"..I think I'm more of the fun type, personally." She answers, and you hear her toss an empty box off to the side. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and opt to ignore it for a little bit while you feed yourself.

"Yeah? You think so?" You snicker, adding an extra slice of cheese to your ham sandwich. "I thought you were more of the 'village idiot' type."

She sputters, and you walk out of the kitchen with your sandwich in hand to see her glaring at you non-threateningly. "That's more of a you type."

"No way! You don't even have any proof." You take a bite out of your food in hand, watching her pull out some of your cute plushies that Steven has gifted you over the years. Sandwich is a bit dry.. shoulda put on more mayo. Oh well.

"Are 'ya fuckin' kidding me?" She stares at you, deadpan. Her left eye is twitching. "Why don't we revisit everything that happened on Golgotha? Hmmmmm?" 

"Okay that's not completely fair," You take another bite, and chew it thoughtfully. "It's not like I asked for that to happen to me. It was all self preservation. Besides, it's not like you made it easy."

She opens her mouth to retort with something just as an arm comes out of your hair - she screams, making you drop your sandwich.

"W-WHAT IS THAT!?"

You grab the arm, and yank Steven out of the portal he's created through your hair. He tumbles to the floor, groaning and rubbing his butt.

"You could just, like, I don't know, knock?!" You hiss out at him, patting the side of your head. That was.. uh. That felt weird.

"Maybe you should read your texts sometime!" He groans, flopping on the floor, arms out. "My poor back.."

"My fucking sandwich," You sigh, feeling sad for what could've been your life had you been able to eat the rest of it. "You owe me another one."

"I'll make you twenty if you help me not embarrass myself in front of Connie's mom again." 

"Deal." You grab his hand, helping lift him off the floor, and throw the rest of your destroyed sandwich into the garbage bin.

"Am I 'gonna get an explanation for that or are we ignoring it." Spinel says as she stares at the two of you like you've each grown another head. 

"Oh, he can just do that now that he pink’d me.” You answer quite bluntly, and Steven opens his mouth in offense.

“Don’t call it that! But she’s technically right.” He gives you a tired look, and it makes you feel a little gleeful that you can still get this kind of reaction out of him whenever you want. “I can do it with Lars too, but he’s taken to threatening me whenever I do it now.”

“You interrupt him in the bathroom again?” You grin at him, and his cheeks color slightly.

“No!” He says all too quickly. 

“Wait,” Spinel lowers her eyes to you, getting a strange expression on her face. She walks closer to you. “He can do that just whenever?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure he’ll ask beforehand, but yes,” You reply to her, watching as she lifts a hand to your head. “What’re you-”

“-does that mean I can?” She jabs the side of your head with her gloved hand without waiting for an answer - you slap her hand away as Steven laughs.

“No,” You sigh, Spinel only looking a little put out. “Steven’s the only gem who can. That would be a nightmare otherwise.”

“Anyway, I also came over to give you an update.” Steven clears his throat.

“For what?” You ask, now concerned. “Couldn’t you have just texted?”

“What, so you can just not look at it or text me back?” He shoots a pointed look at you, and you only feel a little bit guilty. “No, I needed to change your schedule specifically to fit around two others, so your first lesson got moved up to a bigger slot. It’s tomorrow. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“If you’re not ready, I can have Pearl take over for the time being-”

“-No! No. It’s fine, I just needed to mentally adjust to it.” You shake your head vigorously, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. You feel the anxiety swirling in your gut, but you manage to push most of it down for now. “I’m basically done with all my prep for it, anyway.”

“Only if you’re sure, Y/N.” He looks at you like he’s waiting for your face to betray you of something, but you ignore it. “Because you can talk to me if you’re-”

“It’s fine, Steven.” You cut him off. “You worry too much. Besides, you’ve got bigger things on your plate. Y’know, like Mrs. Maheswaran’s divine judgement.”

“Ugggggghhh, thanks for the reminder.” He wipes his hand down his face dramatically. “She wants me to come over for dinner this weekend so she can talk to the two of us about something. I’m not even sure what.”

“Buddy, you know she’s gonna grill you about your future.” You reply, and peer into the open box to the left of you. It’s full of kitchen supplies.

“That’s guaranteed.” He sighs, grabbing some of the items from you and putting them away. Of course he’s helping without any kind of prompt. “I don’t mind it, but I’d like a single dinner with them where I’m not feeling like I’m putting on some kind of performance.”

Your anxiety is still at the forefront of your mind.

“It can’t be that bad.” Spinel turns to him, breaking down the empty box in her hand. 

“You’ve never met Mrs. Maheswaran.” He retorts, placing your tea infusers into the silverware drawer and shutting it with a clank. “You have no idea what it feels like to talk to her. Sure she’s nice, but it’s like she’s always watching you under a little microscope..”

Spinel gives him some kind of snide response and snickers, and you hear Steven chuckle and holler out something in reply to that - but you had somehow tuned out the words as you opened the box to your bathroom supplies. 

“Give me a few, I’m gonna put all these away real quick,” You manage to say to them before ducking into the bathroom, neither of them seeming to notice your brief change in mood as you leave the door three-quarters closed.

You can still hear them making jabs at each other while Steven talks to Spinel about all the pressure Connie’s mom has put him under the last few years, and you set your box down on the toilet.

Uggghhh, okay. You can deal with this. You have no idea why something as simple as moving a lesson up two days is fucking you up this much, but you’re gonna have to deal with it anyway. Why the fuck are you so nervous? You’ve dealt with worse. You have your lessons ready - they’re basic things anyway. It’s easy. Sure, there’s a big crowd for attendance which is a little unheard of, but maybe more gems want to befriend and understand humans than you had previously considered.

You grab your box of hair ties and scrunchies, and shove them under the sink. You don’t need extras right now. You can still feel the anxiety there, under your skin. You pick up your blow dryer and straightener, placing those down as well. Why did Steven seem like he was expecting you to back out?

Does he think you’re incapable of handling this? Is this some kind of test?

You pull out your phone to text Amethyst.

[21:42] Y/N: Quick question.

[21:42] Y/N: You think I’m capable of teaching those classes?

You set your phone down after hitting send, and grab all your soaps to put away as you wait for a reply. Spinel’s voice rings out from the living room, and you focus on the sound of it for the time being. You reach into the box again, and pull out all your hair dye supplies from a while ago.

Huh. 

You turn the container of bleach around in your hand.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, and try not to wince at the reflection. You probably couldn’t.. right? You don’t think that your hair would take any kind of bleach or dye now. The utter irony is that you’ve experimented with every single other color for your hair before this, claiming you would never try pink to Steven.. and now it’s.. permanent. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter. You pick it up.

[21:44] Amethyst: uhh.. yeah?

[21:44] Amethyst: the fuck you asking for?

Okay, well. Now you just seem paranoid.

[21:44] Y/N: No reason..

Your fingers are hovering over the keyboard, and as you’re figuring out what to continue to type, she shoots a text back nearly instantly.

[21:45] Amethyst: :/

You put your phone back into your pocket. You don’t really feel like asking what that face is for, because you think you know the answer.

You finish putting away the remnants of what was left in the box, and walk back out into the living room where Steven and Spinel are now talking about how he met Connie. You throw your empty box off to the side, and look at all the stuff you have left to unpack on the floor. It’s not much left, you’re well over two-thirds done at this point, and ohhhhhhhhhhh you forgot about your laundry.

You let the other two know that you’ll be back in a few - Spinel shoots you a look that you ignore, and you head downstairs.

Your mind wanders nervously the entire way down, and the laundry room is empty when you arrive to get your clothes. Amethyst texts you again, asking you if you're okay, and you shoot her a quick 'yup just peachy'. You get your dry clothes, placing them into your hamper, and you scurry back to your floor to avoid any weird confrontations.

When you get back inside, you manage to catch the tail end of a quiet mutter from Steven to Spinel before he quickly runs his sentence into something else, and at an increased volume to avoid suspicion. You opt to pretend you didn't notice, and you easily slide back into the conversation as the three of you finish what you had set out tonight to accomplish.

Steven ends up leaving the normal way after you and him have a heavy discussion laying on your living room floor about his dinner problem, and he gives you an especially hard hug after letting you know he'll drop by after your lesson tomorrow to see how it goes with lunch that he now owes you.

The door in front of you closes with a click, and you lock it for the night. Not that you're expecting anyone to barge in, but force of habit. 

You're weirdly mentally exhausted. 

"I think I'm gonna take a shower. I feel kinda gross." Is what you hear coming out of your mouth, and you move to grab fresh laundry out of your pile that you left on the couch.

“I’m gonna try to finally figure out how to work this TV, then.” She replies, and you make your way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

You place your clean clothes on the toilet lid as you turn the shower on, letting the room fill up with steam as you take off your clothes and kick them into the corner to deal with later. You don't really wanna take a shower in silence, so you opt to put some music on in the background.

You pull the curtain back, steam rolling out and hitting you directly in the face as you step inside the tub. It's so scaldingly hot that you barely manage to hold back a scream as you adjust the temp and stand away from the stream. 

After a couple seconds or so the water finally gets to a more reasonable temperature and you stand underneath it to let it soak you. It feels nice.

You look down to grab your shampoo, but instead see the gnarly scar on your stomach, and stop. You stare at it a while. The raised skin along the outer ring of where you basically got hole-punched feels weird. It's also a slightly darker pink than the rest of your skin, which you're still not really used to when you get a glimpse of yourself.

You remember the feeling of being pierced, and decide to stop thinking about this all together for now. 

You grab the shampoo bottle and pour some into your hand, rubbing it into your scalp. You feel your muscles relax.

The door to the bathroom opens and closes, and all of a sudden you hear the shower curtain being pulled back. 

"Do you MIND." You slap your arms around yourself self consciously, still having soap in your hair. You can't see shit but you know it's Spinel.

"Pfft, 'ya act like I've never seen you naked. Anyway, I just wanted to know how to turn on the TV? I can’t figure it out." She asks, letting the colder air of the bathroom in, and you can hear some water hitting the floor.

"Will you close the curtain," You reach out, grabbing the edge of the vinyl liner, just as Spinel opens it wider to step inside with you. "-what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, the water’s warm? This doesn’t feel too bad," You rinse the rest of your shampoo out, just to see her fully clothed half a foot from you, hand reaching out to touch the stream of water. Your heart is beating wildly - but you find yourself at ease with her presence in here, oddly enough. She’s watching you curiously.

"What, you can't figure the TV out yourself? And you thought I took cold showers, really?!" You scoff at her, unfazed at this point by her antics. "The fact that you're in here with clothes on kinda says everything about you."

"I can take 'em off." She says to you, like, duh Y/N, don't you even know me by now? You glare at her, which isn't hard since there's water being sprayed onto you and into your eyes, and she phases off her clothes, shoes and all in an instant. "Better?" She asks, like she’s doing you a favor.

"Gems don't need to take showers." You deadpan at her. "And weren't you trying to figure out the TV?"

"Just because I don't need to doesn't mean I can't. Also, I could help 'ya." She says cheekily, grinning a little.

"I don't need help bathing myself," You roll your eyes at her in jest, water starting to drench her hair. You think it’s really cute that she offers, but you’re sure she just wants a chance at messing around with you. Not that you’d really mind right now, and well.. you school your face into one that isn’t obvious to what you’re currently thinking about. You try not to focus too much on her gemstone in the middle of her chest, or her breasts, or those soft looking shoulders, or the rest of her naked expanse of skin - you need to stop before you get carried away. "..but I bet you would."

“Are ‘ya saying I can’t figure out something as simple as bathing? Something I’ve watched you do? Wow. I’m hurt, Y/N.” She feigns offense, looking around at the bottles of soap and shampoo products you have in here, picking them up and starting at the labels.

“Then try it.” You watch her eye a bar of soap, and then pick it up with her wet hands. It almost shoots out of her hands at you, and she barely manages to keep it within her grip hilariously enough.

“See, I know what I’m doing,” She says stubbornly, bringing the bar up to her nose to smell it. She rubs a bit of the suds off, wiping it on her palm curiously. All of a sudden, you get a really good idea.

“Yeah, and if you actually did, you’d know that that’s what I use to clean the inside of my mouth.” You raise your eyebrows at her, begging your own face to not betray you. 

“Wait, really?!” Her eyes widen, giving you a slightly disturbed look. She peers at the soap, bringing it closer to her face. “I mean, it smells good and the shape is right..”

She licks it, and immediately gags. The look on her face of utter disgust is the best thing you’ve seen all week.

“AUUUUGH,” She wails, pushing her face into the water to scrape off the remaining soap, and the laugh that comes out of your mouth is so loud it echoes throughout the bathroom. “Y/N!”

“Gullible.” Is all you can say between laughs, and she musters a glare at you.

“I trusted you!”

“That was your mistake.” You retort with a grin. “I don’t eat soap. I’m surprised you believed that.”

“Never AGAIN.” She gags one more time, and you grab for your bottle of conditioner.

“Here, lemme show you.” You step outside of the constant stream of water, and trade places with Spinel. Once you’re done rubbing the conditioner into your own hair, you grab your shampoo for her. You look at her drenched in water, watching you closely. You won’t lie when it makes your heart flutter in your chest, and it feels a little like falling. “Can you take your hair down for this?”

“Oh, sure,” She makes quick work of undoing her hair, and yeah, you’re definitely staring at her now. You’re having a really hard time hiding it. Getting some shampoo in your hand, you have her step out of the water for a moment and start rubbing it into her scalp. She relaxes so much into your touch that you feel your heart start to beat a little faster. “Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You answer.

“You seemed kind of off earlier.” She says, and you quickly rip your gaze from her. She definitely notices. “I could just.. tell.”

“It’s nothing, really.” You sigh, rubbing small circles into her scalp. You were kind of hoping she’d brush it off, but noooooo. She has to be observant.

She grabs your hands to still your motions momentarily, giving you a more serious look. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nah, I’m just anxious about tomorrow, I’ll get over it.” You meet her eyes again, and hers waver between yours as if she’s searching for a different answer. Like she doesn’t really believe you, even though honestly, that’s all it really is. You feel a little something there in your chest when you realize that she’s only like this because she actually cares about you. “Don’t worry about me.” You insist, not really wanting to overthink the day you’ve got ahead of you. 

“Want me to come to the lesson?" She offers as she drops your hands, tilting her head in question; a glob of shampoo suds run down the side of her neck. The sight is weirdly enticing.. or maybe you’re just a little pent up. Being here alone with her after what feels like forever, and naked on top of that has your brain thinking of things you probably shouldn’t be thinking of right now. 

You’re only a little ashamed of yourself.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Spinel. You’ll just give me performance anxiety.” You resume massaging her scalp, managing to get some shampoo also into her ends. You briefly have a passing thought about not wanting to dry out her long strands, because split ends at this hair length fucking blow, and then you remember she’s a gem. That doesn’t even matter. You feel a little jealous that she doesn’t have to put these kinds of thoughts into her daily routine.

"I wouldn't do anything, promise. Maybe a comment or two, but that's it." She retorts as she brings her palms up in feign offense, and you push her gently back by her shoulders under the stream of water to rinse out her hair, careful to not get her eyes. She sighs as you run your fingers against her scalp, eyes nearly drooping she’s so relaxed. "This feels really nice.." She mumbles, and the way it has your heart feeling like someone’s dropped pop rocks into it..

"I know you have work to do tomorrow though, so don't shirk your duties.” You’re basically caressing her head at this point, and she’s totally leaning into it completely. You have a feeling if you dropped your hands from her head, it’d slam into a wall. “I'll ask Garnet to sit in since she offered."

"Y/N." She looks at you, water running down her hair and face, cascading over her small shoulders. The marks beneath her eyes are strikingly dark in this light, and her pink irises are locked onto yours. You're barely listening to the lofi song playing in the background as it's mainly drained out by the white noise of the shower. She's pretty, in a way that you probably think she's never considered before, and sometimes you wish you could say this out loud without feeling like you'd combust on the spot instead. She then opens her mouth almost hesitantly, like she's finding the proper words to say. "If 'ya need me, I can be there. But.. you're kind of the bravest person I know by a long shot, so.. I know you'll be okay. You've got this, doll."

You feel your face burning at the pet name and her words, and you find yourself avoiding her eyes again. You can’t even think of a reply, and feel like you might have a heart attack.

"Are you blushing?!" She grabs your forearms in glee, and you feel your face scowling just to cover up the fact that she can have this kind of effect on you. No one has this effect on you, and goddammit you’re not about to start showing it now.

"No, idiot. It's just hot in here.." You retort, and she leans right into your personal space, about an inch from your face. Your heartbeats feel so INCREDIBLY loud in your ears.

"Liar." Her grin gets wider, and you can see her canines right there at the edge of her lip. WHY is she so attractive?! This should be illegal. "I can keep talking 'ya up if that's what you need."

"Not necessary, or needed, really.." You trail off awkwardly, knowing your face is still beet red and pretending it’s from the heat of the shower. 

"Did'ja know that you're also the funniest person I know? And the smartest? And the sexi-"

"-SPINEL." You cut her off with a choke, voice coming out all strangled.

"You've got 'ta be the most stubborn person alive, I swear." She lowers her eyes, gaze lingering on your lips. The way some of her water-logged hair clings to her skin has your eyes glued to her chest, and the gem that sits upon it. 

"You should spend a few weeks hanging out with Pearl." You try to play it off cool, and you’re anything but. 

"Why, when I'd rather spend it with you." She retorts with an eyeroll, and like, you know that the both of you have your affections laid out on the metaphorical table already, but you still find your face burning at her being so clear with it. “If it’s not compliments ‘ya want, I can be a distraction?” She asks, and then blinks several times rapidly in succession very comically, and you can’t help it but laugh.

“Yeah? And how?” You ask stupidly.

“Ohhhh, remember earlier in the kitchen?”

Your eyes snap to hers. Is she..

"Wait, you’re talking about doing it in the sho-"

She yanks your arms - pulling you forward into a kiss, and your foot slips so hard on the tub floor that you have to catch yourself on her shoulders. Her laughter rings out through the bathroom.

"Oh stars, Y/N falling into my arms? I never thought-"

"Shut uuuuuuuup," You groan, glaring at her. The thought of the two of you, here, fucking in the shower is swirling inside your head. Both of you are wet and pressed together, and you are screaming internally. "You're the one that caught me off guard, asshole."

"Maybe I just wanna see you swooning, for once. Or squirming. I'm not too choosy." The grin on her face mixed with her words has you feeling some kind of way, and you try to still your rapidly beating heart. She wants to see you squirm?! You're flattered, and also embarrassed..

"I don't swoon, Spinel. You know me better than that by now. And if you couldn't make me squirm before all this, when we weren't even friends, then good fucking luck with trying that out now that I'm familiar with you." You spit out, hoping the nervousness in your voice doesn't give you away. She doesn't need to know that you like it when she's a little aggressive and grabby. That would give her too much power.

Her eyes flicker across your face, catching onto something within your expression; her grin widens.

"Then why do you seem so nervous now?"

"Uh," Your heart jumps into your throat, and you feel the red creeping back onto your cheeks. Curse your now-pink complexion. "Pffft. What? I do not! Why the hell do you think I'm nervous!?" You lie, and it comes out of your throat an octave higher you think, which is fucking embarassing really.

"Well," She chuckles briefly, and then her face drops considerably into an expression you'd deem nearly sinister if you didn't know her. 

"Um-"

She pushes you back against the shower wall behind you hard - a squeak comes out your mouth - as the air leaves your lungs, her hand splayed out on your chest into holding you there. It feels almost like silence has filled the room, when it's quite the opposite actually - the sound of the water hitting you both is quite deafening as you stare at each other. You think she can feel your heartbeats. Like, her hand is RIGHT THERE. Her thumb even rubs the skin there a little.

"I'm starting to think you like it when I manhandle you." She says, voice low. Her fingers are pressing into your sternum.

You take the time to breathe in some air, and try to blink like a normal person. A droplet of water runs down your lower spine and you fight off a shiver. Are you really that easy to read!?

"Your silence is speaking volumes right now." She chuckles, eyes watching you like a hawk.

You have no idea what your face is displaying, but it's probably something similar to mortified shock - how can she keep hitting the nail on the head?

"Oh, shit, am I hurting you?" She quickly pulls her hands away, nearly looking frantic as her face twists into worry at your silence.

"No, of course not-" You stop, getting a weird look on your face. "-I died, remember? You can't, pfft, - I mean you can, but. Spinel." You try not to laugh, because her being worried about this is extremely endearing, and you love her so, so much. "You're not hurting me, and if you were, I'd make sure you knew."

"Okay, good, because I was really worried there for a second that I had-"

"It's fine." You reassure her, and she's looking at you intently. "Seriously."

"Like, you know that I'd rather poof myself than ever put a finger on 'ya, right?"

"I'm aware, and you know that I trust you, yes?" 

"I was 'kinda worried, but, it's clear now." She's so very close to your face, and she's warm. Her eyes take in your features as if she's burning them into her memories, and you can't help but stare back. 

She kisses you again, wet lips pressing against yours so easily - it's as if she had been coordinating this as soon as she stepped into the shower with you. Or maybe this was her entire reason. Bastard. 

She slides one of her legs between yours - yeah, okay, she was definitely planning this - and you find yourself groaning into her mouth; hot water spraying onto the both of you. You tear your face away from hers momentarily to take in a gasp of breath and she grabs your jaw, her vibrant pink irises locked onto yours.

"Breathe through your nose." She demands, not giving you any kind of opportunity to get away as she kisses you almost roughly. You feel like your entire body is on fire. 

Her body's pressed against yours; and at this angle you can see her gemstone shining in the light above you, glistening with water. She slides her knee up to put pressure between your legs, and as to not make it so easy for her you attempt to slam them shut - only making the situation worse for yourself. 

You moan as you feel her pressed against your clit, and you feel her grinning against your mouth. She slides her tongue in then, and the combined sensations has your head feeling a little light. It actually irks you enough to attempt to push her off of you to get some kind of leverage over her, but she clearly anticipated some kind of fight because she growls against your mouth in resistance, and uses both her hands to slam yours against the wall behind you with an iron grip.

What a brat.

The harder you struggle, the more she presses all of herself against you. Her grip on your forearms get a little tighter; and you find that this just makes all of your current problems worse. She rips her lips away from yours to give you some kind of smug, shit-eating grin. "You're really trying this time, aren't 'ya doll. I'll give 'ya that."

"Why won't you let me touch you?!" You spit out, but it comes out all breathily and not at all aggressive like you'd hoped.

"If you're good, maybe." She laughs, and you wish you could disappear on the spot at will. "But this is your turn."

"IF I'M-" You hiss out, Spinel switching her grip so she's got the both of your hands in one, making the other completely free to grope your breast. Her palm rubs over your nipple. "You are such a shithead!!"

"You knowwww, if you don't like it you could always tell me you wanna stop," Her eyelids lower enough to still see her irises glued to your face, and she leans in to whisper into your ear. "But we already know that you want this, Y/N."

You snap your mouth shut and she chuckles darkly, and you would like to die now, thanks. If there's a god out there, you hope he's merciful and smites you on the spot.

She immediately attacks your neck, and she doesn't give you any kind of say about it either. She's using so much teeth this time that you're worried you're going to look like a spotted leopard tomorrow, and oh god, you almost forgot.

"Leave any marks and I'll attempt to poof you myself, Spinel." You shudder as she sucks hard near the crook of your neck, hot tongue against your skin, and when she looks at you her eyes have some kind of suspicious glint to them. 

"Wear a sweater." Is all she says before going right back to your neck, and the only thing you can really do is bite back a moan as she continues. You're going to kill her for this. You're going to find out how to embarrass her in front of her new friends, or SOMETHING. How the fuck are you going to cover up these marks before your class tomorrow?! The several shades of pink blush you picked up from the drug store a few days ago from your previous shenanigans barely managed to cover the lighter marks she left last time! 

You feel her slide a hand down your torso to reach between your legs, and with the last of your strength you try and slam your legs shut just to make this difficult for her.

She chuckles into your neck, and her warm breath lights your nerves on fire. It's so steamy in here now, and some kind of jazz oldie is playing that you can kind of hear over the sound of running water. And then she drops your hands just to grip both of your thighs and spread them apart forcefully, and there's nothing you can really do about that. You know that you're heavily aroused, and you hope it isn't too obvious to her.

Holding you open, she presses her palm against you, tips of her fingers hesitating at your entrance. Like she's waiting for something.. your legs start to tremble, then she slides two fingers into you and you slam a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from moaning.

"No one's going to hear us, 'ya idiot." You hear her say, and you nearly laugh. She immediately curls her fingers upwards, and you're seeing stars at the edges of your vision.

"You think I care about being loud? I just don't want you to think you can drag anything out of me too easily," You say in between breaths, and she makes some kind of displeased grunt in reply.

"Asked for this.." Is what you hear from her before she adds a third finger; you take it quite easily, embarrassingly enough, and starts to really finger fuck you as she watches your face. 

A strangled moan comes out of you, and you see the corner of her lip curl enough to show her teeth. You hate that she can do this to you. Your hands are free though, and you think you can fuck with her a little as payback. One of your hands shoot out to touch her gem, and she lowers her eyes to glare at you and the offending appendage.

"Whaddya' think you're 'doin, Y/N?" She asks, lowly. There's a darker pink that bleeds onto her cheeks quite rapidly here, and you swipe a thumb over her center facet in spite.

"Whatever I want." You reply. Her eye twitches.

"I don't think so." She hisses and slams her lips against yours - roughly pushing your hand away from her gem, like how dare you have the audacity to even think about touching her right now. She presses you against the wall with her own body, and you moan into her mouth.

Your thighs are shaking, and the hot steam mixed with the noises of her roughly pounding her slick fingers inside you makes it apparent that you're actually not going to last like this at all. She drags moan after moan from you relentlessly, unable to stop herself from biting down into the crook of your neck like she's trying to claim you for herself. As if you'd let anyone else touch you like this.

And then she lifts up her head enough to warmly whisper something about how much she loves being in the middle of your thighs like this into your ear, and you start to see stars as your orgasm violently wracks through your body.

She holds you, watching your face as you come down, leaving small kisses upon your lips.

"Was that okay?" She mumbles the question, looking at you to make sure you're alright. The water is starting to lose heat, which means both of you should finish this up soon.

"I'm going to make you regret ever taking me as a hostage." You answer with a grin, and her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. 

"Are 'ya sure about that?" She replies, withdrawing her fingers from you ever so slowly. 

You think you're in the clear, and then she slides them back in, and you can't cut the gasp that comes out of your mouth. You slam a hand on her shoulder, glaring at your girlfriend.

"I'm sensitive, you jerk." You spit out at her, and she grins cheekily. She then actually pulls out her fingers for real, and you really, really want to make her pay for this. "Let's finish this up, the water is getting colder by the minute."

The both of you quickly finish your bathing routine, and you're almost annoyed that Spinel can just vanish water from her completely while you're still soaking wet, and trying to dry yourself with a towel.

You put on your sleepwear and drag your girlfriend to bed, where you pay her back tenfold. You honestly hope the walls aren’t thin.

You're tired, and sleep comes to you easy with thoughts of what tomorrow will bring. 

#spinel x reader #spinel #steven universe #su #spinel steven universe #home #my fic #revised

[cheese-greater-official]

The Great Gatsby .. I think antibucci Summary: Literally just the great Gatsby. Nothing else here. Absolutely no changes. Definitely use this for class, or reference. The Great Gatsby is public domain now after all. Anyways here's the totally unaltered and complete book of the Great Gatsby. I swear nothing was changed, most definitely. Of course credit to F Scott Fitzgerald for writing this commentary on both his life and the world he was in. A lot of this can still relate today, so keep an open mind when reading. Notes: I'd like to preface this by saying... This is really I mean REALLY just the Great Gatsby. I swear. There is nothing going here that is out of the ordinary! Nothing at all! Chapter 1 Chapter Text Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!” - Thomas Parke D'Invilliers. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the

wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day. I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him — with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe — so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why — ye — es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two. The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog — at least I had him for a few days until he ran away — and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove. It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road. “How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly. I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood. And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all. It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size. I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented

rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month. Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago. Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that. Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game. And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch. He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts. "Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch. "I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly. Turning me around by one arm

he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore. "It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside." We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor. The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in. The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room. "I'm p-paralyzed with happiness." She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.) At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me. I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour. I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me. "Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically. "The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore." "How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby." "I'd like to." "She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?" "Never." "Well, you ought to see her. She's—" Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder. "What you doing, Nick

?" "I'm a bond man." "Who with?" I told him. "Never heard of them," he remarked decisively. This annoyed me. "You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East." "Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else." At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room. "I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember." "Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon." "No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training." Her host looked at her incredulously. "You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me." I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before. "You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there." "I don't know a single—" "You must know Gatsby." "Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?" Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square. Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind. "Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it." "We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed. "All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?" Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger. "Look!" she complained. "I hurt it." We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue. "You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—" "I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding." "Hulking," insisted Daisy. Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself. "You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?" I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way. "Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The

Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?" "Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone. "Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved." "Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—" "Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things." "We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun. "You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair. "This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?" There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me. "I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?" "That's why I came over tonight." "Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—" "Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker. "Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position." For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk. The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing. "I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?" This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house. Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether. "This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said. "Don't talk. I want to hear what happens." "Is something happening?" I inquired innocently. "You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew." "I don't." "Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York." "Got some woman?" I repeated blankly. Miss Baker nodded. "She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?" Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table. "It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety. She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked

outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?" "Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables." The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl. "We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding." "I wasn't back from the war." "That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything." Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter. "I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything." "Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?" "Very much." "It'll show you how I've gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool." "You see I think everything's terrible anyhow," she went on in a convinced way. "Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything." Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom's, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated—God, I'm sophisticated!" The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged. Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the "Saturday Evening Post"—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms. When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand. "To be continued," she said, tossing the magazine on the table,

"in our very next issue." Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up. "Ten o'clock," she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. "Time for this good girl to go to bed." "Jordan's going to play in the tournament tomorrow," explained Daisy, "over at Westchester." "Oh,—you're Jordan Baker." I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago. "Good night," she said softly. "Wake me at eight, won't you." "If you'll get up." "I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon." "Of course you will," confirmed Daisy. "In fact I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—" "Good night," called Miss Baker from the stairs. "I haven't heard a word." "She's a nice girl," said Tom after a moment. "They oughtn't to let her run around the country this way." "Who oughtn't to?" inquired Daisy coldly. "Her family." "Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick's going to look after her, aren't you, Nick? She's going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her." Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence. "Is she from New York?" I asked quickly. "From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white—" "Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?" demanded Tom suddenly. "Did I?" She looked at me. "I can't seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know—" "Don't believe everything you hear, Nick," he advised me. I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called "Wait! "I forgot to ask you something, and it's important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West." "That's right," corroborated Tom kindly. "We heard that you were engaged." "It's libel. I'm too poor." "But we heard it," insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. "We heard it from three people so it must be true." Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn't even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come east. You can't stop going with an old friend on account of rumors and on the other hand I had no intention of being rumored into marriage. Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he "had some woman in New York" was really less surprising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart. Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight and turning my head to watch it I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor's mansion and was standing with his hands in

his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens. I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn't call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness. Chapter 2 Summary: Just chapter 2 of the Great Gatsby Notes: (See the end of the chapter for notes.) Chapter Text About half way between West Egg and New York the motor-road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground. The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan's mistress. The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her I had no desire to meet her—but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and taking hold of my elbow literally forced me from the car. "We're getting off!" he insisted. "I want you to meet my girl." I think he'd tanked up a good deal at luncheon and his determination to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. I followed him over a low white-washed railroad fence and we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg's persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it and contiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage—Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars Bought and Sold—and I followed Tom inside. The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred

to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blonde, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes. "Hello, Wilson, old man," said Tom, slapping him jovially on the shoulder. "How's business?" "I can't complain," answered Wilson unconvincingly. "When are you going to sell me that car?" "Next week; I've got my man working on it now." "Works pretty slow, don't he?" "No, he doesn't," said Tom coldly. "And if you feel that way about it, maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else after all." "I don't mean that," explained Wilson quickly. "I just meant—" His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs and in a moment the thickish figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and walking through her husband as if he were a ghost shook hands with Tom, looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips and without turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice: "Get some chairs, why don't you, so somebody can sit down." "Oh, sure," agreed Wilson hurriedly and went toward the little office, mingling immediately with the cement color of the walls. A white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled everything in the vicinity—except his wife, who moved close to Tom. "I want to see you," said Tom intently. "Get on the next train." "All right." "I'll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level." She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door. We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and a grey, scrawny Italian child was setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track. "Terrible place, isn't it," said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor Eckleburg. "Awful." "It does her good to get away." "Doesn't her husband object?" "Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive." So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York—or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train. She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin which stretched tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in New York. At the news-stand she bought a copy of "Town Tattle" and a moving-picture magazine and, in the station drug store, some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Upstairs, in the solemn echoing drive she let four taxi cabs drive away before she selected a new one, lavender-colored with grey upholstery, and in this we slid out from the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she turned sharply from the window and leaning forward tapped on the front glass. "I want to get one of those dogs," she said earnestly. "I want to get one for the apartment. They're nice to have—a dog." We backed up to a grey old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John D. Rockefeller. In a basket, swung from his neck, cowered a dozen very recent puppies of an indeterminate breed. "What kind are they?" asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly as he came to the taxi-window. "All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?" "I'd like to get one of those police dogs; I don't suppose you got that kind?" The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck. "That's no police dog," said Tom. "No, it's not exactly a police dog,"

" said the man with disappointment in his voice. "It's more of an airedale." He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag of a back. "Look at that coat. Some coat. That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold." "I think it's cute," said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. "How much is it?" "That dog?" He looked at it admiringly. "That dog will cost you ten dollars." The airedale—undoubtedly there was an airedale concerned in it somewhere though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately. "That dog? That dog's a boy." "It's a bitch," said Tom decisively. "Here's your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it." We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner. "Hold on," I said, "I have to leave you here." "No, you don't," interposed Tom quickly. "Myrtle'll be hurt if you don't come up to the apartment. Won't you, Myrtle?" "Come on," she urged. "I'll telephone my sister Catherine. She's said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know." "Well, I'd like to, but—" We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases and went haughtily in. "I'm going to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in the elevator. "And of course I got to call up my sister, too." The apartment was on the top floor—a small living room, a small dining room, a small bedroom and a bath. The living room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance however the hen resolved itself into a bonnet and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of "Town Tattle" lay on the table together with a copy of "Simon Called Peter" and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large hard dog biscuits—one of which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door. I have been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon so everything that happened has a dim hazy cast over it although until after eight o'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes and I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner. When I came back they had disappeared so I sat down discreetly in the living room and read a chapter of "Simon Called Peter"—either it was terrible stuff or the whiskey distorted things because it didn't make any sense to me. Just as Tom and Myrtle—after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names—reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door. The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty with a solid sticky bob of red hair and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed i

Feel free to delete the first one. I would do anything for you if post this. The Great Gatsby in all it’s glory

im aware i was probably supposed to read the whole thing to find out if you changed anything and tnhen find out you hadnt and id wasted an hour of my life but i am way too lazy to do that

#ask #im not gonna post the other one merely because of how bad i feel for my followers #long post

[galaxierowls]

The Great Gatsby

by

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

—THOMAS PARKE D'INVILLIERS

Chapter 1

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father's office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, "Why—ye-es" with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came east, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby."

"I'd like to."

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well, you ought to see her. She's—"

Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"What you doing, Nick?"

"I'm a bond man."

"Who with?"

I told him.

"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.

This annoyed me.

"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."

"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."

Her host looked at her incredulously.

"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single—"

"You must know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."

"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."

We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—"

"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

"Hulking," insisted Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"

I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way.

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—"

"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things."

"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?"

There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That's why I came over tonight."

"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—"

"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position."

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.

"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?"

This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said.

"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."

"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.

"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."

"I don't."

"Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.

Miss Baker nodded.

"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?"

Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.

Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.

"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"I wasn't back from the war."

"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."

Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."

"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"

"Very much."

Thank you.

#she speaks #ria ur so funny

[winterfrostlovetriangle]

Home for Christmas

Hey all! Hope you all enjoy this fic! I just want to thank @valkyriesryde for being my beta reader and helping with the summary. 💕 Thanks for all your encouragement!

Summary: AU James Conrad x wife reader. James helps his wife settle into their new life, as well as deal with events that occurred on Skull Island.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, and implied smut.

Masterlist

*gif not mine

It has been a week since James and you had returned home. You had spent who knows how long shut up at Monarch headquarters and had finally been released, only after promising you wouldn’t breathe a word about what you’d seen on the island. 

You were having a hard time returning to normal life - after seven years on Skull Island, you were not used to the luxuries of modern living. The bed was too soft, your body wasn’t used to the cold temperatures, and nightmares of creatures and experiences you had suffered haunted when you were able to sleep. You tried hard to hide the lack of sleep and terrible dreams from your husband - it had worked for a few days before James started realizing something was wrong. 

“What is it, darling? Are you worried about seeing our family again?” He asked one night. James took one of your small hands in his, stroking the back soothingly. He was concerned. The captain knew he hadn’t seen his wife in years, but he was still in tune with your moods.

“A-a little. It’s been seven years and I have no idea what to say to them,” you stuttered looking down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. You were scared about seeing your mum, but you weren’t telling your husband the whole truth. “Maybe I’ll just stay at home...we could stay at home. Just the two of us and celebrate Christmas this year.”

“And you plan on telling your Mum you’re alive when? No, love. I’m sorry, but I already told them I was coming, which means you’re coming too.” James hooked his finger under your chin and brought your face up so he could look into your eyes. “You’ll have me there, my dear. Don’t be afraid.” His hands moved to cup your face and leaned down to give a sweet kiss to your lips. Pulling back, James brings you into a warm hug, squeezing just enough.

You stiffen for a moment, but let his warmth melt your body. You put your arms around his middle and squeezed back. You felt so safe in your husband’s arms. 

The next morning was spent decorating the house. You had missed the domestic responsibilities of keeping house and you and your husband quickly found your rhythm again. Finished with your task, you went in search of James. You found him in the kitchen making lunch and dancing to a tune playing in his head. You smiled at him and thought back to times when you would cook or bake together - the fun and mischief you two had. Shaking yourself, you looked back at your husband only to find him standing right in front of you with a frown on his face.

“Sorry, love. Did you ask me something?” you asked. James tucked a stray curl behind your ear, his hands trailing down your arms until they came to your hands, where he interlaced your fingers with his. “I’m fine, honest,” you said answering his unspoken question.

He smiled down at you and leaned forward to connect your lips with his. The kiss started out sweet, but James soon pulled you flush against him, deepening it. His hands roamed your body and you moaned at the contact. His mouth traveled down your jaw to your neck while his fingers went under your shirt. Your body was on fire - you had missed his touch so much. You had almost forgotten how he made you feel, even with just a simple touch. You had been without human contact for too long, there were so many nights when memories of what James felt and tasted like was not enough. Right now, you wanted nothing more than for him to take you back to bed for the rest of the day, but guilt and unease crept in. You pulled away from the kiss. Looking down, you pulled yourself together.

“As much as I would love to continue this, you promised me a tree. No more distractions, mister,” you laughed. You snuck a look at your husband. He looked hurt and confused. You pecked him on the lips one more time. “There will be plenty of time to continue this later. I need some fresh air - I’m not used to being shut indoors for so long.” You grabbed your coat and gloves. James put on his coat and gave you a smile before putting his arm around your waist and leaving the house. 

After about an hour of searching, you two found the perfect tree. James had them take it back to your house, while you decided to enjoy the afternoon with a stroll in a nearby park. You circled the park a few times before sitting on a small bench. You snuggled into James as he draped his arm around you. Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, just enjoying the quiet. You surveyed the area and noticed a young couple playing with their son. You blinked back tears at what could have been. You snuck a peek at James who was watching the family. He had a faint smile on his lips and a dreamy look in his eyes. You knew exactly what he was thinking. I’m so sorry, my love, you thought. 

James looked down at you, concern evident in his countenance. “Y/N, are you alright? What’s wrong?” he asked.

The dam broke - you covered your face and sobbed. Years of pain, anger, and loss. James held you. He knew that you needed to let out whatever was bothering you. He knew words were useless. Calming down, you looked up at your husband.

“Let’s go home, angel,” James suggested. He kissed your forehead as you stood. 

When you made it home, James shut the door and lead you to the couch. Kneeling in front of you, he took both of your hands in his. 

“Please, Y/N, tell me what’s wrong. You don’t sleep, or if you do, it’s not very much. You haven’t let me touch you until this afternoon, and even then it was like I burned you. I am not leaving this room until you tell me what is going on,” he demanded. “Actually, you’ve been touching me since you found me, on that bloody island,” you started weakly. He glared at you, and you dropped your gaze.

James sighed, “I’m still your husband, love. You used to tell me everything, but now, you barely talk to me at all. I just want things to be the way they used to.”

“You know as well as I do, that things won’t be the same, James. We’ve changed over the past few years. Things happened. Things that…” you began to cry again. “Things that shouldn’t have happened, but we can’t change them. It’s all my fault.” the last part came out as a whisper.

“What do you mean? It’s not your fault,” he asked.

“You don’t know what it was like living on Skull Island. You only saw a glimpse of the horrors that I dealt with every single day.” you were angry now. You knew you shouldn’t be - your husband hadn’t done anything to be yelled at. But he let you. 

He knew it was the only way to start healing. He’d been through it before and seen his fair share of army mates experience PTSD.  James stayed silent. 

“I was terrified, but I did what I had to to survive. I - I had to keep Hank and the villagers safe. I couldn’t lose anyone else. I couldn’t,” you continued. “I - I’m so sorry, James. I’m so sorry.” 

James came up and sat beside you and held you again. “What are you sorry about, darling?” he asked. “I heard nothing in that story that you need to apologize for. Tell me, please.”

“Do you remember I told you I had a surprise for you for our anniversary?” He nodded. “I was supposed to be back in plenty of time to celebrate. I was so excited to tell you, but then...the b - baby didn’t make it.”

“Baby?” James whispered. Tears threatening to fall from his own eyes now. 

You nodded before continuing, “Yes, a baby. The helo crashed, and we were all thrown to the ground. H - Hank found me laying a few yards from the wreck. I was the only one that survived. He helped me...he was there, but I wished it was you holding me that night. You that stood beside me as I buried our child,” you sobbed again. 

James sniffed and said your name. “Please look at me, Y/N.” You shook your head. He lifted your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger so you couldn’t look away again. “It wasn’t your fault, love. You had no way of knowing any of that was going to happen. You couldn’t have controlled any of that.” 

You held his gaze. His eyes were full of love, sorrow, and tenderness. 

“Listen very carefully to me, Y/N. I under no circumstance blame you. I don’t blame you that our unborn child didn’t survive. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.” he emphasized. “I love you more than anything. “I’m just so thankful I found you. I didn’t want to believe that you were dead. I couldn’t - I would have felt it. I thought I was seeing things that day. I couldn’t believe it was you.” James cupped your face and leaned forward to kiss you. 

“I thought I was seeing things too. I had been out in the sun and heat for most of the day, and when I walked out of the cabin, I thought I was hallucinating. But then you came over and hugged me, and I knew you were really there,” you laughed. “You really don’t blame me?”

“Oh love, how could I? There was NO way you knew you would crash. I don’t blame you.”

You suddenly felt as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders. You smiled at your husband, who quickly reciprocated it. 

“If you want, I will gladly wait to have kids with you. I am more than happy it just being us for now, honestly,” James said sweetly.

“Thank you, James. I just need some more time to readjust to civilization. I feel a little lost,” you admitted.

“I know a little about how that feels, and I will help you the best I can,” he kissed your cheek. “Now about your nightmares. Please wake me when you have one. I am your husband, I want to know - I want to help you through them. Okay? We will talk about them or something if you want.”

You nodded and smiled. “I promise to wake you next time. Thank you, love.” You pulled James into a tight hug. At that moment both of your stomachs growled. You burst into laughter. James stood up and extended his hand to you. 

“Come, Mrs. Conrad. We will eat and then go to bed.”

“Sounds delightful, Mr. Conrad. Lead the way,” you laughed. 

Next morning:

James was woken by the early morning rays coming in through the curtains. He blinked his eyes open thinking his wife was already up. But to his delight, he found she was curled up right next to him. He smiled.

(James’ POV)

She looks so peaceful asleep. Just like an angel - my angel. I never thought I’d see her again. How I have missed sleeping next to her, feeling her against my body, so safe and warm. We’ll be alright. She will be alright. I know that now. 

James caresses your cheek and you begin to wake up. “Morning, love,” he coos. 

“Morning. How long have you been staring at me?” you ask.

“Not long enough.” James pulls you closer and you snuggle into him. “Shall we stay in bed or get some breakfast before we head out?”

You hum in response, eyes already closed again. He laughs at you. 

“It seems you still aren’t a morning person,” he teases. “And you still are...are you sure we can’t just stay here?”

James kisses your forehead and gets up. “Sorry angel, but no. Let’s go, lazybones. Get that cute backside of yours up.”

The car ride was too short. You started feeling nauseous and gripped the door. James sensed your nervousness and grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. You looked over and gave him the best smile you could muster. 

“Just breathe. It will be fine, Y/N. Trust me,” he encouraged. He parked the car in his parent’s driveway. “Ready?” You slowly nodded. 

You walked to the front door and stood against the side of the house. You silently prayed the meeting would go well.

“Mum, Dad. Happy Christmas!” James sang out. You could hear the excitement in all three voices as felicitations were exchanged. “Is Fiona here?”

“James!” It’s so good to see you! I am so glad you are finally joining us this year,” your mom said. 

You froze at her voice. You blinked back tears, you never thought you’d see or hear her again. 

“Aren’t you going to come in, dear?” Fiona asked.

“Yes, but I have a surprise. It is mostly for you, Fiona, but a present for us all,” James smiled. “I, uh, found something on my most recent trip.” He angled his body towards you, his hand outstretched. 

You took a breath, and took his hand and stepped towards him to face the audience. You smiled at your family. They were all frozen - too shocked to do or say anything. 

“Hi, Mum.”

“Y/N, is it really you?” you nodded. She threw herself at you and hugged you like there was no tomorrow. You let loose the tears. Finally, she pulled back and you gave her a real smile this time. 

James’ parents swooped in a gave you hugs too. They ushered you all inside and started asking questions all at once. You shrank back a little, too overwhelmed. Your husband came to the rescue. 

“Mum why don’t we all sit down at the table and enjoy the food. We can ask questions later,” he urged.

The meal was delicious. You ate so much but enjoyed every bite. After dishes were cleared, everyone went to the living room. James sat on an overstuffed chair and pulled on his lap. He hugged your close and kissed the crook of your neck. You smiled and closed your eyes at the sensation. He nudged you with his nose, letting you know that he was there.

You told your family the story, leaving out the gory details that would have only worried them. Questions were asked and answered. You told them about Hank and the villagers. James filled in some details of his own story. 

A while later, you had been filled in on everything you had missed over the last seven years. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. No one seemed to know who it could be. You turned to your husband who was trying to conceal a smile. Alright Conrad, spill,” you demanded. 

“Well, Mrs. Conrad, that is for you. One of your Christmas presents. Go open the door.”

Opening the door, you were met with a Merry Christmas. Your jaw dropped. You couldn’t believe who it was. “You gonna let us in, Slugger?”

“Hank!” you shouted. You gave him a bear hug. Pulling away, you invited them in. “How? What?” you were shocked.

“Well, your husband here, invited us. Said you were having a rough time and thought you might need a familiar face.”

“I am so glad to see you, Hank.” you wiped your eyes. “Ugh, I have so much since I got home, it’s a wonder I still have water left inside me.” Everyone laughed.

You introduced Hank to your mom and James’ parents. Hank then introduced his wife and son. 

“Let’s have dessert now,” Diane offered. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Hank agreed. 

“Seems you’re always showing up when there’s food, why is that?” you joked.

“It’s a gift, Slugger. What can I say?” he winked. 

Everyone was talking and laughing. You needed a breather so you took a few plates to the kitchen. You stood at the sink and looked at your family and friends. You smiled. Lost in your own thoughts, you were brought back by two hands sneaking around your waist. You leaned back into James. 

“I was worried about you, love. I didn’t know where you had gone,” he whispered in your ear. 

“I needed a minute. And then I got caught up in watching our family all getting along.” You placed your hands over his. “Thank you, so much James.” You turned your head and kissed his lips. 

“We do have a great family, don’t we?” You hummed in response. 

You two stood there for a moment. 

“James, I’ve been thinking,” you began. You turned to face him completely. His hands still resting on your waist. You fiddled with his shirt. “I don’t want to wait. I want to start a family now with you.”

“Are you sure, Y/N? You don’t have to make a decision now.”

You snaked your arms around his neck. “I am positive. I was just scared I would disappoint you again. But I know that with you by my side, we can face anything that comes our way.” You stood on your tip-toes and kissed his lips.

A voice from behind you interrupted your moment. “Excuse the interruption. I assume you told him then?”

You laughed and faced Hank. “I did...and you were right.” 

Hank smiled. “Well, I think we’re gonna leave now. It’s been a long day for us.”

“Oh, ok,” you said. Um, are you staying for a bit?”

“Yeah, we are. We’ll see each other more, don’t worry kid.” 

When the guests left, it was just you and James in the living room. You were sitting on his lap again. 

You leaned in, “I was thinking we could start tonight,” you whispered in his ear. He raised his brow in shock. You laughed and bit your lip. 

“Mum, we’re leaving now too,” he practically yelled. He leaped out of the chair and set you down, causing you to giggle. 

As soon as the door closed behind you, James pushed you against it and attacked your lips. He couldn’t wait any longer. He deepened the kiss, pouring all the love and want for you into it. He pressed his body to yours and you moaned. You broke apart to catch your breaths, resting your forehead against his. 

Happy Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

“I love you too, James.” He pecked your lips before picking you up and carried you upstairs. 

A few months later…

“I have a present for you, love.” You smiled as you handed your husband a small package.

He shook the gift, trying to guess what it could be. “Oh, just open it, Conrad.”

James ripped the paper off the box. He carefully opened the lid and frowned slightly at its contents. He held up a tiny pair of trainers. “Pretty sure these won’t fit, Y/N,” he said.

“You’re right.” You put your hand on your stomach. “But in another few months, they will.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?” he whispered. You nodded. James dropped the shoes, picked you up and spun you around. You laughed as he set you down. “Best present ever,” he said leaning down and kissed you.

“Happy birthday, James.”

“Thank you, love.”

#james conrad #james conrad x reader #james conrad x y/n #fluff #implied smut #skull island #captain james conrad

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Dealing with It - Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

How their lives became disgustingly domestic, he’ll never know. One day, both he and Richie had finally caught up to the fact that they both loved each other. And the next, they were living together in a nice, two-story house in Greenwich Village, married, with kids and a dog.

[Gif isn’t mine]

How their lives became disgustingly domestic, he’ll never know. One day, both he and Richie had finally caught up to the fact that they both loved each other. And the next, they were living together in a nice, two-story house in Greenwich Village, married, with kids and a dog.

The Village is certainly quieter than where they used to live, before the kids. After all that had happened with Derry and the fallout from it, Eddie had found himself living in Richie’s apartment.

Then they got married.

And then one of them had the idea about kids.

And then the twins swung into their lives.

It all sort of spiralled out from there, really.

Eddie has one hand of each twin in his. Richie lags behind them; Sophie curled up in one arm, while he talks to his manager on the phone. After a big lunch, he expects that all of the kids will fall into bed for naps. And he quietly hopes so. Sophie is almost there already, hiding her face into her dad’s neck to get out of the harsh summer sun.

Just over Richie’s shoulder, Eddie can see some paparazzi with cameras trailing behind. They’ve been like that for almost ten minutes now; but he can’t imagine what kind of article they’re going to get from following the Tozier-Kaspbrak family having a lunch out with their pack of kids.

It’s something Eddie has gotten progressively used to. Sometimes, on their journey to stores or cafes to meet with friends, a handful of cameras will follow them for a time; until it becomes apparent that Richie Tozier has become quite possibly the most boring man to ever exist.

Then again, adopt three kids and a dog, and yeah, any chance of getting a juicy news article written about you goes out the window.

So the ones following them now, seeing if they’re going to do anything worth picturing, they’ll leave in a couple of minutes if the trend stays the same.

Eddie looks behind him. Richie is still on the phone, nodding occasionally and offering a quiet yeah. Hiding under his chin is Sophie’s head, nose buried into his chest as her grip on his shirt starts to slacken. When he meets Eddie’s gaze, he offers a small smile. Sorry, he mouths. Followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

Eddie tries not to laugh.

Both Allie and Lucas walk contently by Eddie’s side, swinging both of his arms with each step. “Can you drive us to school tomorrow, daddy?” Allie asks, eyes cast down at her worn, converse shoes. She’s been avoiding the cracks in the pavement since leaving the restaurant; and doing a pretty good job of it.

Eddie nods. “Sure thing, princess.”

“Is Dad going away again?” Lucas asks – because once one twin starts with the questions, the other isn’t far behind.

Eddie glances over his shoulder. He bites the inside of his lip. “I don’t know, Luke.” He turns back to his son. “But if he does, we can have plenty of fun ourselves. Can’t we?”

Lucas answers with an exaggerated nod.

Allie makes a sort of distressed sound by his side. Before he can even ask what’s wrong, she’s already looking up at him with wide, blue eyes. “I stepped on a crack,” she says, glancing down at her foot. Her toes have only grazed it, but Eddie knows Allie well enough to know that even that counts as a hit.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, letting her step back on to the full concrete slab, and trying to step over the join again. When she clears it this time, she grins, but mostly to herself. Allie’s little neuroses have caught his attention in the last year and a half. Quietly watching from the ajar door of her bedroom or the kitchen table, he’s noticed them. As has Richie. But neither of them has actually commented on them.

Once Allie is back in her stride, the rest of the walk home goes well.

By the time Richie’s manager finally lets his husband go, Sophie has become a dead weight in his arm. Richie picks up a couple of strides to catch up with the rest of them.

“What did Robert want you for?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

Richie huffs, switching Sophie from one arm to another. “Just to ask about something.”

“Do I know what that something is?”

“Next year’s tour,” Richie explains, peering at the girl in his arms to see how deep into sleep she’s slipped. “He’s thinking of adding more dates. Tickets for the show sold out within minutes apparently.”

If either twin is concerned with or listening to their conversation, neither makes it known. Allie still makes exaggerated steps over cracks, and Lucas keeps his hand firmly caught in Eddie’s while he takes in the passing storefronts and displays.

Eddie makes a sound. “It’s more time spent away from us,” he says quietly, looking over at his husband.

Richie holds his gaze. “I can always say no,” he offers.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, no. You love your fans. Even the ones who berate you on Twitter. Add more dates. Keep them happy.”

“You’re the best, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie leans over children to place a quick kiss on Eddie’s cheek. A small smile curls along his lip. “And I know that it’s you leading those smear campaigns. Who else would have that much dirt on me?”

The twins are parked in front of the TV, watching the latest episode of some cartoon.

Sophie is happy enough plodding after Alfie through the house. They’ve already wandered through the upstairs rooms, before deciding that downstairs would be more exciting.

Eddie watches them pass through the kitchen. Sophie doesn’t even acknowledge his existence. “So how long would this tour be then, with the extra dates?” he throws into the kitchen.

He hears Richie sigh behind him, before the other man takes a seat beside him at the kitchen island. Richie comes armed with two glasses of wine. He places one in front of Eddie. “Two months,” he answers, looking across into the living room, where neither of the twins has moved in the last thirty minutes. Thank God for kid’s shows getting longer. Richie shrugs. “It’ll just be America, though. So you don’t have to worry about me going abroad.”

Eddie hums. He takes a measured sip of wine. Richie’s gaze is burning into the side of his face. He’s expecting more. What that more is, he isn’t sure. Does he want Eddie to flip? To cry and scream and beg for him to stay? Or does he want him to smile and laugh and say well, enjoy yourself and be genuine about it?

He knew this would be a thing. Ever since Richie started writing his own material, the audience reaction soared. Within months, Richie had this new following of people behind him. It only increased when he started mentioning his boyfriend, later husband, in his acts. Apparently having an out comedian talk shit about his partner on stage for an hour and a half was what the kids appreciate these days.

Eddie’s eyelids flicker closed at the feeling of long fingers comb through his hair. “I can say no, Eds,” Richie says quietly. “I don’t have to do it. A month is long enough. And I can be back with you and the tykes as quick as anything. I’m sure people would understand.”

Eddie could work from home. He’s done it before. Sure, the sitter still has to come and make sure that while Eddie is in his office, on a call with a client or making a new report, the kids don’t run riot. But at least he’s here, and always a scream of DADDY away.

He leans back into the touch. “Its fine, Rich. Really.” When he opens his eyes, he tries not to smile at the slightly bewildered look on his husband’s face. With Richie’s fingers scratching the base of his skull, Eddie smiles. “Go and be a Millennial Icon for two months. We’ll always be a call away.”

Richie leans forward and catches Eddie’s lips with his. It takes a minute for Richie to break away. His usual stupid, lopsided grin is plastered over his face. He opens his mouth, about to say something; but is interrupted by a loud call.

“DAD! Lucas won’t give me the remote!”

Richie’s grin disappears almost instantly. His eyes barely hold off the urge to roll.

Eddie nudges the other man’s shoulder. “You’re ‘Dad’,” he smirks, nodding to the living room. “Off you go.”

Two psychiatrists in New York have most of their shared childhood trauma sitting in their office. Eddie likes to think it’s a bit like those cardboard moving boxes. But the entirety of those poor people’s offices are stuffed full of baggage from both of them. He supposes that it’s good. While they both still go to therapy every week or so, upon the initial orders of one Beverly Marsh who swore to kill them if they kept keeping shit to themselves, life is good now. Eddie’s neuroses have been dampened slightly, but still do flair up every so often. Richie doesn’t flinch anytime someone mentions the word gay. He doesn’t rip his hand back whenever Eddie links their hands together on their walks outside. He’s fine.

That’s not to say that shadows don’t still linger. Sometimes nightmares come and poke at them, reminding them that, yes, life is good now, but don’t forget what happened—

Eddie is the one to get it tonight. When he scrambles into wakefulness, he can’t remember what actually scared him off in the first place. Their room looks out on to the main street. Orange streetlamps stationed along the street cast soft, warm light into the room, even though the curtains have been drawn. Through a small crack in the join, a beam of light reaches for the end of their bed.

He can make out everything in their room: the end of their bed and the hoard of blankets and throws kicked down there during the night, the dressers and wardrobe, and the door to their bathroom. Everything is sitting quite comfortably in their normal places. Eddie glances down. During the night, he’s managed to haul most of the blankets over to his side of the bed. Looking over at Richie, Eddie tries not to smile at the very familiar sight of his husband sleeping, long limbs splayed out in all directions.

He shuffles back, sitting against the headboard of the bed. The house is silent. Occasionally, there will be the whoosh of a car driving through the street outside. But for the most part, he finds himself sitting in silence. For the first time, he realises that it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. The back of his head hits the top of the headboard. The world is quiet, but still ticking along outside, and it’s nice.

He isn’t sure how much time actually passes. But after a while, there’s shuffling beside him. Before Eddie can even turn his head to see what’s happening, he’s ensnared by two long arms, and hauled back down on to the bed and pulled against Richie’s chest. “Why’re you awake?” he mumbles into Eddie’s neck.

Eddie shuffles slightly, letting one of Richie’s arms loop underneath his head. Using it as a pillow, Eddie’s hands curl against Richie’s chest. Faintly, he can feel it beating; a steady and firm rhythm that seems to ease Eddie’s own mind. “Don’t know,” he eventually answers.

Richie hums, and within seconds, is asleep again.  

The morning Richie has to leave for his tour goes as well as Eddie expected.

His first show is in L.A, and his flight leaves in five hours. Eddie’s already awake, because Richie certainly isn’t. Breakfast cooks steadily on the burners; eggs and bacon, with bread toasting nearby. Eddie hopes that maybe the smell of the food will be enough to stir Richie awake. If not, he’s going to have to go and haul his ass out of bed. Again.

Two suitcases sit at the foot of the staircase, with a small rucksack perched on top of one of them: all packed by Eddie, because watching Richie stand in front of their shared wardrobe, wondering how many pairs of jeans he would actually need for two months of travelling just was too much stress to handle.

Eddie keeps a rubber spatula cutting through the eggs. They won’t take long to cook, and hopefully, Richie will actually get himself to the kitchen before it starts to get cold.

Even though the sun is only starting to peer over the roofs of neighbouring houses, and the sky hasn’t even turned shades of light blue yet, Sophie stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Has Dada gone?” she asks in a cracked, not fully awake, voice.

Eddie takes the pan off of the burner. “Not yet, pumpkin,” he says, turning to watch the toddler wander aimlessly over to him. Ensnared in one arm is her teddy bear – a birthday gift from Uncle Ben and Aunty Bevvy. He runs his fingers through the tangled mop of straw-coloured hair on top of Sophie’s head. He offers her a small smile. “But breakfast is nearly ready, and I need him to get up before it goes cold. Could you get him for me?”

Almost instantly, all traces of sleep vanish from the little girl as she turns on her heel and scrambles upstairs.

The twins said their goodbyes last night after dinner. Sophie’s bedtime is before there’s, and while Eddie was carrying a tired Sophie up to bed, he watched as both twins huddle into Richie’s side, effectively pinning him to the sofa. It’s never easy on any of them when Richie leaves, but the twins are at an age now where they understand; Dad will come home eventually, and he’ll stay at home for months on end to make up for being away.  

But Sophie is still so young, and sometimes she doesn’t understand. It’s one of the reasons why Richie started leaving early in the morning; if the kids are still asleep, he can slip out without causing too much hassle. But maybe Sophie will appreciate seeing her dad off.

Eddie grabs a couple of plates, putting them beside the stovetop. He’s about to serve up portions of eggs and bacon when he hears a shrill scream. Shoving the pans off of the burners, Eddie turns and races for the stairs. His heart hammers inside his chest, battering his ribcage, wanting to burst through.

His heart only starts to settle when he realises that the scream has turned into high-pitched giggling. In the middle of the landing, near the twin’s bedroom door, Richie is in the middle of flinging Sophie over his shoulder. Holding firmly on to her legs, her entire head and torso have flopped over and rest against Richie’s back.

“What are you doing?” Eddie hisses, looking quickly over to the nearest bedroom door.  “You’ll wake the twins!”

Richie doesn’t stop. If anything, and to Eddie’s annoyance, he starts swaying side to side. “Sorry babe, but I was attacked by a three-foot-tall monster this morning,” Richie turns around, swinging Sophie with the movement. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat; even though Sophie is in no danger of falling, or whacking her head into the wall.  “And I’m just trying to find where it’s gone. I swear, it was right here a few seconds ago.”

“I’m here!” Sophie giggles, her hands then slapping over her mouth as another shrill shriek leaves her when Richie turns back around.

Eddie makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Richie, the twins-”

“-Can sleep through natural disasters.” Richie nods to the bedroom door. Truthfully, Eddie doesn’t hear either of them walking around inside. And if Richie had been playing with Sophie for this long, and neither twin had already come outside to see what was going on, he’s going to assume that they are probably still asleep.

Eventually, Richie hauls Sophie back over his shoulder and into his arms. “Never bounce on me like that again, young lady,” he says with the up-most serious of voices he can manage: one not entirely helped by the put-on frown he’s wearing.

And Sophie, quite rightly, sees right through it. “Daddy told me to wake you up because breakfast was ready,” she smiles, hiding her face into Richie’s neck.

Richie’s eyebrows lift almost to his hairline. “Oh, so it’s daddy who ordered this attack?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back to the stairs. “Breakfast is ready.”

They eventually follow Eddie down the stairs. He watches Sophie stay curled up in one of Richie’s arms, pointing at the skillets, mumbling that she wants some eggs and bacon too. Eddie helps bring over the plates, because it becomes painfully obvious that Sophie’s arms aren’t going to release him for a bit.

“Don’t go,” a small voice whines into Richie’s neck.

“I’ll be home before you know it. And you can call me whenever you want, princess,” he soothes, setting her down at the table. He pushes her plate in front of her. “But I need you to promise me something.”

Sophie’s eyes are already starting to turn red. Eddie stabs a bit of scrambled egg with his fork. He’s going to have quite an eventful morning trying to consolidate the youngest of their kids, assuring her that yeah, Dad will eventually come home.

Sophie sniffs, rubbing her eyes. “What?”

“Daddy might need help with stuff in the house,” Richie explains, taking a seat beside Sophie. “And he might need help looking after the twins. So I need you to help him, okay?”

All at once, Sophie’s face lights up. “Am I in charge?”

Eddie almost chokes on his eggs. “He didn’t say that, baby-”

“-Absolutely,” Richie smirks, ruffling Sophie’s already messy hair. He throws Eddie a smile before starting his own breakfast.

Sophie only cries a little bit when Richie leaves, and God does Eddie want to too, but as soon as his manager’s car has turned the corner of their street, and Richie is now gone for two months, Sophie marches upstairs to wake the twins. Because she’s in charge.

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON AO3

#it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 2 #it chapter two #it chapter 2 2019 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #richie x eddie #richie/eddie #richie tozier x eddie kasprak #richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak #bill hader #james ransone

[dopeypsyduck]

So this ended up being too big to fit into one post and I have a problem with giving too many descriptions/ideas/etc so I’ll be chopping my AU up into more bitesized pieces. A LOT. After the cut, because if it wasn’t it’d literally destroy your dash. Just be warned that if you open this up there’s like, a whole paragraph for each character mentioned. (or more)

The Tailtwined!AU is based around another AU that I have yet to find a fitting name for, and everything is generally the same story-line (he still goes through regions in the same order, wins Alola’s league, etc) wise except for one crucial plot detail: The night before Ash’s defeat in Sinnoh’s league, the Sandgem town Pokelab burns down with people still inside; though Ash is upset by all of this, the thing he’s most upset about is Gary’s death/disappearance. 

Because there should be a reason other than “he went up against Mythical and Legendary Pokemon” because that was such a cop-out for the anime. And also, yay! Angst and death (seriously where did Gary go??) 

Also I’ll be cherry-picking stuff from the mangas, anime, and games and shoving them all together but I’ll try and keep it simple and not confuse too many people. The focus is currently on the timeline of Pokemon 2019/Journeys, so all of the characters up to that point that are main/side (that show up in more than one episode or are important in the games) will show up. 

Notable information: 

TEAM ROCKET IS A BIG. DEAL. Team Rocket has reached across the globe: Police officers that aren’t Officer Jenny or Nanu or people like Looker; Gym leaders like Sabrina and Koga, Elite four members like Will and Karen. 

-People in this AU work a lot like the Wolf Children movie. Not in the fact that they can completely turn into animals, but in the fact that their features contort when they get angry or overly emotional. Most can grow claws and it is actually a sport in Galar for people to train themselves into their more animal-like forms and then fight. Outside of the ring it is frowned upon, but stuff happens. 

-People with domestic animals’ features are much more common in this AU, with exotic features being more uncommon/rare. Big Cats and creatures like Wolverines are examples of this. 

-Royalty and high ranking trainers like Champions and Elite four members are extremely likely to be non-domestic, but it’s not like common people have never managed to become Champion/E4 before. 

Kantonian-based characters: 

-Ash himself would be long-furred Birman based, with white ears and tail that are umber-tipped. This is a bit more uncommon to see but by no means the rarest of the domestic breeds. I headcanon that he has dyed it before, probably red to match his clothing, or yellow to twin with Pikachu. (Dying fur is also a statement of mourning if done correctly.)

-Gary and his father, Blue, both have a Russian Blue’s ears and tail: Their fur is quite a deep grayish-blue, but Gary’s is lighter than his father’s. Blue isn’t around in this AU, but I thought I’d mention it anyway. This type of domestic cat would be one of the more rare because it’s a recessive gene; the likelihood of Gary inheriting Blue’s cat breed was very slim but it happened anyway. Gary himself is rather vain when it comes to his fur and he's constantly picking leaves and sticks out of it, making sure it's completely pristine. 

-Gary’s Mother (also not in the picture because she wasn’t in the anime/games/etc) and Daisy (Gary’s sister) are short-haired cream tabbies. Daisy is much more prominent in this AU because she’s in the games and manga. She was hit hard by Gary’s disappearance and that made her Professor Oak’s only remaining family. 

-Professor Oak himself has solid brown ears/tail, but he was also one of the few “common-folk” who became Champion of Kanto. His fur is normally matted and it is more dull than it used to be, but he still tries to take care of it. He’s just really forgetful and also extremely busy with other things. 

-Delia also has Birman features, but her fur is longer than Ash’s. She used to be a Pokemon Trainer in this AU, but she quit when she got pregnant with Ash, and most of her Pokemon went to be with Professor Oak. 

-I know we’re taking a huge leap here, but Giovanni’s cat-like are based on a tiger's. His ears are rounded like a tiger’s. Giovanni used to be the pinnacle of attractiveness, but as the years wore on his fur began to fall out. His tail is patchy and discolored despite attempts to keep it clean and tidy, and painful fur-implants didn’t help at all. Whenever Giovanni has to make appearances, he usually makes it so no one can see his tail because his ears are mostly untouched. 

-When someone’s soul or aura becomes corrupted, their body is no longer able to regulate hormones needed to keep their fur looking glossy, so it falls out and becomes frazzled/ugly. It is worse for those with a large amount of radiating Aura (think Sir Aaron or Ash or in this case, Giovanni.)

-Instead of Red being Ash’s father in this AU, Red is Delia’s sister. His ears and tail are Calico, and he--like most male Calico cats IRL--can't have biological children. Male calico anthros are just as rare as their real life counterparts. He is the one who defeated Professor Oak and became the next Champion of Kanto. 

-Jessie's fur is long and white, but she dyes it completely to match her red/purple hair. She's extremely vain and when not stealing Pokemon or messing with Ash, she's grooming her tail or getting someone else to do it for her. 

-James is similar to Jessie in the fact that he dyes his fur to match his hair, but he comes from a rich and higher-calibre family so he's a white tiger anthro. His family usually exclusively marries other white tiger anthros. His fur is constantly messy and it drives Jessie and Meowth insane. 

-Misty  has a Spaniel's ears and tail, perfect for swimming. Her ears and tail are tri-colored with white, brown, and black. She's still Cerulean City's gym leader, and she still tries to keep in touch with Ash the best she can but he ignores her calls most of the time. Brock and her are always hanging out when she's not busy with the gym.

-Brock is the visualization of a scruffy village dog. He has a long brown tail with fur as wild as you'd like to imagine, and his ears are floppy and brown with the tips being white. That's not a good look for a healthcare professional, so he straightens the fur without too much issue. 

-Tracey, though he doesn’t have a super big part of the main story, has a Great Pyrenese’s ears and tail. Because his fur is white and he’s an artist, there’s always a large array of colors displayed on his coat.

#Pokeani #Pokemon #AU #tailtwined!AU #ash ketchum #kanto #pokemon giovanni #team rocket #trainer blue #professor oak #gary oak

[peppymint1986]

Yes, at long last the time has come.  

Written for OfficerJennie on the occasion of the MadaTobi Gift Exchange.

The Prompt was domestic fluff.

Sublimity

Giving the ceramic plate one last swipe with the towel, Madara rose on his tiptoes to place it in the cupboard with the others, grumbling under his breath about too tall Senju as he did so.  He would wonder if there was something in the water, except the Uchiha drank out of the same river.

Perhaps some would say that a mundane task such as washing the dishes was beneath the dignity of a clan head.  But Madara had never found it to be so.  Not now and not when he was a child.  All too often the simple chore was a welcome escape from the horrors of the battlefield.  A reminder that he was still alive.

The sound of childish laughter drew the Uchiha’s gaze through the open shoji door and across the engawa into the open courtyard.  A soft smile growing on his lips as he watched the large group of children playing under the blooming Sakura Trees.  Most of them were of his clan, he recognized that imp Kagami off to the left.  But there were also a couple Inuzuka, an Akimichi, one boy he knew as a Shimura, and even a Senju.   

Sometimes, Madara found it hard to believe that this was real.  That it was not a dream, or a particularly creative genjutsu that had been cast by some enemy nin.  If someone had told him just a few short years ago that he would be living in the village he and Hashirama had dreamed of as children, he would have laughed in their face.  And the idea that he would find love in the form of one of his once mortal enemies.  More than that, the man who had nearly killed his brother, and then saved his life.  Ridiculous.  

As a teenager Madara, had heard a story of a place called Shangri-La on a mission to the very borders of the Elemental Nations.  He had not paid the story much mind at the time.  The whole concept had seemed ridiculous to the blooded shinobi.  An earthly paradise where everyone lived in peace and harmony?  And yet, that was what Konohagakure had become for him.  Perfection.

Well, Madara thought to himself as his lips quirked up.  Maybe not quite perfect.  After all, perfect was boring.  Had it not been Tobirama’s quick mind and sharp tongue that had drawn him to the other in the first place?  Only later seeing the warmth that hid under that icy reserve?  

And on that note, it seemed Tobirama was almost home.  Perfectly on time, as had become the norm.  In spite of the awe Hashirama held him in for curbing the albino’s so-called bad habits, Madara had not found it to be difficult.  First, the Uchiha had warned his lover that if Tobirama did not eat regularly that he would find himself dragged out of the labs and/or his office by force; then he had done so.  

In the end, one ruined experiment was all it took.  As ever, Hashirama had proved to be far too soft.  But then, he supposed that was part of his best friend’s charm.  Though sometimes Madara wished the constant emoting would go away.  Just for a little while.  Dealing with their newly elected Hokage’s moods could be exhausting.  

Judging by the sparks of lightning in Tobirama’s stormy chakra, the other’s day had not gone as smoothly as his partner might have liked.  Pouring a cup of tea made from the albino’s favorite blend, Madara turned.  “Welcome hom . . .”  His voice trailed off as he observed the other.  What in Amaterasu’s name?  

Then Madara snorted, setting the cup down, a snort that turned into a full on laugh as Tobirama’s lips jutted out into the Senju pout.  The pout that Tobirama swore he did not possess.  “You look,” he gasped.  “Ridiculous.”  The Senju’s silvery locks now stopped just above his calves.  Spiking out like the manes of the lions found on the borders of Sand Country.

Scowling, Tobirama brushed past the still laughing man.  “A minor miscalculation in the jutsu parameters.”  He had only meant to grow his hair out to his shoulders.  A small setback all things considered.  Especially when compared to the number of missions that failed due to techniques which had to be constantly maintained.  Not to mention that the Uchiha and Hyuga Clans were far from the only shinobi who could detect the genjutsu typically used for disguise.  

Reaching out to snag his lover on his way past, Madara pulled Tobirama against himself.  “What did you even do?” he asked as he began to pick sticks and leaves out of Tobirama’s hair.  “Trip through every bush between here and your labs?”  It wasn’t even a half a mile.

Tobirama scowled harder, unwilling to admit he had gotten his hair caught on a branch while tree-running.  One moment he had been moving as normal and the next he had lost his balance as he was yanked backwards.  In truth, he had nearly fallen off, and hadn’t that been embarrassing.  

“How do you and anija deal with this,” he huffed instead, as he tried to pull away from the overly affectionate Uchiha.  “It is impossible.”  He tried to shove his bangs out of his face, only to let out a startled exclamation of pain as his fingers got stuck, pulling on his sensitive scalp.  What a day.  He was only glad Hashirama hadn’t seen him on his way back.   

Leaning in, Madara rested his head against Tobirama’s for a moment before pulling back.  “Come on,” he said gently tugging the other forward towards a low lying couch.  “I’ll take care of it for you.”

Quickly retrieving one of his own hairbrushes, Madara began to fix the tangled mess, pulling out bits of plant detritus as he went.  For a few minutes he worked in silence, clearing the worst of the knots in short order.  Soon after reaching the point where he could easily slide the bristles all the way from Tobirama’s scalp to the very tips.

And then, Madara noticed something interesting.  Leaning forward to peer at Tobirama’s face, the Uchiha saw that his lover’s brilliant crimson orbs were beginning to slide shut.  “Tobirama,” he said softly.

“Umf,” the Senju’s eyes fluttered before sliding back closed.

Madara could not help but smile.  He had always enjoyed it on those occasions where Tobirama had brushed his hair.  But he had never reacted like this.  His lover was, for a lack of better word, melting.  

Setting the brush aside, Madara eased Tobirama down into a lying position.  Gently brushing a kiss against the other man’s forehead before leaning back to pull his fingers through the now smooth hair.  It was so soft.  As he continued to pet the other Madara admitted to himself it was a very soothing motion; his own shoulders starting to relax.

Consequently, he found himself startled when Tobirama suddenly pulled him down, rolling them over before tucking his head under Madara’s chin.  Trying to sit up, the Uchiha found himself even more firmly pinned by Tobirama’s weight.  Giving into the inevitable, he sighed, leaning his head back against the pillows.

He supposed it was just like being snuggled by a particularly large cat.  He almost expected Tobirama to start purring.  And it wasn’t like he was not constantly trying to get his lover to rest mo . . .  His hand paused as Madara realized the Senju was actually asleep.  

Lips quirking in amusement,  Madara closed his eyes as well, wrapping his arms around the man many still called a demon, before settling in for a nap.  This peace thing really did have its upsides, he thought to himself.  Now he just had to convince Tobirama not to cut it all off.  

Hope you enjoyed it and please feel free to comment.  I am thinking of being brave and stretching my world building skills for my next chapter story.  An AU as opposed to just an au.  We will see.

#madatobi gift exchange #madatobi gift exchange 2020 #madatobi #domestic fluff #@officerjennie

[raendown]

Pairing: None Word count: 4702 Chapter: 4/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 4

Stumping in to his friend’s home the next day, the first thing Madara does is sweep the building with his senses, breathing a sigh of relief to find no other signatures smoldering away in some hidden corner. Hashirama has already promised that both Mito and Tobirama will be busy with other engagements tonight but Madara knows as much as the next person how quickly plans can change.

Following the voice that calls to him from down the hall brings him in to the kitchen where he finds Hashirama with his hair pulled back and a frilly green apron tied around his front. It’s an incredibly domestic sight that drives an unexpected sliver through Madara heart. Not that he yearns for this man in any way; he won’t deny that Hashirama is attractive, any blind idiot can see that, but the giant stump is his best friend and Madara has never desired anything more from him. Rather the pang in his heart is a quiet wanting for something like this of his own. Now that he’s achieved the peace he always dreamed of he realizes more and more with every passing day that there still remains one glaring emptiness in his life. He’s lonely.

That’s not what he’s come here for, though. Nor are the questions in his mind the entire reason he’s come either but they are the foremost issue pressing at him and much more important than his desire to find a life partner.

“Just in time!” Hashirama chirps. “Could you set the table please? I forgot to before I started cooking and I don’t want the sauce to burn if I step away from it.”

“Hmph. What a great host, making me work for my dinner.” Even as he grumbles Madara moves to pull bowls and cups out of the cupboard. His eyes fall on the kettle steaming away and he quickly swaps the juice cups for teacups. Green tea with dinner sounds amazing after working himself in to several headaches with paperwork all afternoon, trying to coordinate several different projects while people swan in and out of his office indiscriminately.

“I’m just a little turned around tonight. When Mito told me that she was going to dinner with her friend in the Akimichi clan I thought ‘that’s alright, I’ll have dinner with Tobi’. But then Tobi said he was doing some sort of inspection? I think? He’s staying late at the office anyway and I didn’t want to be lonely so I thought this would be the perfect time to have a nice dinner with you!” As he chatters away he continues chopping vegetables and stirring in his pan, barely even seeming to draw breath. “Then this morning Mito said that her dinner was cancelled since her friend I think picked up a cold or something and that made me worry; you and her don’t really get along that well. So here I am trying to run around and figure out something else to cook that would be fast so we could all eat then you and I could go off on our own somewhere but then she got called over to have dinner with a different friend and I’m just–”

Madara cuts him off before the flood of words can drown them both. “Flustered, yeah, I can see that.” His companion sends him a painfully grateful look.

“You’re always so understanding, my friend.”

“Ugh.”

Doing his best to ignore the fond smile the other man directs at him, Madara sets the dishes out and retrieves the kettle only moments after it boils, transferring the water in to a teapot to properly brew them a batch of green tea. Then he sits himself at the table with a sigh and decides that subtlety is for people worried about offending others.

“Can I ask you about your brother?”

Hashirama's smile turns to curiosity. “Tobirama?”

“No, the other brother that you’ve hidden for years. I’ve uncovered your secret.” When his friend only continues to stare at him with a blank face Madara rolls his eyes. Sarcasm is wasted on this idiot. “Yes Tobirama. What is his deal?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What is his deal? What’s his problem? Did you know that he’s been stalking Izuna around the village since we all moved in here?”

Judging by the look on Hashirama's face he hadn’t known that. Something pops in the pan behind him but the tension between his shoulders is painfully visible as he turns around, voice drifting back across the kitchen with an undertone of caution.

“Can you give me a little more detail?”

“More than you want, probably. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed this! Every time my brother’s in the tower yours is right there up his ass, staring at him from across the room, standing so close they’re practically breathing the same air. And when he’s not in the tower it’s even worse! Tobirama follows him all around the village like he thinks he’s being sneaky – except he doesn’t even bother to conceal his presence! That’s probably the biggest insult of the whole affair!”

As he listens Hashirama removes their dinner from the stove with slow movements. In a strangely quiet voice he asks, “How long did you say that this had been going on?”  

“From the day we all got here, as I understand it. I don’t remember if he was doing anything funny the few times we saw him before the migration, neither of us thought to pay any particular attention to him, but I know for sure he’s been stalking Izuna for months now.” Madara scowls. “For the most part Izu’s just confused. Irritated. He’s gotten pretty riled up a few times and said something about beating some sense in to his little shadow but an incident like that could be detrimental to clan relations right now.”

“Has Tobi seemed angry at all?” Hashirama's expression says that he already knows the answer but needs to ask the question anyway.

“No. Well, not at Izuna. He looks really pissed at whoever gets close to my brother and that’s probably the weirdest part. It’s started a few different rumors but Izuna’s convinced that it means Tobirama wants to kill him still and that he wants to do it himself.” As much as Madara can follow the sketchy logic behind that idea he still can’t make himself believe it.

Which is why he feels a very brief flash of vindication when Hashirama shakes his head to deny the half-assed theory. It’s always nice to be right, especially as an older sibling. The flash is very short-lived, however, in the face of how deeply troubled his best friend looks with every word he takes in.

“You’ve noticed some things that I haven’t it seems. I-…I should have been paying more attention. Especially with-” The words cut themselves off for the man to let out a morose sigh.

“Go on?”

“If he doesn’t seem angry then how would you say he does look?”  

“Uh?” Madara scratches the back of his head, trying to picture a face in his mind that he’s honestly never concentrated very hard on. “If I had to put a name to it? Sad. He doesn’t look violent or yearning or angry, he just looks, I don’t know, resigned I suppose.”

As though a great weight has just fallen upon his shoulders Hashirama closes his eyes and trembles. “Oh Tobi…”

“There’s something we’ve been missing about this, isn’t there?”

For a long time there is no answer. In silence Hashirama plates their dinner, his eyes far away from the food he carries over to the table. Only the fact that such a mood is incredibly unusual for him holds Madara's tongue until finally he watches the man fade back in to reality looking somehow even sadder than before. Wetness gathers and clings to his eyelashes, so different from the way he is normally given to massive crocodile tears streaming freely down his cheeks.

When he speaks again it is soft and solemn. His words are heavy with a pain that Madara both can and can’t understand, the pain of almost in a way he’s never quite experienced, a pain borne in the name of another you cannot help.

“During the final battle between the Uchiha and the Senju, I’m sure you remember what stopped the fighting.”

“The apparition,” Madara breathes. He can hardly believe that he’s forgotten.

“It was no apparition.” Hashirama drops his gaze to the chopsticks before him, fiddling at the ends without picking them up. “That really was my Tobi. Older but the same. He- it was- it’s hard to explain. You know how smart he is and how he likes to research seals. Apparently years from now he will – did? – invent a seal allowing him to travel back in time and he used it to…to…”

Once more the words stop coming but this time Madara understands as he listens to Hashirama's voice crack and break on a muffled sob.

“Take your time,” he murmurs. He jolts when Hashirama finally meets his eyes, stomach clenching as he takes in the pain and helpless despair staring back at him. He has seen that look before.  

“He travelled back in time to kill himself.”

“What!?” Madara sways in his seat with disbelief.

Hashirama brings his hands in close to wring them together. “It’s the truth! And he said the most awful things! Madara, he saved Izuna’s life that day. He – the one from the future – he said something about killing Izuna and that it ‘broke the world’. Said that he would rather kill himself so that I could keep my dream!”

So many different emotions and thoughts and reactions all clash together in Madara's chest he has to clamp one hand over his stomach for fear that it all might come spilling out over the table with shock. It’s too much to take in at once. He remembers that they’d had their speculations, of course, over what had really been going on that day. Yet he also remembers that it had seemed so unimportant in the face of peace, of lifelong dreams coming true, securing the future for his clan and the only brother left at his side.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he mumbles. “There were two Tobirama because one was him from the future. He was trying to kill himself in the past.”

“Yes! That’s why he disappeared! Or that’s what Tobi says, anyway.”

“Right. And he was trying to kill himself because…he didn’t want…to kill Izuna? But he didn’t kill Izuna.” Madara scrunches his face with confusion, not entirely following. He distinctly remembers seeing his brother this morning and the man was most certainly not dead.

“No I know that. That’s the point. I told you it’s complicated!”

When all he does is cock his head to one side and frown Hashirama sighs and wrings his hands tighter.

“In the life that the older Tobirama lived he did kill Izuna in that battle. But because of that Izuna’s death somehow kicked off a different set of events that led to this village failing, I think. The destruction of my dream. So he came back in time to stop himself from killing Izuna…by killing himself instead. For me.” Another sob cracks his voice and Hashirama closes his eyes.

Madara can understand why. The reality of what he hasn’t known comes crashing down over his head like a mountain crumbling to bury him underneath the hurts he’s had no idea his friend is carrying around. It’s hard to decide what to freak out about first. Should he give in to the shadow of panic that Izuna dies in another world, would have in this one if not for the future’s intervention? Or should he close his eyes in solemn solidarity with the idea of having another love you so much they will damn themselves to lift you in to the light? Either way he has a very strong urge to go home and hug his brother tightly.

Although he isn’t sure he could bear to explain why at the moment.

“So he’s...what? Following Izu around and trying to find a way to apologize? Atone?” Guilt touches him for the way Hashirama flinches at his words but he needs to know as much as he can and this is a conversation he doesn’t wish to put his friend through a second time.

“No, I don’t think so.” Hashirama frowns. “I should have been paying more attention. He seemed to be doing so much better since we came here.”

“Well then what do you think he’s up to? There has to be some kind of reason he’s stalking my brother and I get that it’s probably connected to what happened but I can’t see exactly how.”

“If I know my brother then…then I think he’s trying to protect Izuna. He was so worried that something might still happen, convinced that if Izuna died in any way it would bring everything we’ve built crashing down. It would be so like him to take it upon himself to make sure that doesn’t happen. Oh, my Tobi…”

As Hashirama crumples in his seat Madara fights through the ever-increasing levels of shock keeping him rigid where he sits, dragging himself up out of the fog through sheer force of will to walk around the table and awkwardly pat his friend on the back. Comfort has never been a great skill of his. Trying to do it while he is still reeling himself leaves him feeling more awkward than ever but at least Hashirama seems to appreciate his graceless efforts. After taking a few deep breaths to collect himself the man turns to look up at him with shining grateful eyes that immediately send Madara scurrying back to his side of the table and practically throwing himself in to the chair as though it might shield him from any possibility of an unwarranted hug.

“Protecting him, that’s unexpected,” Madara admits once he is settled. “I think I might have jokingly suggested that but I would never have believed he was really playing guard dog.”

“My brother is not a guard dog!”

“He’s appointed himself as one,” he corrects, perhaps a bit harshly.

“Ah. Yeah. I suppose you’re right. He seemed to be doing so much better since we came to the village. And he was talking to me so well before, confiding. I never would have thought he’d slid back this far.” Hashirama shakes his head.

Loathe as Madara is to be the one pointing it out, he has to ask. “Are you sure he was confiding in you? Or was he just putting you off because he didn’t want you to carry his burdens?”

The widening of Hashirama's eyes tears at his heart and he is more than happy to let the conversation taper off for a short while, both of them eating in silence. He regrets starting their night off with such a terrible subject, mentally kicking himself for his lack of patience, making it even more of a relief when his friend eventually begins to haltingly murmur about something that happened at the tower that afternoon.

He does his best to be a better friend for the rest of their visit. By the time he goes home a couple of hours after dinner Hashirama has stopped looking as though he might burst in to tears at a moment’s notice, so there is that. Tobirama is probably in for a nasty surprise of a conversation when his brother catches up with him and yet Madara can’t bring himself to feel guilty for that. If the man truly is so caught up in his obsession it will probably do him some good to have the one he trusts most knock some sense in to that spiky head of his.

Walking home in the dark, Madara closes his eyes to let his feet continue on the path they know by heart while he stretches his senses out, picking through the confusing mass of signatures as best he can until he finds the one that burns the brightest in his eyes. It comes as no surprise to find Izuna waiting for him at home. Since he knows that his brother is probably waiting impatiently for the answers they’ve been wanting so badly he picks up his pace and hurries along, nodding to the voices that murmur greetings without stopping to chat as Hashirama has been encouraging him to do lately.

Building a rapport with their citizens can wait. This is a more immediate issue.

Izuna springs off the couch as soon as the front door opens, immediately freezing and sliding back down on to the cushions in an effort to seem as though he is only changing positions. Madara hopes he remembers to tease the idiot for that later.

“So how was dinner?” his brother murmurs with affected nonchalance.

“He knew the reason, to answer the question you really wanted to ask.”

Watching his younger sibling literally trip over his own feet trying to lunge off the couch a second time is just the sort of thing that Madara needs to lift his own mood after spending all evening trying to repair someone else’s. Izuna scowls and grumbles in to the tatami mats, crawling across to roll himself under the kotatsu blanket instead and glare until Madara joins him, wheezing with his efforts to contain the barks of laughter trying to spill out.

Amusement can only last so long in the face of such serious news, however. Only a minute or so after he sits down and tucks himself in Madara is talking a deep breath to sober himself again as he tries to sort through everything he’s learned and figure out how to pass it on.

Izuna listens with the sort of serious expression he normally reserves for war meetings and battlefields, brows drawn towards each other in a deep frown that wrinkles the sides of his mouth as well. Though it isn’t exactly surprising that he is able to keep himself from interrupting his silence is almost creepy considering how vocal he’s been about this entire affair since it started. All the frantic energy that he’s clearly been holding inside as he waits at home draining away slowly, bit by bit, gradually replaced by a different sort of tension with everything that Madara has to say. When the tale is over he crawls around the table to lean against his brother’s side.

“Well,” he murmurs, “at least he’s not secretly in love with me.”

“That’s all you have to say!?” Madara squawks.

“Honestly I don’t know what to say to any of that. Somehow the fate of this village rests of my survival? That’s a little strange to think about even if I can sort of imagine why.”

Brought up short, Madara looks down at the head nuzzling in to his shoulder. “You can?”

“Yeah, easily. If you lost me can you really say that you wouldn’t go a little ape shit?” Izuna looks up at him and waits until he concedes with a wry nod then adds, “Now imagine if you were somehow talked in to making peace with the man who killed me.”

The very thought makes him shudder. It’s impossible to imagine a world where he could allow himself to be somehow tricked in an action so terrible – and yet he realizes with a jolt that this is exactly what they have asked of both their clans, of every clan who agrees to move here and call themselves a shinobi of Konohagakure. All that differentiates himself from so many others is the penance he would pay for the powers gifted to him by the Sharingan. Izuna is right; the death of his most precious person would drive him over the brink of madness. Perhaps not right away but the descent would be inevitable from that moment and the process made faster if he were forced to interact with the one who took so much from him.

“So how do you want to handle this?” Madara asks, shaking away the what-ifs he hopes he never has to deal with.

“First thing I think I need to do is go scream in his stupid face. What the hell is he thinking? I mean this whole thing is crazy but if what he did to – what did you call it? – break the world was to kill me in that battle then when his older self came back through time to attempt sui-murder-cide then wouldn’t that have, like, changed the course of events right then? Things should be fine now. I think.” Scrunching up his brow, Izuna’s eyes fall to one side as he tries to think his way through what he’s just said.

Having had a few more hours to wrap his head around all these strange concepts gives Madara the confidence to nod that his sibling has spoken correctly. “That’s how I understand it.”

“Right, so then everything should be fine now. No need to panic. Definitely no need to be following me around like some overenthusiastic babysitter.”

“Be gentle. We both know that I’m the one who’ll have to listen to Hashirama if you aren’t.”

“No promises.” Izuna sits up straight with a sharp look in his eyes.

Madara rolls his own. “At least wait until tomorrow then. He’s probably going to have his hands full with his own brother tonight and I doubt either of us want to be around for that flood of tears.”

Pausing for both of them to shudder, Izuna leans over to rest against his shoulder again.

“Good point,” he admits. “I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. He’s always right there when I get in to the tower so kami knows he probably comes looking for me in the mornings even before I think to check whether he’s around. The second I find him, though, he’s getting the third degree.”

“If you think you can pin him down long enough to listen then more power to you,” Madara scoffs.

As it turns out, the task is both easier and harder than either of them expect. For once in his life Tobirama comes when he’s called, stepping in to the office when Izuna hails him the next morning and looking entirely unperturbed to be shut in to a room with two determined looking Uchiha. Now that he knows to look for the signs Madara notices the man even relaxing a small bit. If not for what he’s learned recently he might never guess that relief is from seeing Izuna locked away safe from the rest of the world.

When the focus of his obsession demands to be left alone Tobirama refuses him flat out with no hesitation, not even a hint of surprise. Clearly there had indeed been another conversation the night before.

“I can handle myself,” Izuna groans after the two of them have gone in circles of demand and refusal several times.

“Your skill indeed is a close match to my own but this is not something I am willing to chance.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Tobirama’s answer brings silence like the cutting edge of a blade.

“Your survival is essential to the survival of my brother’s dream and I will do whatever I have to in order to protect that. If that means I must give my life in place of yours then so be it.” For such profound words he speaks with the lightness of a man who has spent hours considering them. The ease of total belief in a chosen path.

In the wake of his declaration neither of the Uchiha siblings are able to find words for quite some time. Tobirama, strangely, waits contentedly as they try to find their bearings. Whether because he feels better here where he can keep an eye on the one he so desperately needs to protect or simply because he wants to get this over with now so no one will track him down again later, all he does is fold his arms and wait with the air of a man not particularly in a hurry to be anywhere else. Which is ridiculous. He probably has more to do than either of them put together. How he manages to complete his duties around all the stalking is just yet another mystery.

After several minutes have passed Izuna is the first to recover, visibly bracing himself to speak.

“For your brother, huh? I guess I can understand that motivation. I don’t like it, still think you’re insane and need some help, but I can understand. Look, if you’re going to follow me around like a creep anyway at least just come sit in the room with me or whatever.”

“What!?” Madara is jolted back in to motion with indignation. “You’re just going to let him keep stalking you!?”

“He’s going to do it anyway! At least if he stops pretending to be sneaky about it, I don’t know, it would just lower the creepy factor for me.” Izuna shrugs.

Tobirama’s head falls to one side as he contemplates the offer, a little dubious, but in the end all he does is nod and turn to leave without another word. He has an obsession but he also has things to do and when they’re all piled on top of each other here in the tower it’s only too easy for him to monitor Izuna’s chakra for any signs of distress or danger. Considering his sensitivity it would not be outside the bounds of his ability to keep track of every chakra signature that enters and leaves the tower to watch for possible threats.

“Are you insane?” Madara snaps the moment the door is closed, uncaring whether or not Tobirama can still hear them through the wood. His sibling rubs at the space between his brows with a long suffering expression.

“Maybe, who knows? I meant it when I said I could sort of understand his motivation but…think about it. Rather than following behind all the time or hiding in the shadows, if he’s there in the room then it would all feel a lot more normal.” The hand falls for his eyes to linger on the doorway. “And if he’s there in the room then maybe we can show him that I really can handle myself. There’s nothing for him to worry about. Or maybe convince him to get help or some shit.”

The two of them share a look. Madara holds the other’s eyes for as long as he can but in the end he is forced to concede to this as well. It isn’t like he has any better plans himself.

Eventually Izuna wanders off back to his own office as well, leaving Madara alone to stand by the window and look out over the buildings around them without truly seeing anything. All he sees is the sky, blue and never-ending, a freedom he might never have been able to admire again if not for the last piece of his family left in this world. Izuna isn’t the only one who can see merit in Tobirama’s motivations, hard as that is to admit.

Something dark and heavy lies faint on the edge of the horizon, a storm that looks to be coming their way. As he examines the shape of it Madara can’t help his inner Hashirama from comparing it to the climate hanging over the near future. Life promises to be very strange for a while, stranger even than it has been for the last few months, and it chafes that none of them can predict what the outcome will be. He knows as well as any farmer that a storm does not have to be a bad thing. Crops need the rain, summer heat needs to be broken, assassination targets need to be driven off the road in to vulnerable places like roadside inns. Many things might follow a storm.

He can only hope that when the rains pass the sun will come again for all of them. Strangely, against everything he has been raised to believe, he finds himself hoping the same for Tobirama.

#rae writes #madara #izuna #hashirama #tobirama #fanfiction #that's it for this installment of the ATTD series #already started on the next one lol

[missguomeiyun]

I’m back from Korea

I feel like October didn’t happen at all .. but at the same time, it happened & it happened too quickly =/

I was away for 2.5 weeks in Korea, & then when I came back, it was a mini series of night shifts so I practically did nothing. .. & by the time I realized it, it was Halloween & I was working evening shifts so I didn’t go out. O_O it has been 1 crazy month. But November is here now, & things are returning back to normal: my vacation withdrawal is over, & I have some “normal” combo of shifts, & it’s time to say bye-bye to the hot weather. It’s gonna be great~

Okay, let’s be real: I’m never “over” a Korea trip lol the other day, I was really craving that budae jjigae. The struggle was real. So I made it for lunch ^^

For my 1st return post, I’ve decided to keep things simple & just share a brief summary of my 2.5 week-long trip with you!

Day 1-4: I stayed at my usual Seoul home, Namsan Hill Hotel. I was unable to book a longer stay at this place =( These 1st few days, I revisited some places in Seoul: Namdaemun (for hand-cut noodles called “kalguksu”); Sinchon/Ewha Womens Univ area/Hongik Univ area for shopping & ; Gyeongbokgung area for Tongin Market & some art museums; Insadong/Samcheongdong/Bukchon Hanok Village for some relaxing strolls around traditional Korean housing. Some new places I went to include:

- a cafe called “Kopi Han-yak-bang” (lit. trans.: “coffee Korean pharmacy”). Look it up! It’s super cool! The owner believes coffee has a healing power, just like traditional herbal medicine, so the cafe is like a vintage herbal medicine shop/pharmacy. It feels as if you’re entering a movie set rather than a cafe.

- The Skyfarm for brunch! Pretty place with amazing view of Seoul.

- Seongsu area for industrial warehouse cafes. It was a valuable & memorable experience bcos Seongsu used to be an area for large factories (making of leather products & shoes, & car-fixing shops), but it’s revitalizing & the large factory spaces are now being converted to hip coffeeshops. Many of which do collabs with local/emerging artists & fashion designers so there’s lots of artsy things to see in these coffeeshops.

- Seoul Forest. There’s like a picnic area, some basketball & tennis courts, walking trails, etc. .. I had a convenience store goods dinner in the picnic area, & watched the sunset there.

Day 5-8: I moved over to Savoy Hotel located in the heart of Myeongdong. It’s ~15min walk away from Namsan Hill Hotel. Great location but also quite loud. My options were slim when I was booking stuff, & I needed to stay close to Seoul Station bcos I arranged 4x 1-day trips! I didn’t realize it at first but then I was like, “I have 4 back-to-back day trips right now.” I was essentially out every day from like 0700h to 2100h.

Trip 1: Paju~ for Heyri Art Village & Provence. I have been to these places before & really liked it so I went back, esp Heyri Art Village. After the day trip, I met up with 2 of my coworkers for K-BBQ in the Hapjeong area.

Trip 2: Jeonju~ I only went to 1 place in Jeonju & that was the Jeonju Hanok Village. It was raining all day that day. However, it was still very enjoyable. The village was a beautiful place, & under the rain, it looked even more picturesque.

Trip 3: Incheon~ for Incheon Chinatown & Wolmido, which is an island connected to Incheon via a highway. Due to its close proximity to China, Incheon became a major port for trades back in the day, & the Chinese immigrants basically settled here, hence it’s the largest Chinatown in Korea. I met up with my friend Ji Yoon in Chinatown & we spent some time catching up.

Trip 4: Gangneung~ For the annual Gangneung Coffee Festival; its title was “Voices of Coffee” this year! It was held at the Gangneung Olympic Ice Arena. I can’t recall how many shots of coffee samples I had that day, but it was a lot. I also went to the Anmok Coffee Street, which is a line of cafes along Anmok Beach - all the cafes face the beach so the view is pretty. Even more so on the day I went bcos it was cloudy =]

Day 9: remained in Seoul today. Went to the Seoul Botanic Garden, which opened its doors in May 2019. Very pretty displays~ Huuuuuge space too. It was like Telus World x Muttart Conservatory x Devonian Botanic Garden. Lots to see, & if you go, allot more time for yourself here. & then in the evening, I camped out by Yeouido Hangang Park for the annual Seoul International Fireworks Festival, which was named “Life is Colourful” this year. So many ppl! I was expecting that before going but it was beyond my imagination. It was truly an experience- the streets were blocked off for pedestrian traffic & literally, it took like 10mins to move 5meters after the show as over! Then at the subway station nearby, there was a bottleneck, where apparently the capacity inside the underground station was reached so we needed to wait outside the exit.. . still, it was fun!

Day 10-12: 1 way train ticket to Busan. Yes, train to Busan ;) I was safe though hehe Busan was beautiful! In hindsight, I should’ve spent more time here but . .. NEXT TIME! I went to BIFF Square & Gukje Market, which was like across from my hotel, Stanford Inn Busan. Gamcheon Cultural Village was super cute; although I would hate being a resident there =/ The Busan Int’l Film Festival was happening then, & I visited the Expo & Convention Centre for the film market. Can’t go into the exhibition, but that whole area was filled with ads/posters of BIFF - it was a big deal! It was cool to witness such a big event & to experience the sheer scale of it. I then went to Shinsegae Centum City, which is the largest shopping complex in the world.  Haeundae Beach was also cool. I went on a cloudy day & it was awesome! That same evening/night, I checked out the Jagalchi Fish Market, which is the largest seafood market in Korea. It has 7 floors total, with 3 underground parking levels :O On the last day, bcos I only had the morning available to do stuff, I had Busan fish cake for breakfast & strolled in BIFF Square again.

*Note: I actually hit all the things on my itinerary EXCEPT for the Busan Museum of Art, which was closed on Mondays =( but the security guy let me in to see the lobby bcos he knew I was a tourist. Thank you!

Day 13-17: Flew from Busan Airport to Jeju Airport. I used more time than needed for the whole process- turned out foreigners have their own line at the Busan Airport, so it’s faster than locals. There’s also a domestic terminal & international terminal, so from arrival to being checked in & through security.. . it took less than 25mins. It was great! In regards to Jeju, I did the following:

- stayed in Jeju City for the arrival afternoon/evening, with my hotel being Astar Hotel. Had a street food dinner at Dongmun Market; they were having this night market/festival event so a bunch of street food stalls were open from 7pm-midnight. Smelled like heaven haha

- I did my 1st hike ever on Hallasan Mountain, specifically the Gwaneunsa Trail, & I reached the peak. It was.. . hard. I can’t say I particularly enjoyed it; however, it has proven to me that I am a land person, & I belong in museums, cafes, & street walking lol. Look up the details of the trail! Was it ambitious of me to go on this for my 1st hike ever. .. without any hiking gear? I went with what some ppl would consider gym shoes, a hoodie, leggings, & a backpack with water, juice, kimbaps, 2 bananas, 6 mandarins, & some snacks (cheese crisps & pineapple cream-flavoured crackers).

- The day after the hike, my legs were still okay. But it was my glut that was starting to get sore XD I went to Osulloc Tea Museum & Innisfree Jeju House. The aesthetics <3

- Went to Black Pig Street for black pig bbq. I was hoping a restaurant or two was taking solo-diners & thankfully, the 2nd restaurant I asked did! I ordered pork neck instead of pork belly - it was quite tender & kinda chewy, actually. Later that evening, I went to the Tamra Cultural Festival 2019. It was neat~ There was an outdoor night market, as well as a stage for cultural dance/play/music.

- Jeju Island is actually quite small, & it takes approx. an hour from 1 side of the island to the other side. Thus, for my 3rd (full) day, I went to the Jungmun (Jeju City is north of the island; Jungmun is south coast) & visited the Yellow Cafe, Chocolate Land, Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum, & Yeomiji Botanical Garden.

- From Jungmun, I took a local bus to Lee Jong Seop Street in Seogwipo, the next city over. The street is very pleasant & chill, with artwork along the street, coffeeshops & eateries, as well as little gift shops. Totally my thing! It reminds me Bukchon Hanok Village in terms of vibe, but minus the traditional housing look. The Seogwipo Olle Market is nearby, & is a great place to buy Jeju souvenirs. The pricing, I heard/read, is cheaper than Dongmun Market in Jeju City - it is true! There are also less tourists here, which was what made it enjoyable for me, personally.

- Only the morning on my last day was free for activities bcos my flight to Seoul was early afternoon. I visited the area around Jeju City Hall, which was ~20min walk from my hotel. It was a very leisurely morning, where I sat down & enjoyed coffee at Coffee Finder & had a build-your-own-ramen bowl at a place nearby. The architecture of Coffee Finder was unique; it used to be a 2-floor house, with like a driveway/sidewalk. But the ummm first floor ceiling/second floor flooring was knocked down so there’s a “hole” in the middle of the cafe. The cafe has very homely vibes as the placement of tables/chairs are in what was (at one point) rooms of the house. It’s open but also you can get some privacy at the same time.

Day 17-18: Back to Seoul, & stayed at Namsan Hill Hotel~ Itaewon is a must! I need to go to Passion 5 every time lol. & I also revisited the Leeum Samsung Museum of Art bcos I like it. & then I had my last day as a “free” day, where I didn’t plan ANYTHING. I’m a very intense planner & when I go on trips, I literally plan to the minute haha & guess what, I ended up in Hongdae. Honestly, it’s my kinda place. Sadly, the transportation situation there isn’t convenient for the rest of my itinerary, or else I would choose a hotel that’s in the vicinity. I nearly spent 2.5 hrs at Coin Su Noraebang haha I realized that if you score high enough, time gets added to your paid time :O I can’t let that go to waste =P

There ya go, Korea 2019!

PS: I haven’t decided what/how I’m gonna go about posting my trip. .. There are wayyyy too many photos & it will take me a million yrs to write/upload. Perhaps expect unexpected Korea posts scattered between my regular posts :P I will, however, share with you the coffees I’ve had in Korea. I tried diff ones, from franchise to small local cafes, adventurous flavours & the typical black Americano. I didn’t have any poor experiences but there was 1 particular one that I will likely never order again - tbh, I should’ve expected it but I still went for it anyway *shrugs* so I guess it was all my fault haha ok, I’ll ttyl~!

#korea #korea travel #travel korea #korea trip #korea 2019 #solo travel #vacation #seoul #busan #jeju island #paju #incheon #gangneung #jeonju #tourist

[vore-scientist]

Negotiating with Giants: A Love Story

(This is a GT story, no vore, but mind the content warnings. it’s also more of a lore dump adventure, but it includes a love story in there somewhere) 

This crazy adventure tells the tale of how Emmett (a human fire witch) meets and falls in love with Maya (a giant, ranger). And what an adventure it is! It’s got magic, it’s got dragons, it’s got schemes made by evil wizards! I pulled out all the stops!

Content warnings/description: This story contains no sexual content! The pair is F/m, but i wouldn’t label it as “giantess”.  Especially since there are a lot of giants in this story. While this story doesn’t contain any proper vore it does mention the evil wizards being eaten a few times, fatally. And by mention i mean “the wizard was eaten”. This makes it less vore-ish than the actual Enchanted Forest Chronicles, which is the children’s fantasy book series that I base the world of Mystic Woods on. And it’s only evil people, so they deserved it. 

(you do not need to know who Emmett, Maya, or their son Yonah are to read this, they are my OCs!) 

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This is not a story that will have a surprise ending, only a surprising journey to get there.

It was your average day in the Ha’Esh household, located in a average village on the outskirts of the Blue Woods Tribe (your average Mountain Giant Tribe)’s territory. And the day would continue to be average, the family left undisturbed, the world around them still intact.

---

For all these things that were average, the Ha’Esh family itself was not one of them. There were three members, a mother, a father, and a son. The mother, Maya, was a giant. Not out of the ordinary for someone who is a member of a tribe of giants. The father, Emmett, however, was a fire witch. Not everyone in the tribe was a giant, but it’s rare for non-giant members to form family units with the giant ones. Their union meant their son, Yonah, was half giant and half fire witch. Though if one were more accurate, Yonah was closer to half human, having inherited little of his father’s fire witch traits.

At the time of this story, Yonah is 10 years old, and in a curious mood.

He had gotten up early, made his bed, and headed outside to collect eggs from the dire-ostritch s. Meant to be kept by True Giants, these birds were large for a half giant, and at his age, their heads were at his chest. But he was their friend, and they clucked as he entered the coop, bucket of feed over his head. It was cushioned upon his mass of curly, ink black hair.

“Alright you ostriches, who's hungry?” he cried, as if to pump up a crowd at a rock concert.

They all backawed loudly, and pavlovianly. Yonah stepped aside as they all hopped out of their nesting spots to run outside. Once everyone was out, Yonah stood in the doorway, and looked down the ramp at all the ostrich s looking back at him.

3

2

1

He thrust forward to launch the contents of the bucket outward and pandemonium ensued. Yonah used a bit of simple magic to create small gusts of wind to carry the feed all over the paddock, so the ostriches went in all directions. The thing is, they go after the first piece of feed they see, not the one easiest to get to, and they were running into each other, bouncing off each other’s plump plumage. Some would fall over and act as if it was the end of the world for all of 3 seconds before spotting another piece of food and forgetting their plight

Quickly, yonah switched the bucket for a basket and ducked back inside the coup. Dire-ostritches, even domesticated ones, don’t lay every day, usually once every week or so, which Yonah was thankful for. The amount each day was usually about the amount he could safely carry without breaking the eggs or dropping the basket.

By then the ostriches were pecking at the remains of their meal, and Yonah shepherded them back into the coup, attracting them with a treat, mainly old dried fruits and fairly old jerky that would have had to been thrown away. Basket on his head, empty bucket in his hand, he headed back inside the house.

“Ah, Yonah, you are up early today!” his mother exclaimed as he entered the kitchen and handed off the eggs to her. He barely came up to her knees. She placed the basket on the kitchen counter and picked up her son, placing him next to the basket.

This was of course, Maya, Yonah’s mother. Just over 40ft tall, skin a nice grey-ish blue, strongly built, and absolutely no hair on her head. Giants don’t have much body hair, at least, not anywhere normally visible to the public eye. They do have large pointed ears. Yonah inherited the large ears, but they weren’t pointed.

“I don’t have breakfast ready yet, but you are welcome to keep me company” she said. She pointed to the cauldron in the fireplace, which was boiling steadily with a sweet smelling porridge.

Then a large BOOM was heard outside, though far away. Maya sighed, Yonah laughed softly.

“Never mind that, could you go check on your father, make sure he hasn’t blown himself up?”

Yonah hopped off the counter and went to go find his dad. He had a work area on the side of the house opposite from the ostrich's, so as not to scare them, or end up as collateral damage. It was also where his father’s garden was, again, away from the ostriches. There was no telling what could happen if they ate any of the magical plants. This boom however, did not come from so close by, his father must be out in the forest this time.

The second BOOM provided Yonah with a direction, and he ran towards it. He didn’t smell any smoke, which meant his father wasn’t setting the forest on fire.

When he found his father, he was unconscious, next to a large boulder, that felt like faint sparkles were coming off. The remnants of a magic spell.

“Dad!” Yonah cried out, running to his dad’s side, and sitting him up. His skin was very hot, he had just produced a lot of magic.

Emmett stirred and looked up at his son, and smiled. Yonah breathed a sigh of relief. His dad was ok.

“What happened?” Yonah asked.

“‘What happened’? No, ‘are you ok?’ or ‘i’m glad you’re still alive’?” Emmett sneered.

Yonah rolled his eyes, “You’re obviously fine,” he said, still holding his father up.

“Well, I’ll be fine, I just overdid it, a bit,” he said, coughing hard.

“Can you walk on your own?” Yonah asked.

Emmett tried to stand up, but was very unsteady, “I think my boy, that you will have to carry your old man back. Sorry.”

“Only if you tell me what you were doing.” said Yonah.

“Deal,” Emmett was going to tell him anyways, he always did.

Yonah picked up his father’s limp form and place him on his shoulders. Emmett was strong enough to hold on, as long as Yonah held his legs.

“I’ve been working on a teleportation spell,” said Emmett, as they headed back.

“But you already know how to teleport!” said Yonah. He’d seen his father do it, bursting into flames and vanishing, only to reappear within a week, after he had completed whatever he had gone off to do.

“That is correct, but this is to teleport your mother,” he said, “Teleportation of one’s self is relatively easy for a fire witch, it’s mostly verbal and pushing my own magic into the goal. However, teleportation for regular people is difficult, it involves a lot of set up. Marking up the ground with magic to form your transport matrix. Teleporting others with you needs more magic, more prep, to compensate for the area the spell is going to effect and, and the number of bodies. If the other person is over 40 feet tall, the design needs to be altered almost entirely. I was practicing on that boulder. I had no trouble teleporting it away, and myself with it, but it still took a lot out of me. More than I realized. When I teleported it back, I, well you know, you found me shortly after.”

With his son’s interest in magic, Emmett never tried to simplify explanations.

“You passed out from exhaustion!” said Yonah. It didn’t happen often, fire witches were veritable fonts of magical energy. This must be one big spell.

“Exactly,”

However, Not everything made sense to Yonah, “But, giants can teleport themselves, cant they? Couldn’t mother learn and take you with”. Yonah knew that you always took what you were holding when teleporting.

“They don’t really need to, they can go pretty fast on foot. Some mages learn how, but your mother’s no mage. If we’re gonna travel someplace far, we’ve always walked. Or rather, she walked, and carried me,”

Yonah stopped, “Are, are you going somewhere?” he asked, his voice shook, “Are you leaving me?!” Was this how he was going to find out?

“Oh, oh gods, no, Yonah, of course not, we’d never leave you!” Emmett assured him, “this is just in case we want to travel someday, like take a vacation. Your mother’s been living in the mountains her whole life, she’s barely left, only to make trips into the Mystic Woods. I thought she might want to see more of the world.”

Realization dawned on him. “This is a present for mother!” he said.

“That’s right, but it’s not ready, so don’t tell her. I’m going to tell her I tried to turn a tree into gold or something,” said Emmett.

“Ok, it will be our secret!” said Yonah, and he nearly skipped back home. His father bouncing up and down on his shoulders, squishing into his hair.

—

“What on the gods earth were you trying to do, Emmett?” Maya asked, worried but not without exasperation.

She had placed Emmett in an armchair, on the kitchen table, sitting herself on a stool. Yonah sat on her lap, but to be tall enough to be a part of the conversation, he had to be on his knees. Breakfast was ready, porridge and scrambled eggs. Emmett was feeling well enough by then to use a fork and spoon.

“Magical exhaustion mama!” said Yonah, “it happens to the best of us”

“Oh, and when has it happened to you? When have you done such reckless magic?” Maya looked sternly at her son.

“I- I havent, I just mean,” Yonah tried to recover, but his mother just tousled his hair.

“You’re going to be a fine mage someday, but please be careful,” she said, “as for you” she looked back at her husband, who had just put a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

“You still haven’t told me what you were doing!”

Yonah dearly wished he could telepathically communicate with his dad. Emmett choked, and stuttered, he had forgotten what he was going to say. Yonah had to, but they could at least have had a contingency plan. Then it came to him. He had an Idea™.

“Mom?” said Yonah, in his sweetest voice, “Dad?”

“What is it honey?” said Maya, as Emmett wiped porridge from his shirt.

“How did you and dad meet?”

There was a long silence, Yonah’s parents looking from him, to each other. Internally, Yonah was bursting with pride, the perfect distraction! And also, maybe he was finally going to hear the story.

“Havent, Havent we told you?” said Maya.

Yonah crossed his arms, “you said he saved you from an evil wizard, but that’s it, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“Oh there’s a lot more,” said Emmett, and his wife shot him a death glare.

“Come on dear, it’s a good story, i Don’t know what you’re saving it for, some special occasion? Why not now? In any case, I’m too weak to do anymore work today.”

“No, you’re right,” she said. And cleared her throat.

“Well, it all started because, well because I picked a fight with the wrong wizard…”

—

I was on a border patrol, had been for days, and nothing was out of the ordinary. New dire-eagle nests, would have to watch out they don’t steal any cattle. When I came across a wizard. He was, doing something in the forest, which was very suspicious. It took me a second to realize why he set off my alarm bells.

He was not in the garb of an academy wizard, but the two-color robes of a society wizard. The Society of Wizards, as you know, are never up to any good, always trying to further their hold on all magic in the world. And one was at the edge of the Mystic Woods, picking at the ground with his staff, with magic shooting out every minute or so.

Being the amazing ranger that I am, I was able to sneak up on him, to a point, there is only so close I can get, even if I’m unheard. I tried to get him to tell me what he was doing but he wasn’t talking. I ate him of course, and I don’t know if that was a mistake, I doubt it would have changed much about what happened next.

Whatever the wizard had been doing, he had done it, before I got there. It wasn’t even a minute after I dealt with the wizard that The air became all gold and shimmering. I raised a hand up to my eyes to try and rub my vision clear, but i couldn’t, my hand stopped.

I stopped.

I was stuck, frozen, and the air still shimmered. The wizard had been setting a trap! And I had fallen in it. I screamed and screamed, at least i could still scream, my face was the only thing I could move. But no one was close by to hear, not even a talking animal. All I could do was hope the spell wore off or to be found before I died.

—

“AND FOUND SHE WAS! BY ME!” his father said with pride, interrupting Maya.

“There I was, minding my own business, just taking a stroll” said Emmett, more strength in his voice than the rest of his body.

Maya snorted in amusement.

“Ok fine, I was out looking for a good place to settle down, you know, build my witch hut, or tower, or castle. After looking through the Mystic Woods I decided that a magic forest setting wasn’t for me. But I saw the magical field and had to investigate! I walked into the field and what do I find? A giant!”

I had never seen a giant before, and this one was asleep standing up, and in what had to be a very uncomfortable pose. Well, I went right up to her feet and yelled up.

“Hello up there!”

—

I woke up to that yelling and I tried to look down. My eyes moved but my head didn’t, and I screamed. But soon the mysterious visitor backed up enough to be in my field of vision. It was a very strange looking man with bright red hair.

/”Excuse me!?”

“Dear you had the most awful haircut”

“fair”/

I demanded to know who he was, how he got here, and how he wasnt frozen like myself, though I had my theories. I was right too, he was a fire witch, of course the magic didn’t affect him. Fire witches are immune to most magic. But they are also very good at disrupting magic. After a we exchanged names and pleasantries, I kindly asked him to get me free.

/”you demanded it, and it was right after I told you my name”

“Fine, yes, I demanded it, I was three days stuck there, you try to keep cool”

“I never do that,”/

He refused! Said it wasn’t in his interest to help a giant! He couldn’t see the benefit for him, and one less giant around was one less thing to worry about. But, he would examine this trap, it was fascinating, something that could hold a giant in place.

As you can imagine, I wasn’t very happy about this. And this, this little man was just going to let me die where I stood! If I had any tears left they would have flowed from my eyes, but they had dried up a day ago, all I could do was watch as the little ass- jerk [Maya stopped herself from swearing in front of her ten year old son] slowly paced around me.

“Say, this looks like wizard magic,” he said after nearly half an hour! “And not Academy wizardry, Society work!”

“It is” I said, though he didn’t deserve to speak to me any longer.

“How do you know that!?”

“Because,” I said, “that’s how I got stuck here, I found a wizard, and he did this! I’ve been here for three fuc- freaking days!” I think I was willing to talk only so that I could keep my mind of my own impending death.

“Three- how are you still alive?” he asked me, and he was looking at me now, really looking.

“Well, I ate the wizard, that helped, but I’m not going to last much longer!” I was pleading, how demeaning it was.

All I could do was watch him pace back and forth, thinking about something. Eventually he spoke again.

“I hate those society types, they give my cousins across the sea nothing but trouble! Always after their magic. Tell you what, I’ll try to help you, and in return, I’ll need a favor.”

“Sure, what do you need?” I asked, I had hope again.

“Oh I don’t know, I just want a favor, which I will call in sometime in the future,”

Now Yonah, understand that under most circumstances you should never make deals with strangers, especially ones where there are no terms on what the person might request. But I was desperate, I was foolish. And you father knew that. And I accepted.

“Wonderful! Now let me see,” He cracked it knuckles and sat down.

From his backpack it removed all sorts of objects, eventually getting a knife, a little brush and a magnifying glass. He went up to one of the closest trees and scraped at the bark, investigating it more thoroughly than he had before. Then he put his finger up to it and there was a burst of light, I thought the tree might catch fire, but it didn’t, instead there was a puff of dark purple smoke.

“Success!” Emmett said from inside the cloud, and then he coughed violently.

I didn’t know what he was talking about, I was still stuck! Nothing had changed. But he went to another tree and did the same thing, with less smoke this time. And then he went to a rock, and again, a puff of smoke, again smaller than the last. Eventually the puffs of smoke were all the same size, but he kept going. By now I could feel something different, almost like something was lifting off of me, yet I couldn’t move.

/”I’ll explain this,” said Emmett. “You see, what it looked like at the time was the wizard had laid down a net, it really was a trap! I had to sever each line, one at a time with my magic”

Yonah nodded in partial understanding/

Finally he came up to me again, I couldn’t see him anymore because he was so close.

“Hey, um, sorry for what’s about to happen,” was all he said before there was a huge blast of smoke and a surge of heat by my feet.

And then I was on the ground. So was the fire witch, he had been blown back, and was groaning, but he was alive. I was kinda disappointed because it meant I was still bound to do him a favor.

“That should do it!” he said, springing up and dusting himself off.

“I- I’m free?” I tried to move. After three days, I was stiff, and it hurt, but I sat up and tried to do some stretches, it helped a bit.

“Sure are! Hey you wouldn’t know if there was any free land around? I’m looking to set up shop in the mountains! Maybe start with a hovel, someday a small fortress! evil stepmothers of nobility and the men’s auxiliary of uncles would send their step-children to me to be cursed, or given quests, I can make potions, just be a proper fire witch you know? Curse anyone who steps in my garden, plant magic things that will enchant you if you touch or eat them, that kind of thing!”

My head spun as he talked, but I managed to catch the gist, “is, this that favor you wanted?”

“Oh no no no, this kind of information is not favor worthy,” he said, and began gathering up his things which had been scattered by the force of the blast.

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t know. I patrol the lands but I don’t own them.”

“A pity, well I’ll be seeing you,”

It was then that I realized that I needed to get home, and it pained me to admit that I was probably too weak to do so, at least, unless I met no danger on my way. And I had to get home and warn the others about this wizard, and the trap. Society wizards are unofficially designated “kill on sight” because of their reputation. They are dangerous.

“Why don’t you come back to the village with me?”

“And why would I want to do that?” he asked, “Just go to a giant village? That’s not exactly smart”

“You said you were heading into the mountains, well that’s where the village is” I continued to explain that  with me he’d be safe, and given food and a nice bed to rest before continuing on his journey. Hospitality is a rare find in the Implausible Mountains.

He stroked his beard, “You make a good point, I shall accompany you!”

With what little strength I had, I stood up, and I started walking, but Emmett did not follow.

“Hey, where are you going!?” he shouted at me.

I turned around, and he was just staring up at me expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to carry me?”

“Can’t you fly on a broom or something?” I spat back. Carry him! I’m not a courier.

“I don’t have a broom, and you should be glad of it! Do you think I would have walked into you if I could fly around on a broom?”

I had to admit, he was right. So I placed him upon my shoulder and headed home.

But, it wasn’t as simple as that. Running I could get back in a day, walking, 2 days. Walking at my weakened pace, who knows. I didn’t have any food on me either, and I was took weak to hunt. And your father, as talented as he might be with magic, he is no hunter. His fire magic would sooner burn the entire forest or scare off any animals than do any help.

It was the morning of the second day when, according do your dad, that I didn’t wake up.

—

Back then, (Emmett continued), I wasn’t really concerned with people other than myself. I considered just leaving her there. But, I couldn’t. Even without the promised favor, I couldn’t. I had come this far, I had kind of made a friend, we didn’t spend the last two days in complete silence. And it’s rare for fire witches to do that, make friends.

There was only one thing for me to do. I would go to the village myself! There I could tell some giants what had happened and they could get Maya. That was, if they believed me, and if they didn’t try to eat me, or capture me.

I was able to rouse Maya enough to get directions to the village.

We were closer than I had thought, but it still to me a day to get there, without stopping to sleep.

I wasn’t very coherent when I reached the village, and it was about midday. There weren’t many people walking around on the outskirts so I knocked on the first door I came across. Either no one was home, or my tiny knocks were too quiet. I tried another, still no luck. The third time I nearly got flung by the door opening. I shouted up.

And was told to f- buzz off or be killed, they don’t like strange humans in the village. Said I was lucky to get this one warning, the next person might not be so merciful.

Unable to get a word in before they walked off, I decided to just follow them. They eventually made it to the, well I generously call it the village square. It’s mostly a circular area in the center of the village with a well at the center. Going up to a random giant was clearly not the right approach, so thought of a way to get people’s attention.

First I went up to the well and got a few drops of water on my face to wake me up, and then I climbed to the top and stood on the roof of the well. I took a deep breath, and a second, and a third, and shot fire up into the air. Fire from my mouth, and my hands. It had to be big! It had to be grand and noticeable. And it was.

All traffic stopped and stared at me, I was out of breath but my hair was still fire and so I was still a beacon, even under the noonday sun. Soon the well was surrounded by giants, all eyes on me. I figured I should take the initiative here since time was of the essence.

“Attention giants! I have some important information! Please give me your eyes and ears!” I used a little spell to amplify my voice.

I paused, wanting to make sure they were listening, and it seemed like they were, if only because they were confused.

“One of your kind is in danger! She has collapsed out in the forest! I can lead you to her!”

A male giant stepped out of the crowd, he had some sort of armor on so i guessed he was a guard or something, but he came up close and looked me over. You know him, Evan, but this was years ago, if you think he looks strong now, imagine him in his prime.

“Can you now? Human, and why should we trust you? We can see you’re one of those fire witches, how do we know you aren’t trying to lure one of us out there to kill us, and use our body for your wicked spellcasting”

These giants weren’t stupid, but I had to convince them. “I, I know her name! It’s Maya, she was hurt by a wizard from The Society Please you gotta believe me, just let me take you too her”

Evan stroked his non-bearded chin, “For intruding on our peace we should kill you where you stand, but you look weary, and your voice conveys no falsehood,”

“Are you suggesting we follow him!?” came a voice from the crowd, I don’t recall who it was.

“What if it really is society wizards! It could still be a trap!” said another, who I do remember now that I think about it, it was Tola.

“It would be a very elaborate lie, such high reward but higher risk. I say he will lead us, under some conditions, which must be agreed to otherwise we will kill you,” Evan said, not taking his eyes from me even once.

Of course I agreed! I had to save Maya. But, I didn’t realize that they had an anti-magic cage built by a fire witch to hold other fire witches. I was completely at their mercy, but confident that since I was telling the truth, I would make it out of this alive.

“If you make any suspicious move, little witch, it will be your end,” was all the warning I got before being given the command to point them in the right direction. There were 4 giants in total with me, in addition to Evan there was Ozna, Regla, and Gibor, though I didn’t know their names at the time.  Heh, if I went back in time and told myself that those four would be my drinking buddies someday, I would have thought I was crazy, or tried to wake myself up from the now obvious dream I was having.

Anyways back on track.

It was humiliating. Evan held me out in front of him like I was a lantern and he an old crypt keeper. I think at that point I wanted to be able to say “I told you so” to a bunch of giants, and to hear them apologize to me after we saved Maya.

We reached her in just a few hours, and remember it took me a day! The other three giants ran to gather Maya up to be carried back, she didn’t respond to their touching or moving her.

“There, you see, I was telling the truth, you can let me -” but Evan stuck his face close to the cage.

“Silence, witch, for all we know it was you and your fire magic that managed to fell someone as strong as Maya.” He spat at me, which was very rude.

But I couldn’t do anything in the anti-magic cage, even as angry as I was, my hair would only smoke! I was well and truly powerless. So I sat down and resigned myself to swinging around in the cage, which was now on Evan’s hip since I wasn’t needed to lead them back.

When we got back Maya was rushed to a healing house, and I was brought along, though I don’t know why.

I was placed on the floor beside the pad that Maya was placed on. Evan stayed by the door, watching me, as the healer asked me questions. You wouldn’t know her she, she was old even back then, but she was kind, if stern. I was tired, and angry, so we didn’t exactly get along at first.

“How long has she been like this?” she asked me.

“What does it matter!? I don’t really know!” I was, having trouble thinking, I kinda had not eaten or slept or had anything to drink for over a day.

“Think, how long?”

“Uh, four, maybe five days,” I said.

That was clearly a bad answer because she went straight to Evan and ordered him to go fetch some things.

I can’t pretend to understand what exactly was done, but I know that the healer managed to force feed Maya something, something that smelled awful, through some tube. And I know it was risky bc it took a while to set up.

I was also given food. Stale bread rhinds and old flat beer. So far, I wasn’t impressed with the hospitality that Maya had spoken of.

I did ask why I was being kept next to Maya, if they thought I was the one who hurt her. I was told that should she die, the last thing I should think about was the one I had killed. Justice i guess, it didn’t make much sense to me.

It took two days for Maya to wake up, and she was force fed the rank broth a few more times. But it must have done something.

—

It was like coming out of a fog. I didn’t know where I was, the last thing I remember was heading home, with, with a fire witch. I sat up and looked around, I was in the healing house, and next to me was a cage, and in the cage was.

“You!” I said, my voice was wispy, I picked up the cage. The fire witch was there, in the same clothes, but looking rather haggard.

“Yes it is I, Emmett, can you please let me out?” he said, standing up putting his face up to the bars, “I’ve been in this cage for almost three days!”

Thinking back I probably shouldn’t have, I didnt know why he was caged, but I opened it, and he hopped right out onto my hand. And Then I almost dropped him as his hair burst into flames!

“AHHHH! Free at last!” He cried triumphantly, “oh, sorry, got a little, excited” he said putting out his hair, though heat radiated off of him, it felt really nice as the warmth spread from him to my hands to my limbs and my entire body felt like it was being filled with energy. And clarity.

“Why on earth were you in that cage? What happened?”

He told me, his hair flaming up when he got to the the actual caging parts. But I was not burned. Unlike the others in the village, I believed him at his first words. There wasn’t really any other explanation for how I got home.

“So, little witch,” i said, “this is twice you have saved my life, I guess I owe you two favors now,”

/”It’s so much more endearing when you say it” said Emmett,

“What?”

“Little witch”/

“Ah, I mean,” his face was now the part of his head to turn red, “consider this one a freebie, but I’d better see that nice hospitality I was promised, so far the accommodations have been dreadful”

Now it was my turn to be angry. And I called out for the healer or any attendants that might be nearby. They rushed in, but as soon as they saw Emmett in my hands, they stopped.

Tired as I was, I gave them my most fearsome glare.

“How DARE you put this man in a cage, he’s a gosh darn hero!”

“We didn’t, Maya, that was Evan,” said one of the attendants.

“Then go get him!” I ordered, and one of them ran off.  

After forcing Evan to apologize, sort of, I was told there would be a feast to celebrate my recovery. I of course demanded that Emmett be allowed to join, right before falling back asleep.

—

I was very worried they would put me back in that cage or throw me out the moment Maya couldn’t stop them, but they didn’t. Now that I wasn’t suspected of attempted murder, I was allowed to do as I wished, within reason. There wasn’t much I wanted to do, I did not know, let alone trust, any other giant in the village. I didn’t dare to even go for a walk. So I just stayed by Maya’s side.

Well, not the entire time, I did leave so I could wash myself and change my clothes after half a week of traveling and being stuck in a cage. I felt like a new man, and I put on my nicest robes in anticipation of the feast.

And if you were wondering, yes, your mother was also given a wash and fresh clothing.

Now, the feast itself. The food was, it was decent. Nothing fancy, but well spiced. About what you would expect for a feast that was prepared in half a day.

And it was held outside, with tables circling the well at the center of the village, lanterns were strung from the houses and held up on poles, everyone was talking, some people were singing, everyone was drinking. Now that I got to try the not-left-out-for-days-in-the-sun-beer, I got to try real giant’s beer. And the stories are true, it’s the best in the land. But, you’ll get to try it when you’re older. It was a good time, and no one threatened to eat me, not seriously, at least, I don’t think anyone did.

Maya had to tell the story of what happened so many times that by the end of the night she was hoarse, but after most people went off to bed, we were told to stay, Evan and a few other village leaders wanted to speak with us.

We were taken to Evan’s house. Maya took a seat at the table, and I stood on table itself, as close to Maya as possible. It wasn’t long before Evan walked in with three others, Ishka, Amir, and Adom. And we were asked to tell the story.

“Again? We’ve told it over twenty times today, I’ve counted,” I said.

“No, she has told it,” said Evan, referring to Maya, “Now we want to hear it from you, and don’t spare any detail about what happened.”

I didn’t think there was much for me to add since I had not been there when the wizard showed up, but they were very interested in how I figured out the net and how to get rid of it. Amir was the village’s most powerful mage. They wanted to know if it was hidden, if I thought only fire witch fire could break it, and if they could learn to spot them.

“Wait, you think there could be more?” I asked, and I looked to Maya, she hadn’t been paying much attention But now she looked fearful.

/”I was very tired”/

“It is pure speculation,” said Amir, “but where there is one society wizard, there are always others, and Maya only found the one. More wizards could mean more traps.”

“So what do you think we should do?” I asked.

““we”? Little witch, bold of you to assume you would remain with us much longer,” said Evan. I was about to respond but Maya spoke.

 “Good luck destroying the traps without him, you said yourself you don’t know if it can be done without fire witch fire.”

Everyone was silent for a while, and I didn’t dare make suggestions, and to be fair, I didn’t have any. Then Ishka broke the silence.

“I’m less worried about the traps as I am about the wizards. If this is the beginning of an invasion, we can’t be caught off guard,” she said, “We need to start the Implausible Connection as soon as possible!”

That didnt mean jack shi-diddly to me, but I was tired and full of ale, so I didn’t inquire any further.  

The others nodded, and Ishka continued “There’s the dragon lair close by, we could go tomorrow morning, but we should send a messenger to the nearest village tonight,”

“You don’t perhaps have mirrors? To, say, contact the village directly?” I asked.

Amir looked peeved at that comment, “no, we do not, that kind of magic has never been shared with us, you humans and other small folk keep it to yourselves.”

“Well, maybe after this we’ll get that set up,” I said, and Amir looked surprised, and then smiled at me. “That’s very generous, for a fire witch,”

“I’m not going to do it for free, or any of this, if you want my help I’ll want payment!” I said. I wasn’t interested in making a profit, but this would cost me a lot of time, energy, and supplies.

Adom glared at me and growled “we are prepared to compensate you, within reason, if you prove useful.”

The meeting concluded soon after that, and Maya and I went back to the healing house, she was still recovering, and needed to have as much strength as possible for tomorrow we would meet at least one dragon.

—

(Maya continues the story)

When we got to the dragon’s lair, it was empty. Well, as far as we could tell, so we sent Emmett in, dragons may be in length the same height as a giant, but they are smaller, and none of us could actually fit in the cave entrance, not without crawling.

But they weren’t home, that was made clear when we heard the screeching, and sneezing, behind us, and looked up to see the dragon diving towards us. They landed in front of the mouth of the cave and look at us, angry and surprised. Five horns, a male dragon. And he sneezed again.

“What are you giants doing here? This is dragon territory, explain yourselves,” his tail swished, and we saw that it was not pointed, the end had been cut off, and then the burned. The dragon was shaking, and bit of flame flicked out of his nose.

“They’re not home,” Emmett called from inside the cave, he was coming back, and the dragon jerked his head in Emmett’s direction.

“Thieves!! You brought a human to steal from me!”

Before any of could do something he released a blast of fire and we heard Emmett yelp.

“No, dragon, we are not thieves! We came to talk to you, wizards were spotted in the forest! We’ve come to invoke the Implausible Connection” Evan shouted over the screeches of the dragon.

The dragon stopped breathing fire and looked astonished, and was no longer in a rage. He sat up on his hind legs, curling his injured tail around to his underbelly, and cocked his head at Evan, and again, he sneezed.

“Wizards you say, Implausible Connection you say! Wish you had come sooner, I just met a wizard.” now that he wasn’t angry his voice was much softer, “I am very sorry about your human friend, wrong place at the wrong time, I hope you don’t hold his death against me,” he twitched his tail, a bit embarrassed at his mistake.

“I’m not dead!” Emmett called from the cave, coughing loudly, he staggered out into the light. His face was covered in soot, and his clothing was almost all gone, he was in burned rags and charred undergarments.

“I’m *cough* charging extra for the loss of my clothes,” he said to Evan, who rolled his eyes.

The dragon lumbered over on his hind legs to Emmett and put his snout near Emmett’s face.

“A fireproof human, how fascinating, unless,” and he growled deeply, “this is a trick, and you’re another wizard!”

“He’s not, he’s a fire witch” I said, as Emmett made his way back to me. I put him on my shoulder, for safe keeping.  The dragon looked at me, narrowing his eyes.

“That would make more sense,” he said, “So, it seems as though we have both had encounters with wizards, before I tell my tale, I suggest you tell yours, if you think this is worth making the Connection”

We did, and he listened with wrapped attention and when I got to the part about being frozen the dragon snarled.

“Did you get trapped too? How did you get out?” I said, stopping the story.

The dragon looked to his tail, “I didn’t get trapped. I was flying off after chasing the wizard away and then it felt like I had been grabbed by my tail. I looked down, and there was nothing, but I could feel the magic there, dense and stringy. I didn’t dare go near it, but I could not hover forever. I bit off the end of my tail, cauterized it, and then flew here.”

We all exchanged glances, and we all were thinking the same thing. There were more wizards, and more traps. This was bad.

“And you are sure it was a Society Wizard? Not an Academic?” asked Evan.

The dragon snorted, “of course, didn’t you hear my sneezing? Not much can effect a dragon, but for some reason we seem to be allergic to Society Wizards.”

This was why the Implausible Connection was needed. It was the only way to warn everyone and unite the peoples of the mountain to solve the problem. It started with telling the dragons, who could fly fast than anyone could run or walk, to spread the word. This dragon was eager to get it started.

“Can you perhaps, take us to the one you were almost caught in?” said Emmett, as the dragon was about to take off.

“For what purpose?” he asked, annoyed.

Emmett explained that he was able to disable the trap I was caught in, and he wanted to test methods of destruction, and to better investigate the magic itself. The dragon agreed, but he was annoyed that we had to walk there, when he could just fly Emmett. It soon realized that Emmett wasn’t going to be allowed to go without giants chaperoning him.

—

It really didn’t take very long to get to the spot. We were there within the hour. Of course, I didn’t walk any of it, being on Maya’s shoulder. The dragon took off as soon as it could and I started to set up for the day’s work. Thankfully my traveler’s pack was so heavily enchanted that it didn’t get burned up, I had all of my supplies.

I was the only one who could actually go into the trap itself, so I couldn’t have any help, a pity. And it was. Slow going. And to make it worse, the giants were impatient, and didn’t believe me when I said I was working as fast as I could, and in my underwear, I might add.

/”Oh gods, I had forgotten that you didn’t have a spare set of clothes with you” said Maya

“I wish I could forget it, it was embarrassing!” said Emmett, “It’s why I developed a spell to mend clothes!”/

After a few hours in which I made little progress, two dragons arrived, and not the one we had spoken to before. These two were female.

“You, fire witch,” said the larger dragon, pointing a claw at me, “You can destroy these things?”

I walked up to the edge of the trap, as long as I was in it, the dragons couldn’t do anything to me, no one could.

“My name,” I was getting tired of being called ‘fire witch’, “Is Emmett, and yes, I can.”

“Prove it,” she said, spitting some fire, pacing next to the edge of the trap.

I rolled my eyes  “I’m trying to figure out what it is, If I destroy it, I can’t learn from it!” I said.

“It matters not, witch, destroy this one, and we will provide another for your investigations,” her companion said.

“Fine,” I said, I packed up all of my things and set about destroying the net. I was quicker than before, now that I knew what to expect, and the dragons watched, barley blinking. The giants watched too, blinking a lot, or sleeping. It took awhile and the poofs of smoke lost their novelty quickly. Only Maya paid as much attention as the dragons, though I’m confident that she was watching them more than she was watching me.

I severed the last magic line and with a sickening THUD, the tip of a dragon’s tail hit the ground. I ran towards it. It was still fresh.

The two dragons didn’t like that, but I stared them down, “This,” I waved the tail end,  “is my payment, for sacrificing this trap, and for what I assume are the next ones I am being conscripted to deal with.”

“That is, acceptable,” one of them said. “Now you will come with us, do you have a broom or will we be carrying you?”

“Neither,” said Maya, standing between myself and the dragons, “The witch is my charge, I carry him, you will lead,”

The dragon stood up to her full height, and still had to fly a bit to be at eye level, “This is a dragon matter, giant, we need the witch and you will give him over,”

“No, he’s ours!” and she picked me up.

This had to stop I wanted to help, but not if it meant I was treated like a tool.

“Everyone SHUT UP!” sparks were flying from my hair and I could feel it about to ignite.

All eyes were on me, and not in the way I liked it.

“Now, I should by all means leave you all in the dust and leave with what’s left of my dignity, but I won’t. I won’t. Not just because I’m all mixed up in this, but because I plan to live here someday, and I can’t do that if it’s over run with Society Wizards!” I couldn’t stop it, my hair lit up, but not as angry as I had feared, It clearly knew I wanted a bit of a spectacle. Maya yelped but didn’t drop me.

I paused to calm myself down, even though my hair wouldn’t, and no one said anything, “This, Implausible Connection, no one ever explained it to me but I think I got the gist. It’s an alliance, between all the people’s of the mountain. That means whatever you want me for isnt a dragon matter, it’s an everyone matter. Maya comes with me, or I don’t come at all. And you will honor the Connection, correct?”

The dragons conferred for over a minute, during which the other giants roused from their naps.

“We agree to your terms. The Implausible Connection has not been enacted officially, but it is likely to be soon, the Dragon Emperor is in flight. But they,” and the dragon flicked her tail to the other giants, “Stay behind,”

“Fine with me,” I said.

“Not fine with me,” said Evan, finally joining in.

“You’re no longer a part of this,” I said, and Evan looked like he wanted to rip me limb from limb.

“Evan, I can look after him, he doesn’t need four giants guarding him,” said Maya.

There wasn’t much Evan could do to stop us from leaving short of attacking Maya, so that is where we parted ways and followed the dragons.

“Oh, Emmett, your hair is still on fire,” Maya said, and before I could do anything she licked her fingers and extinguished my hair like a candle.

“Uh, thanks, for that,” I was now covered in spit, wearing burned rags of a robe, and my singed underwear. What a day, and now I was going to help these dragons, soon the everyone in the mountain would get their first impression of me in possibly the worst state I could be in.

Regardless, we followed the dragons, who we learned were named Exceeder and Perzan. They of course were leading us to another sprung trap, which I, again, almost naked, set about destroying.

“About time!” said the dragon that had been caught in the trap when it fell to the ground and stretched its wings.

“You’re welcome,” I said. This dragon had no horns, it was much smaller, a juvenile, very juvenile.

“Ah, yes, forgive my rudeness oh naked one,” they said.

“Dragonling,” said Exceeder, “You will thank this man, and be grateful he has not asked for more.”

The young dragon rolled their eyes and turned back to me, “thanksssss” and flames shot out of their mouth as they hissed.

I caught the flames, I wasn’t about to let the rest of my clothing burn away, “careful now, you might burn down the forest”

“What is he!?” the young dragon, it wasnt in anger. They got up close to me and sniffed curiously, I stepped back, getting closer to Maya, who got the hint and picked me up, away from the small dragon.

“Thanks,” I said, only so that Maya could hear.

“Listen up dragon,s I am In need of clothes, a wash, and another trap to analyze” I said.

The dragons agreed to go in search of another trap while Maya took me back to the village to get cleaned up.

/”Dear, you didn’t mention, that dragonling is Yonah’s friend, dont you remember?”

“Wait, really? That was Dragon?” said Yonah.

“I had totally forgotten it was them,” said Emmett/

But if you think it was going to be that easy, you would be wrong. Turns out, as the first to encounter the wizards, Maya’s village was now a hub of activity. There were five dragons, including The Emperor, Brazon. The Lord of the Elves and their entourage was present, as was half of the Council of Dwarves. Since there was no house large enough for everyone, an area had been set up in the town center, several large tables has been connected, and smaller tables placed on top for the elves and dwarves.

And everyone was demanding to talk to us when we got back. I was adamant, I would not speak about current events until I had fresh clothes, and a bath, please. And since I’m finally in a safe place to say it, I took my sweet sweet time cleaning up.  

“Ah, the pair of the hour!” said Evan, as Maya and I, on Maya’s shoulder, formally arrived. He held out his hand for me to step on, smiling warmly. Maya put me on the table herself, and Evan’s smile twitched. I think he wanted to give the impression that he was on good terms with me, and in a position of power in the proceedings.

“I hope everyone had been brought up to speed” I said, “I have had to repeat myself several times today already.”

“We have,” said Brazon, “Unfortunately, these giants cannot give us any details on the traps, not well versed in the arcane,”  The giants present all grumbled. “So only you can tell us how they work. What do you know?”

“Well, I would know more, but two of your subjects had me destroy two traps, one that no one was actually caught in,” I said.

Brazon hissed, “We did not ask for insults, we asked for information, witch”

“I can’t tell you much. My fire magic can destroy them, I’m immune to the effects, and I can identify the spell’s anchors,” I said. “I’m not, I’m not a wizard, I’m not fully equipped in skill, knowledge, or tools to analyze these enchantments with even a modicum of efficiency, If I just had more time,” I trailed off.

All eyes were on me, but I had nothing. Maybe I wasn’t the powerful witch i thought I was, maybe all my confidence was faked and I was biding my time until the giants realized it and turned on me. Surely now that I had stated it outright, I was to be tossed away like burned parchment. I was deflated.

But no one was angry, everyone was thinking. Finally the Lord of the Elves approached me. They had dark skin with blue-ish tones, his brown hair slightly, curled, and their deep green eyes looked up at me. They were at best 4 feet tall, the tallest of the elves present. Their garb was both fancy and armored, encrusted with jewels that reeked of charms. They reached out their hand to hold mine.

It had been a while since I’d seen hands that weren’t large enough to envelop me, and now I was going to take the hands of the Elf Lord of the Implausible Mountains.

“Mr. Ha’Esh was it?”  they said, their voice much lower than I had expected, and dripping with kindness perfected from decades of politics, “I am Lord Khelema, it is an honor to meet you”

I was shaking, and feared I was squeezing his smaller hand in mine, “I can’t imagine why,” I said.

“A fire witch? Abandoning their personal endeavors, and so quickly mind you, to help a people in need? It is unheard of,” they said

I blinked, “I, I am owed favors, and was going to be paid,” I said. The elf lord beckoned me to lean down, to put my ear to their mouth.

“You keep telling yourself that? That you are risking your life, safety, and reputation to save all the peoples of the mountains from an unknown plot by the society of wizards, for some measly coin? The promise of a favor?” they said at a whisper.

“What are they telling you!?” one of the giant bellowed, and I jumped.

“I was simply telling him that he need not work alone any longer.” said Khelema, voice booming impressively.

“I, I wasn’t working alone, I have Maya,” I said, indicating her behind me, and my cheeks grew hot as I did.

Lord Khelema took back their hands and then they, a few other elves, and several of the people around me laughed.

“Help with the magic, my good man, you need help with the magic,” said one of the dwarves, “You are still the only one who can traverse a sprung trap, but you have more resources now,”

The present company had already planned to send out spies to look for wizards and traps, as soon as I could tell them what to look for, and were pleased to know of the three dragons I had already assigned to such a task. They all wanted to know what I thought of their plan, which so far was just, well, spy on the wizards, find traps, investigate.

Just a few days ago I had been expecting to find a quiet place for myself, and hope to not transgress on anyone’s territory. Now I meeting the leaders of every mountain People, I was at the center of a war tribunal, and our foe was the Society of Wizards.

My only anchor was Maya, who stood behind me the entire time, offering support when she could.

The first step was to find a freshly laid trap, and not get caught in it, or at least, if someone was to activate it, for it to be me. I would provide notes and execute testing procedures developed by the elves, dwarves, and dragons. As a side project I would try to come up with a method to allow non-fire witches to destroy or if possible, enter a trap.

If we could capture a wizard that would be extremely helpful, but if they could be simply killed that was perfectly acceptable.

I posited that we contact The Academy of Wizards, but they couldn’t be brought into this, too neutral. And even though The Academy is a separate entity from The Society, no one wanted to deal with more wizards than necessary.

It got dark by the time we adjourned. But instead of going to the healing house, Maya took me to hers, or rather, her families, she still lived with her parents and some of her siblings. The elves and the dwarves both offered me more properly proportioned accommodations, but I was more comfortable with the one person I was most familiar with.

—

That was… the first proper night we spent together, without him in a cage or myself on the mend. Though all it really involved was Emmett being given a makeshift bed in a small box which I placed by my head. We had a lot of work ahead of us, or he did, and a good night’s sleep was very important.

We had more time to rest up than we thought, progress was slow going. We didn’t find another trap for three days, so for three days I took Emmett around on my patrols, though I knew we were followed by the elves, the sneaky little bast- folk. We saw a wizard once, but he ran before we could get to him, and there was no trap nearby.

The dragons we originally sent to find a trap were eventually successful, and that was nearly out downfall. They hadn’t been trying to sneak around, they’re actions alerted the wizards to the fact that we were mobilizing against them.

And then, out of nowhere, there were wizards. All over the mountains. It took all of our combined efforts to hold them off of, whatever they were planning. Emmett was immune to their magic, and they didn’t know we had a fire-witch, so he was constantly being called to remove the traps, and there wasn’t much chance to study them.

Even with the help of the elves, he made little progress. All we learned was the magic was old and secret. The Society of Wizards had delved into some long forgotten archive for the construction of the enchantments.

The only major development made was after two weeks, we, or rather, the dwarves, the elves, and Emmett, figured out how to destroy the traps more efficiently. And I heard them explain it enough that even I understood it.

Emmett’s magic was still the only thing that could destroy an activated trap, not that we knew how to avoid activating them when we stopped a wizard from doing so, but that’s beside the point. If you thought of the magic like ropes, you could imagine cutting the ropes with scissors. Scissors made of fire-witch magic.

And it was a brilliant solution. That cage that Emmett was held in? We took that apart and forged a few blades, these could slice right through the magic, but it had to be done from the outside in, cleaving each tether that was exposed enough to reach without getting caught in the trap. It was slow, careful going. Unless you were Emmett and could waltz into a trap and cut up the spell.

We had Emmett analyze the cage and imbue more metal with the same magic, for more blades.

/“I spent three freaking days doing nothing but pouring my magic into pieces of metal for the dwarves! I felt like I was going to die of boredom or waste away from lack of magic”/

It was the only three days where I wasn’t at Emmett’s side, and it was the worst three days of the entire conflict. I took out my distress on the wizards, so at least I applied myself constructively in that time.

The problem was, the wizards were getting smarter, and wouldn’t activate the traps if they figured out we were nearby, and we couldn’t destroy one that wasn’t activated, not yet. Because we couldn’t find them. Even if we could see the wizard working on placing it.

—

Finally we captured one of the Society Wizards before he could flee, or was killed (the dragons and the giants tended to favor eating them, the dwarves to disembowel or bludgeon, and the elves to turn into pincushions of arrows).

We took away his staff, his source of magic, and. We… persuaded him to talk. I had to be there, to counter any magic he might have kept for himself, and to, assist. I’m not too proud of what I did, but we needed to know what the wizards were planning.

It was as bad as we feared. The wizards were not placing traps, they were activating an old network that they put there ages ago. They had apparently forgotten about their plan to capture as many magical beings as possible in the Implausible Mountains, and drain their magic. They didnt know why they abandoned that plan, but they figured they could try and finish the job.

The wizard didn’t know how many of the traps existed, only that there were a lot. Each web was actually a nexus point, and if enough could be activated, it would form one giant web, trapping everyone, leaving them at the mercy of the wizards.

After analyzing the wizard’s staff, along with help from the elves, we found a spell that detected the traps. It took about a week, but we were able to copy it. The traps were very well hidden, but they were like spider’s webs, and would, collect dew as it were. Magical dew. You would let out a small amount of pure magical energy, like a mist of magic, and would see where it stuck. But you had to know the pattern it would collect in. We knew it now.

After that, well there isn’t much of note, Maya and I traveled around finding traps, sometimes finding the wizards already there, sometimes getting the jump on them. We were just one of many groups clearing the mountains, and after another month we were sure there were no more wizards and very few traps left, the very strange almost war, was over!

There was a big celebration held in the largest of the giant villages, the only one that could seat more giants than just it’s village population. Beyond the relief that we had stopped the wizards, there was a celebration of unity. It had been a while since the Implausible Connection had been enacted and the peoples of the mountains had put aside their differences and petty conflicts.

Near the end I was asked to give a speech. We were all happy and off of food and various alcohols. I knew it was coming, and knew that there wasn’t much I could say that hadn’t been said before, except for one thing.

“Most of you know that I originally got entangled in this because I was the one who found Maya in that very first trap. What you may not know is that I only helped destroy that first trap, and free Maya, in exchange for a favor. I did not tell her what the favor would be, or when I would ask for it. Truthfully, I just liked the idea of having a giant indebted to me.”

Glancing at Maya I could see she was not pleased with my honesty. I cleared my throat again, and walked in front of Maya, staring into her dark eyes, letting her presence become my world. It was easy to do, she is very large. I smiled up at her.

“Maya” I said, holding out my hands palms down in front of me.

“Would you do me the favor, of marrying me?”

And I apparated a pair of bond earrings between us.

There was complete silence, I feared I had made a fatal mistake.

“Is he serious?” I heard Evan shout, breaking the tension. I didn’t look at him, I only looked at Maya, and I nodded.

—

“Yes,” I said, and I scoped up your father and kissed his entire head.

—

“And since everyone we knew was already present, we saw no reason not to have the wedding right then and there,” said Maya, concluding the story.

Yonah had been in rapt attention the entire time. He had to shake himself out of his trance. “Wowwwww, that was the best story ever! Can I see the earring mother?”

“Of course,” she said, removing the circlet with a pleasant click. Placing it in Yonah’s hands.

“These are not in any giant fashion,” she said, “See the markings? It’s giant formal, but it’s much too curved and flowing, much too intricate, and too detailed. No giant’s hands could make details that small. I found out later that night that Emmett had been planning this for a while, back when he was enchanting the metal, and I wasn’t around, he had asked the dwarves to make the earrings.”

Yonah was studying the piece of jewelry, it was sturdy and would not break in his or any giant’s hands.

“Do you have any other stories?” he said.  

His parents laughed, his father coughed a bit. Yonah didn’t understand what was funny. He was so proud of his parents, they were heroes! Surely they had more stories!

“Your father needs to rest now, how about you come hunting with me?”

“But, you went yesterday!” said Yonah, yet a bad feeling gathered in his gut. The hunt yesterday had been very successful, 4 dire-boars, 3 deer. And he was useless at hunting!

“I should rephrase that, I’m not going to be hunting, you are. I know you have been slacking on archery practice, and it’s not right for a young giant to not know his way around a ranged weapon.” she said, ruffling her son’s hair.

Yonah groaned, he hated archery, and most combat training. He knew why it was important, and he was ok at it, but only because his mother was an expert and his teacher. He would never be as good as good as her, and he didn’t want to.  He much preferred magic, and gardening, like his dad.

“Come on, you get your father into bed, and I’ll get our supplies,” she smiled wickedly.

[FIN]

[FIN]

[Thanks for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated! With tags to tell me what you liked about this story! If you want a story with an adult Yonah and vore in it, go here! it’s safe vore, but does mentioned fatal]

#gt #giant tiny #sfw gt #giant/tiny #mystic woods story #mystic woods