#I WAS UNHAPPY WITH CERTAIN PARTS AND KEPT CHANGING THINGS

[andvys]

Hi!

Could I please request a virgin-Eddie cumming just from eating reader out. Maybe she complains to him that no guy is able to do it right and he's like "well, teach me and I'll do it right for you!" and it ends with him cumming because he enjoys it so much :)

You can have my everything E.M.

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! smut, virgin!Eddie, cunnilingus, idiots in love, friends to lovers

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Note: I know that there's a few virgin!Eddie imagines out there, I haven't read many but if this one is any close or similar to another one, please let me know and I'll change it right away

Word count: 3.5k+

stranger things masterlist

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Eddie had noticed that there was something off about you lately, after yet another unsuccessful date a few weeks back, you finally gave up on trying to find the right guy. As much as he hates seeing you so sad and unhappy, he can’t help but feel relieved that you did. He always hated it, having to see you get all excited about the dates, having to watch you get ready, even helping you get ready, helping you pick out outfits for dates with other guys, when he wants it to be him.

You tell him about the dates, he gets every detail– well, not every single one. There are barely any secrets between the two of you but there still are certain things that you don't share with each other. His feelings for you are the biggest secret he kept from you and he doesn't plan on ever revealing them, he would never risk losing you.

There are things you don’t tell him, you don’t tell him about what you do with the guys, you don’t tell him whether you kissed them or not, you don’t tell him if you have slept with them or not– he doesn’t know why, but he does wonder -- do you not tell him because you secretly know about his feelings and want to spare him of the things that might break his heart or is it because you are too embarrassed to talk about these things, feeling scared that he might judge you? Another part of him wonders if you do anything with these guys at all– he hopes you don’t but the hickeys he saw on your neck before, proved otherwise. It filled him with jealousy and rage, it made his skin burn and his eyes too. He hated them, he hated every one of those guys that could touch you.

He knows he could treat you better than any of those pricks ever could, even with his lack of experience, he could do so much better than them. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he finally shuts his notebook and throws it on his bed.

You look up at him from your magazine, raising your brows at him, “hm?” 

“What’s wrong?” He repeats as he scoots closer to you, “you’ve been weird for days now.” 

You furrow your brows a little, glancing down at the magazine, you press your lips together into a straight line, for a moment you are silent as you get lost in your thoughts. Eddie uses your distraction to admire you.

Here you are, sitting on his bed, wearing his shirt, like you do every weekend when you stay over, like you’re his girl. 

“You’ve been really frustrated and snappy lately,” he adds as he thinks about all the times you have snapped at anyone who even looked at you the wrong way– usually it were people like Jason and his friends or some of the mean girls from the cheer squad. 

“Snappy?” You ask, looking up, your eyes meet his again.

“Yeah, which is fine, I guess you’re going through some stuff right now,” he shrugs, “but I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything.” 

You know you can but there are things that you can’t talk to him about. For some reason, it feels wrong. 

“I-I know,” you mumble nervously. 

Eddie furrows his brows, he tilts his head a little as he takes in the sight of your flustered expression. You finally close the magazine and place it on the nightstand. 

“Did something happen on the last date you went on?” He asks, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice, “did he hurt you?” 

You shake your head and pull your knees up to your chest, “no, he didn’t hurt me.” 

He nods, relaxing a little. Eddie might be jealous whenever you go on dates but he is also worried about you, what if you get hurt? He doesn’t know what he would do if you did get hurt.

“Was he mean?” 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head as you grow even more flustered. You want to tell him but then you would step into new territories and the first moments would definitely be awkward and it’s Eddie, your best friend, your ‘partner in crime’ as he likes to call it, he is your childhood friend but he is also more than that. Eddie is the one you want, Eddie is the one you love. 

You know that he doesn’t feel the same, that’s why you would never bother telling him about your feelings. And that is why you have been trying to get over him, trying desperately but nothing works, you can’t get him out of your mind and you never will but you know that someday, you will have to watch him fall in love with someone that isn’t you, you will have to hear stories about his successful dates and just the thought of it is enough to shatter your fragile heart. 

Eddie keeps pestering you about the date that you went on weeks ago, he keeps asking questions, he keeps pushing you as though you aren’t frustrated enough already, frustrated in every way. 

As he keeps poking your side and joking around, asking you the silliest questions, you finally snap. 

“None of them make me feel good!” You exclaim, interrupting him, “none of them know how to touch me right! None of them know how to make me…. come,” you whisper the last word as you start blushing. 

His eyes widen and he instantly shuts his mouth, his cheeks grow red as he processes your words. First he gets jealous after finally getting the confirmation that you do have sex with them, then he gets mad, how dare they touch you and not make you feel good? Then he gets curious. 

“You fuck them?” He asks you bluntly. 

You give him a side eye, not feeling brave enough to look into his eyes yet, “no, just hands and mouth stuff.” 

He clenches his jaw, humming as he nods. 

“A-And none of them made you… you know, cum?” He asks, smirking a little when you glare at him. 

“No, no they didn’t.”

And there are two reasons for that. 

One, they are not Eddie and two, they don’t know what the hell they are doing. You are more successful when you touch yourself. 

Eddie stares at you, getting lost in his thoughts. 

He thinks about touching you, all the time. He thinks about what it would be like to feel your bare skin against his, what it would feel like to have you under him, what it would feel like to kiss your lips, to make you feel good, to taste you, to hear your beautiful moans as he makes you cum on his fingers, on his tongue, on his dick. 

“I could make you cum,” he blurts out without thinking. 

You snap your head towards him, eyes widening as you look into your best friend’s pretty eyes. His cheeks are flushed and he seems to be flustered by his own words, yet he straightens his back and looks confidently into your eyes, “I could make you feel so much better than any of them ever could.” 

“What– Eddie?” You mumble. 

Your heart starts racing as you look at him, he is nervous, you can see it but he is genuine about it, he isn’t playing with you. 

Eddie puts his hand on your bare thigh, he blinks, ignoring the racing heart in his chest, “i-if you tell me what to do, I promise, I will make you feel good.” 

Your heart flutters and so does your stomach. Eddie is everything you think about when you touch yourself at nights. Just the thought of him kissing your skin and touching you the way you’ve always dreamed about, makes you press your thighs together. 

“W-What do you mean, if I tell you to?” You ask, curiously. 

You were always convinced that he had been with other girls before, that he touched them, that he had sex with them.

Eddie isn’t embarrassed to admit it, just a little flustered, “I haven’t, you know..” he shrugs, rolling his eyes, “come on, sweetheart. You know I haven’t fucked anyone, I’m a virgin– you’d know if I wasn’t, I tell you everything.” 

Yeah, he does tell you everything but you thought that he might’ve kept that from you, just like you kept things from him. Yet the thought of Eddie being a virgin surprises you– he is so beautiful, so attractive, so sexy– who wouldn’t want him? 

But Eddie doesn’t want just anyone, he wants you. 

“You’ve never?”

He shakes his head, “no, sweetheart.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, not wanting to tell you the truth, not wanting to mess it up with the girl he loves.

“Don’t ask so many questions,” he mumbles as he squeezes your thigh, “do you want me to make you feel good?” 

You nod your head slowly as you stare at him with wide eyes.

How did you both get here?

Eddie’s heart jumps in excitement when you whisper a small ‘yes’. You want it, you want him. 

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers as he bravely leans in to kiss your cheek, “so I can make you feel good.”

There was always more than just friendship between the two of you, it was so clear to everyone but the two of you. Eddie was so focused on his feelings, he never paid attention to the way you looked at him, to the way your touch always lingered, to the way you put him above everything and everyone.

You place your hand on his shoulder and look into his eyes, taking deep breaths, you move closer to him, you notice the way his breath hitches in his throat when your eyes flicker to his lips. He raises his hand to cup your cheek, placing his thumb on your bottom lip, he swallows nervously, staring at it for a long time before he looks back into your eyes. 

There have been so many moments where you have gotten this close, when you gave him a kiss on the cheek the other day, you stopped to look at his lips and he swore, his heart leaped to his throat, when you poked at his sides and started tickling him, he grabbed your waist and fell back on his bed, with you on top of him and then you both stilled and your nose bumped into his, your lips almost touched -- he was dying to feel your lips on his.

There was always a sense of longing between the two of you but neither of you were brave enough to make the first move, the fear of rejection was too big. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Eddie whispers shakily, his heart starts pounding in his chest and he knows that this might be something that you don’t want but you are about to step into new territories, things won’t be the same after this anyways– he will pretend that they are for your sake, if you want it. 

“Really?” You ask with widened eyes. 

He smiles a little, “yes.” 

“Me too.”

“C-Can I kiss you?” 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He wastes no second to connect his lips with yours, a gasp makes his way up to his throat when he finally feels your lips on his. You softly wrap your arms around him and pull him against you, chest to chest, you hold each other tightly as you experience your first kiss with each other. Eddie still holds your cheeks, humming into the kiss when you deepen it. 

Your lips feel so perfect against his, even better than he had imagined. It makes his heart flutter and his skin tingle, fire burns in his stomach and his desire for you grows bigger and bigger. 

You moan into his mouth when he grabs your waist and pulls close to him before he lays you down, without breaking the kiss, he moves on top of you. 

Years and years of yearning and pining is over, finally, he gets to feel you, he gets to feel what it’s like to kiss you, to touch you, even if just for tonight. He takes his time, opting to explore your body with his hands and lips first. 

His erection is growing, his jeans get uncomfortably tight but he pays no attention to that. He takes your shorts off after a while, sliding them down your legs slowly. 

When he hears your whine and sees the desperate look in your pretty eyes, he can’t help but wonder, is this real? He wanted this for so long and now he just got it? Just like that? 

“Eddie,” you whisper as he gets lost in your eyes while his hands grip your hips tightly, “touch me,” you plead, placing your hands on top of his and moving them up to your panties, “please.” 

This is real. Very real. 

He leans down again, pecking your lips and your cheek, making his way down to your jawline, he kisses you gently as he plays with the thin material of your black underwear. He moves your hair out of the way, attaching his lips to your neck, he begins to suck on your skin. 

You moan again, putting your hand on the back of his neck, your fingers move through his curls, “please,” you whine. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” he whispers against your skin as he switches between sucking on your skin and kissing it. His other hand slides up to your chest, touching your boobs for the first time, he groans, “I can’t wait to taste you.” 

“Do it, please, Eddie!” 

How can he deny you of your wishes when you sound so pretty and desperate? 

He gives you a cocky smirk, showing you confidence as though he isn’t nervous and freaking out that the girl of his dreams is begging to be touched by him. He gives you another short kiss on the lips, he places his fingers on your clit, feeling your wetness seeping through the thin material. A moan leaves his lips and his dick twitches in his pants. He begins to move his fingers in circles, rubbing your clit over your panties. 

“T-That feels good, Eddie.” 

Pride rushes through him when he sees your face scrunching up in please. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah– oh!” 

He moves your panties to the side a little so he can touch you, properly. The truth is, he has no idea what he’s doing but he reads magazines– ones that he can learn something from, ones that teach how to touch a girl, how to make her feel good, he even bought condoms, just in case. 

Just in case you finally give him a chance. 

You are the only girl that he wants. 

Eddie ends up taking your panties off completely, throwing them on the ground next to your shorts, he keeps kissing your neck as he rubs your wet pussy, sliding his fingers through your folds, groaning and moaning at the feeling of how soaked you are, for him. He moves away from you to look at you, watching the way you take his fingers. 

He swears, he could cum just from hearing your moans but the sight of you grinding against his hand as he pushes his fingers into you for the first time does things to him, a feeling that he never felt before rushes through him. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot, sweetheart.” 

He is inexperienced, a little clumsy and unsure of his actions but he makes you feel good, nonetheless. He makes you feel something that no one ever made you feel before. Your skin is on fire, your heart is racing, your walls are clenching around his fingers, you can feel yourself dripping down on his sheets– you have never even been this wet before. 

Eddie watches you in awe, you arch your back in pleasure and look at him with big and pleading eyes before you look down at his hand, watching the way his ringed fingers slide in and out of you. 

“E-Eddie.”

“I wanna eat your pussy, baby,” he says with a whiny voice, “tell me what to do.” 

Your pussy clenches harder around his fingers, especially when you watch him settling between your legs, staring down at you in fascination. Without waiting for you to tell him what to do, he sticks his tongue out and licks your clit. 

“O-Oh my god– are you sure you need to be told what to do?” You moan, looking down at your best friend in shock. 

He nods against you, licking your clit even faster. 

“A-Ah! Shit, Eddie– keep doing that.” 

He moans at your taste and at the way you moan his name, at the way you grab his hair and pull at it. Eddie’s pants feel tighter and tighter, he gets more desperate, moaning louder against you, he sends vibrations through your body causing you to whimper. 

Your voice gets high pitched and shaky as you continue to guide him through it, telling him to replace his fingers with his tongue, he does it, he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders as he dives his tongue into you and buries his face in your pussy, nudging your clit with his nose. 

He moans and whimpers just like you do, he enjoys this just as much as you do– if not more. He grabs your hips tightly, his cold rings, his wet fingers, dig into your skin, his curls tickle your inner thighs. Eddie drools all over you, saliva drips down his chin. 

His cheeks are flushed, he eats you out so desperately, at one point, you stop telling him what to do, he doesn’t even need to be told, Eddie is perfect. He is so lost in the pleasure, looking up at you with his pretty dark eyes, you see the smugness in them but also the desperation. 

You squeeze your thighs around his head and pull his hair tighter, he fucks you with his tongue and starts playing with your clit and as your moans get louder and you begin to see stars from the pleasure, you don’t notice that his moans got louder as well. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, goosebumps appear on your skin as you finally cum. Your body falls limply against his pillows, though you don’t loosen the grip on his hair just yet, whining at the feeling of his tongue lapping up all your juices. 

“Eddie,” you whine.

When he gently puts your legs down, he wipes the juices off his chin and smiles at your exhausted form. He crawls over you and leans down to kiss your cheek, “was that okay?” He asks as he lays down next to you, adjusting his pants uncomfortably. 

You open your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, you turn to look at him, “was that okay?” You scoff, “Eddie– no one has ever made me cum before– well except for myself.” 

His eyes widen and a smirk tugs at his lips, pride settles in his chest, “good,” he whispers, “I’d like to see you touching yourself.” 

You can’t help but giggle, though you slap his chest playfully and roll your eyes. You notice how flushed his cheeks are, how messy his curls are now from all your tugging, you finally notice the way he looks at you and the way he shifts uncomfortably, trying to adjust his pants. 

You take his hand, “c-can I suck your dick?”

The look in your eyes is so innocent, your touch is so soft– if you keep looking at him like that, his dick is gonna get hard again. 

“Uh– fuck, I would love to but uh– I kinda,” he stutters as his face grows red, “you know I–” he points to his groin. 

Your confused face transforms into one of understanding, your lips part in surprise, “y-you what? You came in your pants j-just from–”

He rolls his eyes, nodding, “yes, just from eating you out, sweetheart,” he admits. 

He enjoyed it so much, he didn't even need to be touched, just hearing you moan, tasting you and making you feel good threw him over the edge as well.

You giggle, placing your hands on his shoulders, you push him onto his back and straddle his waist, surprising him with your action. Instantly, his hands find their way to your hips and he stares up at you with big eyes. 

“That’s so hot, Eddie.” 

“I-It is?” 

You nod, “mhmm.” 

You lean down to kiss his cheek, “you’re hot,” you whisper as you brush his hair back to kiss his neck. 

His eyes flutter closed and a breathy moan falls from his puffy lips, “shit, baby,” he whimpers, “p-please tell me we can do that again.” 

Your lips are soft on his skin, your hands are on his chest, he can feel you grinding against his stomach a little as you continue to kiss him. 

“Please, that’s all I ever wanted,” you whisper. 

“R-Really?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re mine now, Eddie.” 

His heart could burst, a smile tugs at his lips. 

“Fuck yes, sweetheart,” he smiles, “I’m yours.” 

He grabs your face to make you look at him, “and you are mine.” 

You smile at him, “all yours, Eddie.” 

[ahsokathegray]

Rain Over Me

Pairing: Rexsoka

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Dec. ‘23 - Unexpected Encounters

Summary: When it rains, it pours. At least, that’s how Rex had always heard it. But he soon finds even the most dreadful of rains give life back to that which lacks it.

Tags: angst, bittersweet, rainy confessions, lost without each other, established relationship, post bad batch

Word Count: 3,426

A/N: this was just an excuse to write sad, lonely Rex with a reunion in the rain and I’m only somewhat sorry (@rexsoka-monthly)

read on ao3! / masterlist

The wood on the dusty, old shack was darker now with the onslaught of rain. Its months dry boards drank in the water and was hydrated once more, appearing to be in its prime again if only until the rain cleared. In more ways than one, it had been a dreary summer and the rain was much needed.

Rex had grown fond of the little restaurant — if one could call it that.

It wasn’t kept up to standards, he was most certain. He’d only seen someone sweep the place once. It was a sad little place, but comforting in its own right. The only faces that were constant here were those of the owner or the employees. Rex never saw anyone else twice.

Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the old shack — weary, unkempt, a stranger to itself, lacking energy.

He wasn’t an old man, no, the cure had stopped all that. But he did feel like it, and he’d always look older than his true age. Seventeen years of life didn’t reflect what he felt in his joints, what he recalled in his mind, what was on his false chain code, and what he saw when he looked back at himself in the mirror.

Yeah. Like the shack in the rain, he felt he was falsely young in appearance. It felt wrong not to age so quickly anymore, even though it was the most normal part of human life.

Rex carded a few fingers through his short, blonde curls, wicked the rain off his coat, and ascended the creaky steps. He took a menu, even though he knew he’d order the same thing as always, and seated himself at his usual booth.

The owner, who was old, wordlessly brought him a steaming cup of caf.

“I see we are past the point of asking now,” Rex observed, a corner of his mouth turning up.

A raspy laugh filled the stale, humid air, “What can I say? You’re my favorite regular, Rex!”

The other corner of Rex’s mouth raised, “I’m your only regular, Mr. Kip.”

“And a damn good tipper too,” the Ithorian man smiled, winking before walking back into the kitchen.

Well, he had nothing else to spend his credits on.

Rex scanned the menu items as if he didn’t already have the selections memorized. Even the daily special was the same every single day. Nothing changed and he found he had no qualms about that. After years of unpredictability and pushing his body, mind, and heart to their limits of strain, he found peace in the monotony of routine.

After much deliberation, Rex settled on the Single Sun Breakfast to no surprise. He half expected his meal to be brought out without confirmation, but old Kip stopped back by to make sure anyway.

He could get used to it — the not talking. It was rare he did much of it anyway these days, what with living alone. And, truly, he did enjoy the company of the staff, but the more minimal the interactions the better. Getting attached to people was a flaw he would never risk again. Losing so many loved ones in such a small frame of time would prompt anyone to make such vows.

Rex very much hoped there was a version of himself out there that hadn’t sworn it off, that he was happy and surrounded by those he held dear.

His fork was turned around in his fingers as he tried to ignore the fact he’d finally acknowledged that he was unhappy. It had been that way for years now and it was difficult to revisit the last time the opposite had been true.

It had been warm on Mandalore, when rumors of the war ending sparked hope rather than memories of almost; when battle felt good and he felt invincible and life had been first punctuated by something like love and a woman like her.

Squeezing the cutlery, he set it back down and threaded his fingers together, glancing out the condensating window instead.

Rain came down violently onto the flora just outside the establishment, but pattered softly on the windowsill. Every now and then, a drop found its way inside, or perhaps it was the water droplets still clinging to his hair. Oh, if that illustrious Captain could see him now. That version of himself would disapprove immensely of so many things — but his hair would be at the top of the list.

He did not wish to remind himself of what came second and was thankful when he spotted his plate emerging from the kitchen. His breakfast was brought out with little fanfare and looked as if always did. This pleased him.

As he ate, he thought of what he needed to get done in the upcoming week. He needed to give the old Y-wing a fresh coat of paint; the Republic and medic insignias were becoming visible again, as well as a damning shade of blue. The hole in the roof of his tiny home needed to be patched still. He kicked himself for not doing it sooner and added purchasing a bucket to his growing list.

Something like a laugh escaped him around a bite of rolled omelette, thinking about his helmet being used to collect water from a roof leak. It was when his head lifted up to do this that he saw a pair on montrals facing away from him, seated at a booth closer to the door.

There was a tightening in his lungs and the gaping hole in his heart was reopened; discarded of anything he’d ever used to cover it with. Rex swallowed hard and placed his head in his hands, counting as he regulated his breathing.

This happened every time he thought he saw her.

And, without fail, it was never her.

He ought to have internalized that by now. It had just been so long since the last time he mistook someone else for her. Lone Togrutas were not a sight seen often; they didn’t tend to stray very far from Kiros or Shili.

Rex wished that wasn't the case.

Seeing them more often might’ve kicked this fool’s hope earlier — the one that bubbled up violently inside him whenever he caught a glimpse of three lekku rather than the usual two or, like today, a set of montrals.

They were femininely shaped and blue, just like he knew hers to be, which didn’t help matters.

Getting up from the table to visit the refresher solely to see if it was her was something he was not going to let himself do. He had to get over this. He couldn’t let it control the trajectory of his day each time it happened.

Exhaling and centering himself, Rex finished his meal with a difficulty that hadn’t been present before and told himself his appetite was still there even though that was far from the case. Memories of similar breakfasts in similar restaurants with her bullied their way to the forefront of his mind. Small bouquets of freshly plucked flowers, dirt still clinging to them, being given to her and then placed in a cup of water from wherever they’d been eating.

Rex couldn’t help himself.

Once his plate was clear, he looked across the six booths that separated them. But the woman’s montrals were nowhere to be seen. Rex waited a little longer to see if she was just leaning down looking over a menu or taking a bite of food, but the montrals did not reappear.

Panic swept through him, his veins turning into hot plasma underneath his skin.

He rose promptly from his booth, eyes glued to the one she’d been at. Only a half finished mug of tea sat on the table. She never did like caf. His heart rate shifted into high gear and he made a beeline for the register, already fishing around in his pocket for credits, his fingers shaking.

“Oh, there’ll be no need today,” Kip said with a particularly pleased smile.

The hand in Rex’s pocket stilled and his heart leapt into his throat. “What do you mean?” His voice rattled as he spoke.

“Why, the young lady who just left covered your meal. Said to thank you for your service,” The Ithorian pointed to the entrance as the door slid closed.

For the first time in a long time, the world around Rex melted away and began to slow. Everything became muffled. The credit chits he had in his hand were placed onto the counter despite what the owner had just told him and before he could even tell them to do so, his feet were carrying him to the exit.

“Rex, what do you want me to do with this?”

“I don’t care,” he answered without looking back. “Pay it forward.”

Thick sheets of rain now came from the sky, pouring down so heavily that the world around him had turned white. The clouds flickered and thunder sounded, accompanied by angry strikes of lightning. Any footprints that might’ve been left behind in the mud had been washed away as quickly as they were made.

Whoever she was… she was gone.

A hand was clapped to his shoulder but Rex didn’t look down.

Kip sounded confused yet sympathetic. “She’s not gettin’ away in that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The old man paused. “If you’re after her, I reckon’ she’ll be back again tomorrow.”

The hand was removed and Kip walked away, but Rex stayed frozen in the doorway. If it was her, he was doubtful she’d be back for breakfast the following morning. She could get away even in the most hopeless conditions.

Rex clenched his teeth, pulled his raincoat tighter and set out anyway.

It was like he hadn’t been living on Dantooine for the past year and a half. He was directionless, as if all the memorized paths, landmarks, and shops had been washed away with the rain. There was no departing vehicle, no lights, and no indicator of where the woman had gone.

Defeated, Rex looked up into the sky with his eyes closed, letting the rain fall over his face and streak through his hair. His chest had knotted itself and his knees threatened to buckle under the torrential downpour.

But Rex stood firmly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and let the rain soak him to the bone as he walked towards the small town.

He spent the remainder of his morning stopping by every establishment there was until the shopkeepers started closing up due to weather. The folks he did manage to speak with hadn’t seen her and each tried to hand him an umbrella or invite him inside until the storm passed.

He declined.

Straggling passersby still caught in the rain gave him funny looks as they ran to get to cover. Rex was in no such hurry.

The overgrown road that led to his tiny home was taken in the shortest possible strides. He did not wish to return there, especially not to a datapad he knew would have no messages on it. He had half a mind to turn back to the restaurant if he didn’t think they’d already closed up like everyone else.

Rex stepped into his home and was greeted by the sound of dripping water. He sighed deeply, unmoving in the doorway until he could suppress the viscous tears that taunted him behind closed lids. Once they were managed, his boots and raincoat were discarded, the mess from the leak was mopped, and his helmet was removed from its place under the bed to sit and collect the intruding water.

He watched the rain fill his bucket until it went past the visor before he fell into the awaiting embrace of sleep that was always there to help temporarily subside the pain.

More than anything, Rex wished he could say that he hadn’t woken up early, that he hadn’t gotten up before the neighbor’s nunas began to stir. He wished he could say it wasn’t in his plans to go sit up at the restaurant and wait all day to see if the woman turned up.

Really, he should be using his time to buy paint for his ship as well as a proper bucket for the leak, but neither of those things seemed to matter much at the prospect of running into her.

It was pathetic. He knew that.

He could’ve just saved himself all this trouble if he’d gotten up and used something as an excuse to see her face. But no, Rex chose to be strong when it mattered the absolute least.

His thin blanket felt as though it weighed ten tons when he rose out of bed, dreading vehemently the idea of waiting around all day for nothing — dreading the pit in his stomach he knew all too well when it wasn’t her after all and just some stranger. Rex’s feet hit the worn wooden floor and he rubbed his bleary eyes, aiming first for the refresher and then for his helmet.

A considerable amount of rainwater had been collected in the makeshift-not-makeshift bucket and more was being added still. The rain had yet to cease but it had slowed a great deal. He picked it up carefully and walked it to the door, yawning as he did so. Soft sheets of rain greeted his bare feet as the door slid aside, coming down now in a gentle shower-like way as opposed to yesterday’s storm.

Rex decided that when the rain stopped, he’d call it. He’d tie his mood to it, give himself an allotted period of time to feel this incessant pain before forcing it down again.

He swung his helmet to the left and watched as the water landed on his long-dead flowers, before looking out at the state of the rest of his yard.

The helmet nearly fell from his hands.

A hooded figure was inspecting his ship, an orange hand running across a partially revealed red sigil and skirting across blue paint. Any fleeting thoughts of making a grab for his blasters vanished. Rex knew that hand better than either of his own.

She turned and lifted slightly the hood of her cloak to get a better look at him.

There she was. Then she was as if no time at all had passed. As if she’d been down the road all along.

Ahsoka was dressed in that gray cloak he knew well, with lekku he used to know but that were now nearing her waist. Her montrals were taller than they were last time. He wondered if they’d be eye to eye this time, and if looking her in the eyes would still feel the same as it always did, as he wanted it to — needed it to.

Even from this distance, he could see her bottom lip quiver.

“I had to be sure,” she called out over the rain.

Rex struggled to speak, suffering from having too many words in his mouth and yet not at all.

She glanced back at the Y-wing behind her and ran a hand over the chipped paint job, revealing a bit more of that 501st blue.

“I knew your face as soon as I walked into the restaurant yesterday, but I wasn’t certain that it was the one… that it was the one I had loved,” she continued.

He joined her in the rain now. It was cold on his bare shoulders and worse as it streaked down his torso, but he didn’t shiver, nor did he care he’d be tracking yet more water inside. Rex’s chest tightened and his mouth dried. “Loved? As in the past tense?” he called, water beading on his hair and lashes. Not all of it was from the rain.

Ahsoka shook her head, droplets running off her lekku.

The pause between them was occupied by the steady fall of rain.

“You know the worst thing about love?” he asked.

She nodded, looking briefly at her feet, “That you remember it.”

Rex’s tongue pressed into his cheek and he nodded with her, “I knew from the moment we parted the first time that I’d spend a lifetime missing you.” He waited a bit. “It’s proved true so far. Each time it gets worse.”

He couldn’t tell her tears from the rain, but knew that she was crying. Rex was always aware that it hadn’t ever hurt any less for her. “I never intended it to be that way,” she called.

“I know.”

She stepped closer, weighing her words. “Rex, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is walk away still madly in love with you. There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t regret it — that I don’t sit and wonder about what you do each day.”

“Well currently, it’s wishing I’d gotten up as soon as I saw you sitting at that booth. I’d know your montrals anywhere. Convinced myself it wasn’t you.”

“And before that?”

“Wishing I never let you say goodbye.”

She swallowed hard. “I have a lot to make up for. I know that. And I know this doesn’t begin to cover it, but do you think I could start with breakfast?” she asked, holding up the takeaway box that was under her cloak. “Mr. Kip told me where I could find you, said you ran out after me.”

Rex couldn’t suppress his smile. “No. Breakfast was covered yesterday. I think you’ll have to get more creative than that today.”

Ahsoka laughed and bit her lip, her eyes overcome with emotion. Shaking his head, Rex dropped his helmet into the flowerbed and all but ran to her, holding her trembling frame to him with possibly too much strength. The box fell. Her arms wrapped under his and he found that she fit better than she ever used to. He removed her hood with desperation and his chin fell into place between her montrals, still having at least one head in height over her. Rex kissed repeatedly the space between her uppermost chevrons as the sobs took control of her body.

The rain slowed to a drizzle and, as he’d vowed earlier, his mood lifted with it. Morning rays peeked out at them from behind the trees, warming their skin.

Being with Ahsoka was like walking into the sun, like walking directly into sunlight after the longest winter.

She pulled away first, though by the look on her face, it seemed to be the last thing she wanted to do. Her eyes were glued to the mangled scar on his chest, momentarily ashamed of looking him in the face.

But Rex’s hand slid under her jaw and moved her to look up at him. “I can’t think of anything better than breakfast with you. We’ve suffered enough, Ahsoka. Come inside. Stay with me until we have no choice but to leave; and even then, stay with me until there are no more planets left to run to. Let’s have breakfast together for as long as this life allows us because life without you is no way to live.”

“I haven’t had breakfast in a year and a half,” she said, tears streaking her cheeks.

Rex wiped them away. “You’re not missing out. It doesn’t taste the same when we aren’t together.”

Ahsoka eyed the slightly crumpled box of food on the ground and Rex picked it up, popping it back into its correct shape and wicking the water from it.

Apologies tumbled from her lips, but Rex wouldn’t hear any of it. She’d fought and offered her aid to the Rebellion until she couldn’t any more; until she was sure they could manage without her and that Rex wouldn’t die if she came home. It was the type of thing he had long since accepted — back when it had been cold on that moon, when rumors of another war began, and battle no longer felt good and he no longer felt invincible unless he was with her. Only one thing stayed the same. Life had still been punctuated with something far greater than love and a woman named Ahsoka.

His eyes did all the asking as he leaned in close. Ahsoka gave the faintest of nods, allowing him to kiss away her apologies; first slowly and then with an energized passion only she could provoke.

And just as he hoped they would, Ahsoka’s fingers found his curls, and he carried her and their very cold breakfast inside, leaving his helmet to become the home for several long years of blossoming flowers.

[dessarious]

Old Scars and New Beginnings Pt105

Beginning   Previous  

Selina looked around the room in amusement. The sheer number of people rivaled a meeting with most of the Justice League. This group, however, was far more diverse. And far less likely to back down to Batman.

"I don't see why we can't just stay here. We'll go home, so anyone who's watching will see. Then Mari can transport us back here." Gina was exceptionally unhappy about leaving. Her idea wasn't a bad one either. Mari was frowning in thought, but Bruce just looked annoyed.

"If it were any other threat, I'd agree with you. But Talia, or whoever she sends, is as likely to attack us here as anywhere else. I can't risk you being caught in the crossfire."

"I can handle myself, and honestly, I have a few words to say to that woman myself after the last time we crossed paths." Bruce looked like his head was about to explode.

"You know Talia?"

"I do, and seeing the way she raised her son after what her father did to her, I'm more than happy to make sure she doesn't get near him again." Now Damian was studying the woman. His cheeks were a bit flushed and Selina wasn't certain if it was embarrassment that she thought he couldn't handle himself, or just because someone he didn't know at all was willing to protect him.

"Marinette, what do you think?" She couldn't tell if Bruce was stalling to get his thoughts in order, or if he thought Mari would back him up. She'd been whispering with Tikki and Kaalki since the argument started.

"I don't see why everyone thinks it has to be one or the other. If Kaalki has a constant food supply, they can simply keep a portal open between the two houses so everyone can come and go as they please. It would be a good option as an escape route if it's needed as well." Gina and Bruce both just stared at her and Selina had to fight back a laugh. They'd been arguing for over an hour and Mari made the entire thing defunct. "I would still feel better if Syd and Trixx stayed at the house so they can shield it though." Syd just shrugged her acceptance. Selina wasn't certain what was going on with that girl, but she was even more closed off than usual. But Chloe and Mari didn't seem worried about it, so she was willing to overlook it for the moment.

"In that case, we're going to need to add more security. Especially to the rooms where the portal is. The last thing we need is Talia finding and using it." The fact that Bruce didn't argue, or even resist changing directions, showed just how much of an impact Mari had on him. Before, he would have dug in and insisted that his plan was best. Especially since Damian's safety was involved. Her flexibility was wearing off on him. Bruce started hashing out security plans with the others, but Mari immediately went back to whispering with the Kwami. The grave looks on the Kwami and the worry on Mari's face made Selina edgy.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Selina kept her voice soft so the others wouldn't pay attention. She didn't want to take the focus away from the planning if she could avoid it. Mari startled a bit and hesitated.

"It's just... Whatever is after Damian is getting closer and..."

"And?"

"I think whoever it is spent time in Paris within the last few years." Well, that was oddly specific.

"What makes you say that?" She kept her tone calm and soothing.

"I said before that they hate the Miraculous, and they do, but..." Selina just waited. "Most of that hatred is for Ladybug specifically." Selina blinked at her for a moment before pulling the girl into a hug. Mari burrowed into her.

"It's not your fault, Kitten. You did the best you could with what you had. Whatever their reason, and given they are almost certainly part of the League, you are not to blame."

"Maybe." It was the best she could hope for. Mari still seemed to think that her friends were going to leave once they really thought through what her being Ladybug meant. Nothing they could say would help, and this would be no different. Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, and Selina just shook her head. Mari didn't need them to make a big deal of this right now. The only other one who had noticed the interaction was Luka. While Selina could understand why the boy made Bruce uneasy, it was obvious he was completely devoted to Marinette. And where her other friends would push and prod her to do what they thought she needed, Luka just supported her. Even now, he just made sure no one else caught on to Mari's distress.

"It is a clue, though. Can you think of anyone you ran across as Ladybug that might feel that way?" Mari didn't respond and Selina regretted asking. It was entirely possible it was just someone who had something happen while they were there and blamed the heroes for it. The last thing she wanted was Mari going through the list of people who she thought had a reason to hate her. "We'll figure it out."

"A lot of people blamed us for how long everything went on. For everything they had to go through."

"You know that wasn't your fault, right? Gabriel was the one who caused all that, and if you hadn't been there to stop him, it would have been worse." The girl just shrugged. "You didn't have a choice. You were put in a terrible position and you did the best you could. All of you did. You don't blame the others for what happened, do you?" She shook her head.

"Other than Adrien, I picked them. I was the one who made the plans. I was the one who couldn't catch him." Selina pulled back and lifted Mari's chin to force eye contact.

"You were and still are a child. You were forced into a responsibility that no one should have expected you to take. You and Adrien both were put into an impossible situation with zero knowledge and zero training. The others, you gave a choice. Perhaps it wasn't wise of you or them, but you all did what you had to do. And you did it well enough that the Kwami decided to give you even more responsibility. I'll say it again. Nothing that happened was your fault."

Mari wanted to argue, Selina could see it. She wasn't certain if the fact that Mari couldn't come up with anything was proof that they were getting through to her, or just proof of how exhausted she was. She just pulled the girl back into a tighter hug.

"I just wish it didn't feel like my mistakes were coming back to haunt me." She sounded so tired.

"Whatever this is, isn't your fault. And if you weren't here to warn us that someone was after Damian, who knows what would have happened? At least now we can prepare."

"I'm sure you would have been fine without me." Selina couldn't help the annoyed sigh that left her.

"Given that they funded a cult for this opportunity, whatever they have planned is big. It's entirely likely we would have walked straight into an ambush." They probably wouldn't have found out who the cult's money backers were without the information Mari gave them. She shuddered to think what going into that confrontation would have been like if they weren't prepared for Talia's tricks. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I still don't understand why Damian's mother would send someone who hates him to retrieve him." Selina rolled her eyes at the subject change and debated on how honest she should be. In the end, Mari and the others needed to know how this was likely to play out, so they didn't let their guard down.

"While Talia wants Damian back in the fold, he's a liability if he stays outside the league. The person she sent likely has orders to kill him if he refuses to return." Mari gave her a skeptical look.

"She'd really have her own son killed?"

"She'd do it herself if she was here." Selina wasn't certain what to do with the thoughtful frown on Marinette's face. She'd expected horror or disbelief.

"So even if we catch this person, Damian will still be in danger." Selina just nodded. "That's not acceptable." She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that Selina didn't know how to respond. She agreed with Mari, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Mari startled her when she stood abruptly and walked over to Damian. The girl didn't say anything, just held out her hand to him, and when he took it, marched him out of the room. Everyone paused for a moment before resuming planning. All Selina could do was shake her head.

"She's blaming herself for things again." Selina jumped as Luka materialized next to her. She hadn't even seen him move.

"It does seem to be her natural state." The boy's expression settled into the closest thing she'd seen to a scowl on him. "Whatever is coming after Damian hates Ladybug, and she thinks it's her fault."

"If it's a native Parisian, that's a very short list. It shouldn't be too hard to research. It will be harder for anyone who came and went since you'll have to rely on travel records and they can be spotty. It's far more likely to be someone not from Paris originally, in my opinion."

"Really? Marinette seems to think a lot of people were upset with Ladybug for how long things went on."

"She what?" The genuine surprise in his tone was unexpected. Apparently, Marinette still wasn't talking about her fears with her friends. One more thing to worry about. "Yes, right after Hawkmoth was defeated, everyone was letting out all the emotions they'd had to repress, and a lot of that was anger. Some of it was even directed at the Heroes. But in the end, everyone knew who was at fault. Granted, I wasn't in Paris, but I didn't get the impression from anyone I talked to back home that there was real animosity towards the heroes. Adrien and Chloe haven't mentioned it either, and Chloe would have."

"What about the police force? Chloe said they actively worked against them." Luka's expression tightened.

"Maybe while the heroes were active, but I doubt those feelings lasted long without a target. Not to mention, from what I remember, it was resentment more than anything else." Luka hesitated. "Other than Gabriel, I can only think of one person who truly hated Ladybug."

"That's great! It gives us someone to look into."

"You already are." He sounded grim, and Selina just raised an eyebrow at him. "Lila Rossi."

"You're kidding." He shook his head. Selina was getting tired of this girl and they hadn't even met her yet. "I suppose it makes sense with the way she disappeared. We know they want the Miraculous, so taking her for information isn't out of the realm of possibility. At the same time, I don't know that Talia would send someone so knew to the League to take out Damian, of all people. It could be a test, though."

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like something Talia would do. It could be a test of loyalty, or just of training. She wouldn't be counting on Bruce to kill her, so there would be a backup plan. There would be more than just one assassin. Granted, they were already planning on that. But this brought competing factions into play. One more problem to complicate things.

"If it is Lila, and she finds out Mari is here, there's a very good chance she'll come after her. Especially since Mr. Wayne took her in." She didn't like Luka's tone.

"Because he's Damian's father?"

"Because he's famous. Lila always hated that Mari had better connections than her. I can't even image the rage she'll feel at this development."

"Depending on what Talia's done to her, she might not even remember Mari." Luka was shaking his head before she finished.

"If she remembers Ladybug, she remembers Marinette. I met her when I was Viperion with Ladybug and Mari on separate occasions. She hates Mari more."

Beginning   Previous

[o-uncle-newt]

On the Job minisode and Good Omens as a work on religion

(Note: This was originally a reblog of someone who then expressed that they were unhappy that I reblogged their post. As a courtesy I have reposted it as its own thing- for context, the person was upset that Neil Gaiman's take on religion was stale and said that of course if you have only a surface view of the Torah and the book of Job you'd come away with these kinds of negative impressions.)

I went to Orthodox Jewish day school for thirteen years. I thought the Job minisode was fine, as an adaptation of the story. Not breaking any ground theologically or whatever, but fine. (Though they did definitely get the number of Job's kids wrong, presumably for narrative simplicity, and the shoemaker joke doesn't work because he's really Bildad the ShuCHite.)

And, I mean, I don't think it should be MEANT to be anything but fine...? Good Omens is a fantasy novel in which heaven and hell are both the bad guys- Good Omens the show has basically kept in that model. The whole thing is about a simplistic look at the Christian Bible and a kind of cynical but light hearted agnosticism that doesn't really lend itself particularly to sophisticated religious analysis or whatever. It's not meant for that.*

The Job minisode was written by John Finnemore rather than Gaiman, a writer of whom I am a massive fan and, however, to whom I don't really look for sophisticated religious takes. He's done a Bible/religion sketch or two on his sketch show- I don't particularly love them, they're pretty surfacey- and he's self aware enough to make it very clear that he approaches everything from an "I don't believe in God but I grew up in a Christian country" perspective. (He's a lot more honest about that than a lot of other atheist/agnostic writers I've seen who do takes on religion, incidentally... so many people think they're being "objective" or whatever.)

The thing is, I actually really love the Job minisode as a Good Omens story, working within this complete fantasy world. I was disappointed in a lot of S2 but this felt like the characters, this felt like an interesting meditation on their roles and their choices... I don't know, it just really worked for me.

And I feel like part of the point is to pick one of those "well obviously on the surface this looks a bit fucked up" stories (rather than for there to be an implication that they're the only ones who noticed)- because they're working in a fictional universe in which it's been established since the nineties that heaven/God is at least a bit fucked up (no matter what I as a Jew may personally believe) and so they can just take it and run with it without having to explain! Gaiman did the same thing in S1 with the Garden of Eden and the Ark. It's just a canvas to put an Aziraphale/Crowley plot on. The original book is a Book of Revelations satire!

Honestly, I'm happier to have a pretty basic retelling of a story that's obviously fucked up on the surface, rather than them picking some midrash or something that's more subtle and nuanced and super Jewish-y and then turning it into something about how God or the angels or the demons are bad- partly because Jewish angel/demon stuff doesn't map well onto Good Omens's approach, and also because the whole point of the book from the start has been critical of organized Judeo-Christian (yes I know) religion writ large, and that's not going to change. That was weird for me to get used to as an Orthodox Jewish teen in a Bais Yaakov school when I first read it, but getting past it made me realize that all that meant was that they'd created a Biblical fantasy universe with certain tropes in it.

I think the Job minisode works perfectly well within that particular Biblical fantasy universe, and while I think that you can potentially criticize S1 (and in a slightly different way, the book) for that Biblical satire/fantasy not being particularly sophisticated about religion if that's something important to you, I don't think that it being sophisticated about religion would have improved it as a story.

*I did kinda sorta write a fic that tries to cast Aziraphale and Crowley in a more traditionally Jewish lens and... it was actually really hard. As I said above, the way the Good Omens world is set up doesn't really work for the Jewish thing. I had to make it really clear that angels don't have free will and that Heaven and Hell aren't two different sides.

[cookinguptales]

Oooooooooooooooooh!

🍎🍊🍍🍈

Also what is that last fruit??

It's a melon! Also sorry it took so long, some of these answers got long lmao.

🍎 Is there anything you straight-up won’t write?

I think this is highly dependent on the canon. Like people kept requesting I write body horror darkfic or porn for the Muppets and I... was not going to do that. But I am happily writing porn and body horror darkfic for WWDITS.

That said... Hmm. I won't say I never write unhappy endings, because I've done it before. (Never untagged.) But it's not typical. There are definitely some kinks that repulse me so much that I don't think I could ever write them (scat, emeto, amputation, stuff like that) but I think everyone has at least a few kinks they wouldn't want to write.

Oh. I don't like writing characters as being part of a marginalized group that they're not canonically in. (Raceswapping, trans headcanons, disability AUs, etc.) If they're canonically that, then yes! I'll write it. But idk. I just typically like writing the version of the character that exists in canon, and I feel like being a part of one of those marginalized groups so changes the way you look at and exist in the world that the character and canon would be completely different. Sexuality I can kind of handwave unless a character explicitly says they're not attracted to a certain sex, but I wouldn't go against a stated preference, either, unless there's reason to believe they're lying/closted/whatever.

Anyway, I get the appeal of these AUs, especially for people who are in those groups, but it's not a thing I care for.

🍊 Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

Nadja, honestly. I primarily write romance and rarely write for canon pairings, so I don't usually write Nadja/Laszlo and thus don't really write Nadja. But other than Guillermo, she's by far my favorite character in the show (it's genuinely Guillermo and Nadja, then many steps down, then everyone else) and she's very fun to write. I keep worming her into my nandermo fic just because I love her. lmao. I want to write her and Guillermo bonding over crime. I love them both.

I also like writing Laszlo but jesus fucking christ his dialogue is hard to write. Like all of them have difficult dialogue, but that man is on another level.

🍍 What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with?

Honestly, I don't write AUs that often. Like I said before, I usually like writing the version of characters that's in canon. I'll sometimes do canon divergent AUs, but I'm not usually that interested in writing full AUs most of the time.

When I do write an AU, it's usually going to be either a request or an AU that I think has narrative meaning, and like... I feel like you need to really think things through to write a good AU. I think most bad or unfulfilling AUs arise from writers failing to identify the parts of a canon that matter. And honestly, you can focus on different key themes in different AUs, but there should always be a key connection there.

Like, what is a key part of this series and how can you explore that best through an AU? Is it the character's inner trauma? How would that be affected by the new setting? Is it the relationship between these two characters? That should be different, but not so different that you lose that spark. Is it the setting itself? (Like a magical world or something.) Then you need to have an AU that nevertheless reflects that setting.

I think that an AU should be a way of exploring a character or theme or relationship that you think is intrinsic to the canon that you love, tbh. You should be deepening the understanding of that aspect when you write, not shucking it off. If you just abandon the parts of the canon that people love... yeah, ofc it will feel unfulfilling. You got rid of the fun part!

Like... for example, I recently wrote a space AU for Sleep No More, which is a canon that primarily deals with witchcraft and murder mysteries. For me, that sense of the fey unknown, the timelessness, and the scent of blood is something intrinsic to the show. So when I wrote a space AU, I leaned into what would be something fey and historical that could affect space (I went with the music of the spheres) and the murder and that vague sense of malevolence that seems to permeate the hotel. And I think the AU turned out pretty well! Because I kept the part of the show that means something to me.

...also because of this I do tend to hate mundane AUs. lmao. I never want things to get less supernatural!

idk man I have a lot of thoughts on AUs! Especially because a lot of canons I've written for have canon AUs and timeline fuckery!

(Also, when it's a canon that I don't even like, I have far fewer rules with AUs. Just write whatever, the canon sucks anyway. lmao)

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

ohhhh this could be an entire post on its own

My REGULAR blorbo is currently Guillermo de la Cruz. I love him love him love him and I'm obsessed with the way that he uses half-truths to keep the people he loves at arm's length. I love the way he cares for others through service and feels hurt when they don't do the same for him. I love the relationship he has with food that's only hinted at throughout the series. I love the religious damage that he seems to be purposefully flouting. I love how selfish he is and how his kindness is selfish and his love is selfish and his self-betterment is selfish. I love that he's so full of contradictions. I could tell you about what I love about Guillermo for hours. He's such a fascinating character. I feel like recently I've been really interested in needling at his hypocrisy and his selfishness and his neediness in fics, and how all that is nevertheless wrapped up in something very, very sweet. I want to write him caring and being cared for in the most fucked up ways possible.

My WRITING blorbo, though, is probably Nandor. I don't like him nearly as much as I do Guillermo, but he's very fun and interesting to write. It took me a while to get the hang of it because he's just such a fucking mess of a wet dog, but after thinking Far Too Deeply about that man's psyche, I really enjoy writing him. It's like sticking a bug in a jar and shaking it. Do I love bugs? I mean, they're okay. But I'm fascinated. I'm fascinated. I want to peel away his layers and see what makes him tick. It's probably something stupid and emotionally devastating. God.

I think as for themes I write for him a lot... Mostly ideas about abandonment and fear. I think he's in many ways the most bombastic and most timid of all the characters in the show, and that fascinates me. He's so big and so small at once, and Guillermo does the same thing but in the opposite direction. I love that Nandor puts on such a brave face while probably being the most traumatized of anyone there, even though he hasn't necessarily suffered the most.

I think about Nadja/Laszlo so much (such a quality pairing) and how Laszlo said that Nadja helped him heal from the damaged person he was, but how it took hundreds of years. I think we can begin to see that happening with Guillermo and Nandor, too. They make each other better and they make each other worse and they're opening each other up bit by painful bit and I love that for them.

I guess the theme I keep coming back to is the whole "make each other better or make each other worse, we are certainly making each other the most Ourselves version of ourselves we've ever been." It's the deeply unsafe safe space they create for each other that I think both of them need in different ways. God, I love it when two characters' mental illnesses line up just right. lmao

anyway, this is super, super long. so I'll stop here. but I can ramble about any of these topics forever hahaha.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 325

McCoy

McCoy spent most of the next week in the library. Dr. Boyce had given him a list of books that may help with his interest in medicine and he had been finding them and reading them in a private little corner where no one would find him. He was certain someone had tried though. He had heard a familiar gait through the shelves once and tucked himself tighter into the private space.

The more he read, the more his interest grew. The intricate knowledge of healing a life with his own hands…

He also spent time in some sections of the library he normally wouldn’t. Sections he knew would appeal to Scotty. He could surprise his love with a bit more engineering knowledge.

McCoy had breathed an enormous sigh of relief when the Darnell’s had decided to leave a day early. He knew from Leah that tensions between Mother and Mrs. Darnell had been strained. Father had kept his feelings neutral in company, but McCoy knew he was unhappy as well about what had happened. David had never previously taken the Darnell’s hints about Jocelyn very seriously, and even less so after McCoy met Scotty, but to make such a move on his son with no prompting, McCoy knew his father was glad they were leaving as well.

They had spent a few afternoons together talking about McCoy’s future. His hopes were rising that things would change. Leah was proving to be near as good as Father had been when he first became king. Father’s decision wouldn’t be final though. The council of ministers would make that choice. David’s opinion on the matter would make a significant impact, and McCoy could only hope it would be enough.

Scotty had come up in their conversations. Never quite as a topic on his own, but he was often somewhere in the background of the future. There were moments when McCoy didn’t care how young they still were, he knew for certain that Scotty was part of his future.

They spoke each night and it was McCoy’s favorite part of the day. He couldn’t wait until they were back together at school. He ached to have Scotty really next to him, hand in hand as they were together.

McCoy had forced himself to calm his worries and dislike of Khan, but Scotty spoke about him as little as possible. He knew how foolish it must make him look to be jealous. He did not look forward to seeing the augment at school, but he would be polite. For Scotty. Anything for Scotty.

Spock’s family had left the day after the Darnell’s and the dinner table had seemed quite empty without the three when McCoy finally returned to it. But it had been good to rejoin his family and know they had valued his safety. Leah had said Mrs. Darnell had asked where he was the second time he was absent for dinner, but neither Father nor Mother had said much other than that he had duties to attend to. Leah had said the look on Jocelyn’s face had been priceless.

Leah had wanted to spend more time with him before he left, but she had been busy with Father’s duties and their times together had been odd moments here and there.

She was lounging in his room as he was beginning to pack his trunk.

“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a book McCoy had set aside. She flipped through it. “Is this some kind of starship manual?”

McCoy turned to look at what she was holding.

“No,” he said and reached across to grab it from her. “It’s a history of Federation starships.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at him. “Since when are you into starships? I thought you still hated flying.”

“I’m not. I thought Scotty would like it.”

“Oh,” Leah said, smirking at him.

“Shut up,” he said and turned back to his dresser. “He probably knows all of it already anyway, but some of the diagrams he probably hasn’t seen.”

Leah sat down in the armchair. “Leonard, what are you going to do if they do try to marry you to someone?” Her voice had turned serious.

McCoy looked up from the shirt he was folding at the change in her tone.

“I won’t,” he said flatly. “And it won’t happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Father and I have talked about it. Even if the ministers won’t budge about you, he said they won’t force someone on me. I’ll be allowed to choose.” He went back to folding his shirt and reached for the next.

“Where does that leave me?” Leah asked softly.

“You’ll choose too. Father didn’t say it in so many words, but it was implied. Though, if you’re to be queen, your choice may be scrutinized more.”

“Oh.”

McCoy looked over at his sister. She was looking at nothing in particular.

“Father hasn’t said anything to me about that,” she said.

“Do they know about you and Robbie?” McCoy asked.

Leah focused back on him. “They know we’re friends.”

McCoy frowned. He knew he had to chance it. “Is that all you two are?” he asked gently.

Leah looked at him sharply. Regret filled McCoy for asking. He hadn’t meant to pry, his curiosity had just got the best of him.

“It’s hard Leo,” Leah whispered out. “To want to be more but being apart. You and Scotty will be back together in another day. Spock and Jim have a bond.” She threw her hands in the air.

McCoy hid a faint smile. He had heard the same sentiments weeks ago from Robbie. His eyes went wide as it hit him.

“You love him,” he said plainly.

“Yes.”

“We’ll make it work,” McCoy said fiercely. “We’ll make all of this work.”

Part 326

Scotty

It was great to see their friends again in person. Scotty was sitting next to Uhura on the bus drive to school. They chatted about their summer break and about the upcoming semester.

Though Scotty was glad to be with his friends again, he certainly looked forward to Christmas vacation for then Robbie and him would meet the newest member of their family.

Their mother's birthday was in October. Only a few months until Granddad would make Francine the best birthday surprise ever.

"And we're gonna get a puppy!" Scotty told Uhura who smiled brightly at him.

"Really? Awww, that's so cool! My mother is allergic to dogs, but I swear I'm gonna get one once I live alone."

They talked about the breed and about the mother dog and suddenly the school building came into view.

"There we go. Another boring semester is waiting for us," Jim groaned from the seat in front of them and Scotty just chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Jimbo. It can'nae be too bad. Think about all the time ye can spend with yer lover."

Jim turned around, a grin on his face.

"Well... that's a good point," he said before he looked back at the building and the grin vanished, "but school's still boring."

They got out of the bus and greeted various other students.

Sulu, Chekov and Christine who had been brought to school by their parents.

Keenser and Jaylah too.

"There you are Montgomery Scotty!"

Jaylah wrapped her arms around Scotty and smiled gleefully. She always was happy to see her human friend after summer break.

"Hey lassie, how are ye doing?"

Jaylah's eyes widened in surprise.

"I am fine. It is not me you should be asking. I should ask you after all these horrible articles."

Jaylah spit onto the ground in disgust and Scotty chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Jaylah. It's gotten way better by now."

Jaylah looked satisfied by that answer and headed off to greet Uhura.

Which left Scotty with Keenser.

"Keens, how are ye? How is yer mother?"

The little Roylan grunted in annoyance and Scotty patted his back in a comforting way.

"She... still doesn't know that ye're not into anyone?" Scotty whispered.

Keenser slowly shook his head.

"Tell her. One day," he mumbled before he hugged Scotty.

"Missed you."

A smile washed over the Scotsman's face.

"Aye. I missed ye too."

But now they were all back together again.

No... someone was missing.

Scotty looked around. Leonard wasn't there yet. Well... he'd wait for him. As long as he had to.

The others had left to unpack their stuff but Scotty was still in front of the school. He had sat down on his suitcase and was waiting anxiously for his boyfriend's arrival.

What was taking so long? Scotty quickly touched his ring, fear growing in his stomach, and he was relieved when he saw the blinking in return.

Leonard was okay.

Maybe he should call him?

"Scotty?"

The Scotsman turned his head at hearing a voice and he saw Khan. The Augment was slowly moving up to him, waving his hand.

"Hey there. Why aren't you unpacking?"

"Oh, hey Khan. Uhm, I'm waiting for Leonard."

Khan gave him a nod and stopped beside him.

"I see. You... want some company?"

Scotty tried his best to smile. He knew that he should just say 'no' but it was so hard with that hopeful look in Khan's eyes.

"Uhm-"

Suddenly a car pulled up the driveway and Scotty jumped up.

"There he is!"

He smiled and waved at Leonard from afar. Finally, they could be together again.

[hannahstarshade]

Oh hey. Didn't see you there. Don't mind me. I’m just a 🎵28-year-old lady.🎵

Each year on my birthday I write down my goals for the new year or some reflection upon the old one. Well we've done a full rotation around the sun, so it's time to do it again. It feels like this year didn’t happen. As someone who doesn’t have the firmest grasp on time, it felt like both the busiest and shortest year of my life. If I had to describe it in one word, I’d use “intense.” The majority of it was spent working. At the beginning of 2022 it was my new position. At this point it’s just my job. (I'm crushing it, btw.) It’s not so much that I’m not happy with what I’m doing. I’m more unhappy where I’m doing it. I know where I want to be, yet am continuously drained of the drive to get myself there. Ain't that just the way?

I'm not used to having friends or being a part of a community, but I think I've found a solid group of cool people. That's in addition to the friends I've made along the way who allow me to be myself and just chill. There are people I've cut out of my life to a healthy degree and it's lead to far less anxiety. I wish them well as they work on some of the same shit I'm working on, plus their own unique quirks. Generational trauma's a bitch like that. I came out to my mom (albeit by accident during a highly emotional time). Still not sure how to come out to my dad. I want to, now that I'm more certain I won't be hated or shunned. Just need to find the right time. I gave up on the bi/pan discourse. I'm here and you know the rest. (Now that's the actual measure of my growth.)

There are a lot of milestones that people are expected to hit in their teen and young-adult years that I’m just now beginning to experience. Being with someone, knowing they want you and you want them, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and awkwardly taking the plunge. I don't mean for this to sound dramatic or shortsighted, but it was a lifechanging experience. I've been touch starved for a decade. I've been struggling with depression and low self esteem for maybe longer. Those articles and studies weren't lying when they said touch is vital to our human existance. It was like my whole worldview changed. It was casual and safe and full of warmth. I'm happy about it, riding the high to this day.

Though not the stories I had planned, I did write a significant amount. Theories and analysis seem to come easier. The aforementioned draining of my drive feels like an excuse at this point. Planning comes easy. Analyzing and thinking about the thing being made is even easier. Typing a sentence is like pulling teeth, slow and excruciating. Despite this, I completed one short story based on a writing prompt. Just one. Normally I'd call that a failure, but it's not. It's more than I've done in a long time. Sure it's short, and yes it's mushy, but it's there. The world didn't explode. People aren't pointing fingers and name-calling. I clicked the publish button, allowing my work to live on the internet, and the world kept spinning. I need to remember that, and do it again this year.

[hexarcana]

( doubt )

Childhood Memories

( doubt )  for my muse to discuss a time they weren’t believed as a child, due to their age

---

"This is kind of a long story- It's got a lot of backstory. It'll come together, I promise. So-"

"When I was fourteen, I started going to this private school my father arranged for me to go to. We'd been living in Oregon for a few months, I'd already started public school but got kicked out after slugging some rich kid. I was out of school for a couple days to hash out details with the kids family- They'd wanted me arrested, which is insane. It was the sixties and I'd knocked a kids teeth out, hardly an arrestable offense. But they settled with my father and he got me enrolled at this school. Its real name was St. Millicent's Academy, but everyone called it "St. Mill's Academy for Troubled Ladies" since that's basically what it was. It was a school that rich people sent their daughters to when they did bad things." Pause. "Ya know, there is no St. Millicent in Catholicism. Or in any other faith as far as I can tell. There's a hymn called St. Millicent, but I'm almost certain the school was named after some regular woman named Millicent. Anyway-"

"So I start up at this school. It was a very strict, very Catholic school. Despite not being named after a real saint. This was right on the tail end of Vatican two, which if you're a catholic kid who was a student in the 60s means everything was changing very quickly and exactly zero people were happy about it. The higher ups at my school were extremely unhappy about it. There were a lot of changes that seemed pretty mundane, like Mass not having to be strictly in Latin anymore. We didn't have to cover our hair anymore, and the priest got to actually face the congregation. But one thing Vatican 2 did was in equal parts screw over and uplift nuns. Unfortunately, nearly every nun at St. Mills was part of the 'screwed over' camp. They'd all devoted their lives to the church, and in their eyes, the church moving in a more progressive and modern direction was an insult. This made them very very angry. A lot of them just kinda vanished from the cloth or whatever, but the ones that stayed behind were on another level of nasty."

"Which brings me to what happened. I'm fourteen, I've just started at this school, and I'm brought to this nun who's going to be like... I dunno, the den mother to me and the other girls on my floor. I was a late arrival which already made me a nuisance in her eyes. Her name was Sister Illuninata which is insane and I remember making note of it that I had to write to Stanford about it- Spoiler alert, never got to do that- Anyway, Sister Illuminata was perhaps one of the bitterest, angriest women I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. I'm convinced that if she tried hard enough, he looks could indeed kill."

"I was pretty scared being there, I'd been dropped off by another couple nuns who'd collected me from our house in Gravity Falls, I hadn't slept, I'm pretty sure my hand was maybe broken from the fight- I was not doing so hot. And the first thing I'm treated to is a grill session from the poster child of post Vatican 2 pissed off nuns. She had me in that chair for hours, going over my history as a ~child of god~ which was just me lying nonstop because I had given up on the idea of God years ago but this woman kept TWO canes hanging over her door as well as a damn paddle with holes drilled in it hanging behind her desk so I was trying my damndest to be a complete angel. She saw through me I think, but that's not what really got me. Me lying about how much i cared about church or how many psalms i knew, that was whatever. I was fully lying, I earned the ruler smacks there. But she asked me something that I thought was extremely personal, and not at all relevant to the God-Talk we were having."

"She asked me if I had a boyfriend. I was so surprised she asked I didn't answer right away and she started shaking her head. I told her I didn't. It was the first honest thing I'd said all day. She informed me that most of the girls who got sent to 'her school' (gimme a break? you were basically a resident assistant in the worlds worst dorm) because they had trouble staying away from boys on the outside. This was absurd to me. I almost didn't believe her, but she went on, talking about how young modern girls were all inherently inclined to such sins, she even used the word Tart, which is NUTS- and I was just sitting there dumbfounded. This woman who was old enough to be my grandmother really had me sat in her office lecturing me about the inherent wickedness of girls."

"I was incredibly uncomfortable. Again, I'm fourteen. I have next to no idea what I'd even DO with a boy besides like, I dunno, play tag or something- I was a child! A child, for Pete's sake, and I explained to her as politely as I could, that the reason I was sent to 'her' school was because I had been fighting with kids at my old school. And she gave me this look, and I'll never forget it because it made me feel sick to my stomach. She said:"

"Oh, is that what you girls are calling it now? Fighting?"

"I was speechless. Here I am, 14 years old, sitting across from this woman with a four day old black eye, split lip and probably a broken hand. And she was insinuating that instead of wailing on some kid for teasing me, I'd-"

A moment of disgusted silence.

"It was worse than her just saying 'oh, you're lying.' She simply refused to look past her own weird hatred for teenage girls (you know, the people she's supposed to take care of?) and assumed the worst of every girl that stumbled in after being forced from her home by 'concerned' parents. It didn't matter how damaged we were by our lives before St. Mills. It was always our fault, it was always our inherent wickedness that pushed us from God's light, or whatever. I told her the truth, and she basically did all she could to call me a whore without using the word whore. I know I sound like a broken record but I was fourteen. Thanks to a terrible education system, I didn't even really know what she was even TALKING about, but I knew it was bad."

"Most of the girls in my dorm had similar experiences with her. Most of them brushed it off. But It never sat right with me. It still doesn't sit right with me and this was like, fifty years ago. This woman is very much dead and probably in hell and what she said to me still bothers me. The idea that she could have said the same thing to Olive makes me want to dig her up and give her coffin a good shake. What a deranged way to view literal children. Children you're supposed to be taking care of!"

A pause.

"A new girl came in late my senior year and she got the same treatment except it was in front of the rest of us girls in the dorm. I got so mad when she was berating this girl- I think she was fifteen- for apparently sleeping around in her home town (If she was that's none of any of our business!) that I got up and accused her of being jealous that no one would ever wanna touch a dirty old hang like her."

She sighs.

"I could barely hold a pencil for the next two weeks when she and her cane were through with me, but it was worth it to see her head turn redder than a tomato."

[selfpivot]

Rewriting script: Exploring Uncomfortable Questions for Self-Reflection and Healing

What is The Role I am Playing in My Own Suffering?

One important self-reflection question for adults to ponder is: What is the role I am playing in my own suffering? What can help me with Self-Healing?

Most of us never started with being the cause of our own suffering. We did not initiate it. We did not have a choice in deciding the roles we were going to play in our lives. For instance, if you did not receive love and affection growing up, it is only natural for you to internalize certain fears and insecurities. Thus, the intention is not to blame. We have to learn what is rewriting a script.

But even though we did not consciously choose these roles, they have nonetheless become integral parts of our identity, shaping the way we perceive ourselves and interact with the world.

As adults, when we do not realize it, we continue to maintain or even perpetuate patterns of behavior, thoughts, and beliefs. It helps in preserving the familiar and comfortable aspects of our reality, even if they contribute to our suffering. These patterns serve as coping mechanisms that help us navigate the complexities of life and maintain a sense of stability amidst uncertainty. However, they can also keep us trapped in cycles of unhappiness and discontent.

By acknowledging them, we can explore them, understand, why they exist, and maybe make attempts to change them.

Some common patterns that I often get to see in therapy sessions include-

The fear of abandonment: I fear abandonment, so I continue to avoid forming connections because of the risk of losing them. As a result, I always feel abandoned

This fear can manifest in various ways, leading us to push people away or avoid forming close relationships altogether. We may rationalize our behaviour as a means of self-protection, believing that if we never fully invest in someone, we’ll never experience the pain of abandonment. However, this self-imposed isolation only serves to reinforce our belief that we are inherently unlovable or unworthy of genuine connections.

The fear of failure: I fear failing so I never put myself in a challenging environment

It can be paralyzing, causing us to avoid any situation where we might not excel. This avoidance shields us from the discomfort of falling short but also prevents us from taking risks and pursuing our dreams. As a result, we may find ourselves stuck in a cycle of stagnation, never fully realizing our potential or experiencing the satisfaction of achievement.

The fear of responsibility: I fear being responsible for my life, so I continue to blame others while not taking any actions for my benefit.

By shifting blame onto external factors or other people, we absolve ourselves of accountability for our own lives. This avoidance of responsibility not only hinders our ability to effect positive change but also reinforces the belief that we are powerless to shape our own destinies.

The belief of being unlovable: I am unlovable so I continue to put myself in positions where I settle for less or serve others at the cost of my well-being

 If we grew up in an environment where love was conditional or scarce, we may internalize the belief that we are undeserving of genuine affection. Consequently, we may settle for less than we deserve in relationships. And as a result, continue to believe that I am unlovable.

While writing this article, I kept asking myself a question, Am I being harsh? But the truth is- facing the idea that I could be adding to my suffering, is daunting. Bringing a change is uncomfortable, questioning things that have remained intact for years is difficult. Rewriting script encourages us to tackle difficult questions, uncover new insights, and foster profound self-healing.

Breaking free from these patterns requires courage, self-reflection, and a willingness to challenge our deeply held beliefs. While the journey may be daunting, it is also immensely liberating, offering the opportunity to rewrite our narratives and reclaim agency over our lives. With patience and compassion, we can transcend the roles that no longer serve us and cultivate a future defined by resilience and most importantly authenticity.

A few other questions that you can ask yourself to understand it better are-

How have my early experiences, such as childhood relationships or familial dynamics, shaped my beliefs about myself and the world?

What recurring themes or patterns do I notice in my thoughts and behaviors, and how do they contribute to my feelings of suffering or discontent?

Are there certain beliefs or assumptions I hold about myself or others that may be limiting my potential or perpetuating my suffering?

How do I respond to challenges, setbacks, or difficult emotions, and are there recurring patterns of avoidance or self-sabotage that contribute to my suffering?

Conclusion:

Therapy provides a unique and safe environment to answer these difficult questions, to bring you to a place where you can sit with discomfort and process life’s big questions. At least as a therapist, that is my hope for you! Rewriting script helps us confront challenging questions, ultimately guiding us toward deeper self-reflection and meaningful healing.

Create an in-depth self-awareness, self-reflection, and healing through our Online Mental Health Counseling Program, to know more get in touch with Us.

[hskinhome]

hey! could i request a tarot reading for my vriska timeline? i know very little about it so im hoping to get some idea of what it was like

Sure thing! I’ll use this spread and my Homestuck Kickstarter deck!

———————————–

First Card: Your past life as a whole

I got the upright Two of Pentacles, which symbolizes the ability to juggle two things at once, joy, recreation, harmony and change, difficult beginnings, news, industriousness, and swinging emotion. The central theme of your timeline was your progress and productivity and the joy that accompanied or followed it! You struggled initially and may have dealt with unstable emotions, but you learned how to go with the flow and become happier!

———————————–

Second Card: Theme of major challenges

I got the upright Five of Cups, which symbolizes loss, disappointment, sorrow, disillusionment, a broken marriage, loss of friendship, and regret. You struggled with the loss of a relationship, whether that be due to a falling out or their passing. You regretted certain parts or actions of the relationship and struggled to deal with the grief and the possible feeling that the relationship wasn’t as good as you hoped.

———————————–

Third Card: How you handled them, and their effects on you

I got the reversed Judgement card, which symbolizes weakness, disillusion, fear of death, unhappiness, separation, divorce, and material loss. You dealt with this loss poorly, falling into a slump and losing hope with things around you. You may have developed severe depression, but your fear of death kept you from “acting on it,” per se.

———————————–

Fourth Card: Lessons learned during this life

I got the upright Temperance card, which symbolizes adaptation, tempering, coordination, cooperation, self-control, moderation, harmony, and good management. After everything you lost, you learned how to cope healthily and work with your inner self and those around you. You didn’t let your emotions get out of hand and took steps to stay stable.

———————————–

Fifth Card: The impact or effect on your current life

I got the reversed Queen of Cups, which symbolizes a perverse woman, intelligent but dishonest, immoral, and untrustworthy. In your present life, you may intentionally or unintentionally take on some of Vriska’s less favorable traits from canon, your timeline, or both. I recommend taking some introspection to avoid falling into a dark spot!

———————————–

I know this one is more negative, but I hope it helps you nonetheless!

[proseandposies]

Shadow Work Entry #1: Apoco-Wedding Daydream

An experiment in tapping on parts of my psyche that make me uncomfortable.

I had a recurring daydream in high school about an apocalyptic event so significant that school would have to be dismissed early and ideally indefinitely suspended. In the chaos and confusion of everyone trying to figure out what was going on I would somehow muster the courage to ask whoever I had a crush on at the time to run away and start a new life with me. We would be married like Tony & Maria in West Side Story— no officiant, no guests, no preparation, only the misguided youthful erotic of now-or-never suddenly (conveniently) ordained by the end of times.

I was always keenly aware that my fantasies about having my own family were my psychic dumping grounds for how much I resented my parents. I hated that my dreams were not-so-subtly revenge schemes. It wasn't nice, it wasn't considerate. My imaginary happy family was an offense to my real life unhappy one, and therefore I ought to be punished for entertaining thoughts about it. So I kept them to myself.

When I reflect on my high school apoco-wedding daydream, I see a girl with a deep abandonment wound who did not need to learn how to give people space. I think about the final scene of Don't Look Up, when the asteroid has made contact with the earth and Dr. Mindy and Kate Dibiasky gather around the dinner table for a final meal. I worry that so much of the apathy about climate change or the threat of nuclear war stems from a similar impulse as my daydream-- that only crisis has the power to challenge the powerful ways we have been disconnected from our own desires for love, self expression, and one another. What are social customs, petty interpersonal debts, and the tyrannical currency of trying to be "chill" in the face of certain death?

Without trying too hard to tie things up with up a reductionist self-psychoanalysis, I do believe there is a lesson in my daydream (and my apathy towards it) about how desire can and will still sneak into the bleakest outlook on the world. I think desire is a critical ingredient for persistence and hope. And I am once again reminded that what lives in our personal shadows is not necessarily bad, disgusting, or amoral. Often it is our deeply human parts, fighting to be seen in a disconnected world.

[jeromefart]

ok heres my jedi survivor thoughts. and let me preface by saying i am incredibly excited for this game and will be buying it once i get a ps5. i will be saying negative things but i honestly do not care that much and i am 100% in love with everything we’ve seen from this game so far

i think that the walk run and sprint animations are a little scuffed. the run animation in fallen order wasn’t great, but now all the movement animations look off. i hope this is something they fix.

i honestly like the map system from fallen order. its a star wars holo map!! its fun and interactive!! it is hard to see exactly whats happening, but i think having to adapt to it improves the immersive experience. because most maps in star wars are holo maps, and if you were in the star wars universe, that’s what you’d be using.

some people complained about it being more open world, but i love open world games. i doubt they will be empty and i know they will be filled with tons of secrets and small details. fallen order is a game about exploration. you are meant to explore each corner and complete your map. you are meant to find secrets. and even without treasure chests, it’s still rewarding. each thing you scan has a small blurb about it. each echo you hear is part of a larger story. its honestly an incredible concept. its so unique and works so well for detail oriented people who like to search for a story and find answers instead of being told everything. it’s rewarding when you get every echo in a category. then you can read back and learn the lore of animals, planets, characters, and the galaxy. fallen order is a massive game, and survivor is going to be even bigger.

(a side note: ive put hundreds of hours in breath of the wild, and while very open and immersive, it tends to fall short in the rewarding category. there are 900 korok seeds hidden throughout the game, where you do small hidden minigames. at the end of collecting them, you get a useless collectible item. its useless and while it’s meant to be funny as it is a pile of shit, it’s just annoying. so comparing korok seeds to force echoes is very eye opening. because you actually get a sense of gratification out of getting to listen to an echo from the past, rather than shooting a bullseye or putting a rock into a hole)

i really loved the progression in fallen order. you go through a path, and then unlock a shortcut back. so later on, you can breeze through shortcuts to get to certain locations. the lack of fast travel made sense in some aspects. they wanted to keep it grounded and realistic, like with the holo map i mentioned. with the shortcuts, it didn’t take long to get to one area from another. but where the issue arrives is that its still super tedious, annoying, and hard to remember where each path leads. it’s immersive, but too immersive. i had to use a guide to get through zeffo. it was a massive planet that you return to multiple times. and 100%ing it was a NIGHTMARE. it took me a week. with that said, the addition of fast travel in survivor is exciting. it could be said that it takes away from some of the immersive factors of the previous game, but honestly? it is going to be life changing. gone are the days where im tearing my hair out running in circles trying to backtrack to the place that has 99% completion (well, maybe i’ll still have this problem).

i feel like this goes without saying, but i am in love with cal’s design. he has grown so much since fallen order, and i just adore how rugged he looks. i was unhappy with his appearance in the teaser trailer, but i kept my hopes up with the action figure illustrations. thankfully, his design is perfect. his outfit is so nice and im excited to see the customization.

this isnt really worth mentioning but let’s talk pricing. 70 bucks? fine. games are expensive nowadays. but the 20 dollar expansion pack that only includes cosmetics? honestly insane. it’s just luke and han inspired outfits, i think? the r2 bd skin is cute but other than that, it’s a waste of money imo. that is 90 fucking dollars!!!!!

the combat is exciting. i loved the split sabers in the previous game and it’s going to be so fun to use them more. the combos look effortlessly cool and ive rewatched cal twirl around his blades and throw them a million times now. it is hot. double saber gameplay looks cool too. i loved using it in fallen order even though it’s wide ranged attacks with less damage designed for attacking groups of enemies. so seeing it used on singular enemies and turned into a full usable form rather than something to switch to for a specific scenario is really nice. the crossguard saber looks cool too. some people were hating but i dont know why? i think a claymore style saber is really awesome and i have played some games with that attack style and it is actually what i prefer next to long range stuff. i love long range.

and speaking of long range, cal has a blaster. we havent seen him use it yet, but im excited. and i would not be surprised if it has little functionality. i have a feeling it will be used more for interactions with the environment than combat. im annoying when i play games and if you give me a long range weapon i will take out everything i can from as far away as possible. playing stealthy is super fun. so i will probably do that in survivor. hell i do it in fallen order. i abuse the shit out of the lightsaber throw move

lets talk CHARACTERS!

first, cal kestis. i love him 💕 he is gorgeous and im obsessed w his new design as i mentioned previously. it seems like hes going to be struggling with the dark side and justifying his actions as the fight against the ever expanding empire worsens. the way cameron has described all of this has me very excited. i loved the part in fallen order where he directly faces his trauma. it was so powerful and it really resonated with me. i almost cried tbh. anyway im super excited to see what happens next!! i love cal :))

the mantis crew. we don’t know much about what theyre up to, but im sure theyre all doing fine. it was expected that theyd all branch off and find their own purposes in the galaxy. looks like cere is building a jedi archive or something. and somehow greez let cal fly the mantis, maybe hes settled down in his home planet? or he gambled his life away LMAO. and merrin never planned on permanently staying with the mantis crew. shes probably back trying to rebuild dathomir and the nightsisters or something.

bode akuna. he seems cool and im very excited to see what hes like! it looks like him and cal form a bond despite their differences, like brothers in arms. the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? everyone hates the empire, so they are all united through that. yes, i do ship him and cal, but im trying not to be too crazy about it and wait til we see more. anyway, i like the buddy ai thing that they’re going to do with him. its bound to be pretty cool.

the mystery man played by cody fern!! ok, i need to share this because i think its funny. so when the trailer came out and it was confirmed that cody fern is playing him, i looked him up and learned he was in ahs. i was already a casual fan but had only seen 3 seasons, so i watched apocalypse. big mistake. i got super hyperfixated and binged the rest of the seasons (haven’t seen death valley and nyc yet tho). but it was worth it honestly. cody is super cool and watching his role in apocalypse got me super hyped. he plays a great villain!!! i have been saying this forever, but i want him and cal to have homoerotic tension. michael and another character (the one played by evan, i think his name is gallant?) have the most homoerotic tension ever. i mean, some of the dialogue is literally “are you gay?” “would that excite you?” i mean. COME ONNN.

[stubbychaos]

Rose Golden

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Your newest companion takes you somewhere safe and special after a long week of work so he can give you a thoughtful present. In the process, you learn that you’re not the biggest fan of heights.

Rated: T because Paz drops an F-bomb and there are suggestive themes regarding abuse and injuries.

Word count: 7,500 (I sincerely did not mean for this chapter to be so long and then I got carried away in editing--oops)

Warnings: There’s really none in this chapter, except for a brief mention of reader’s abusive father and a clumsy moment that leaves the reader with a bruise. This is honestly mostly playful bantering and adorable flirting between Paz and his nurse.

Author’s note will be at the end of the chapter! :)

You don’t expect to see the blue Mandalorian only eight days after he carries you home, but you can’t stop the large smile that spreads across your now healed lips upon finding him leaning against the exterior of the shoddy infirmary right after the sun has gone down. A few crimson rays of sunlight still linger and bathe the Mandalorian in a lovely glow, contrasting drastically with his dull blue armor and making it look as though he polished and shined it just recently.

He stands far taller compared to a few late night stragglers and you immediately frown when a passing Twi'lek hisses at him in a feral manner, though the Mandalorian simply ignores the rude gesture, deeming the offended creature as unworthy of his effort or time. It’s almost like watching a baby porg attempt to square up with a Wampa and you’re certain that the blue warrior is amused by the poor attempt at intimidation. 

You’re a little surprised that someone would willingly try to get underneath the massive warrior’s skin and you’re even more surprised when the Twi’lek sends a disgusting yellow-tinted wad of spit in the direction of your Mandalorian’s big boots in a disrespectful manner.

His blue helm slowly tips downwards and to the side to finally regard the much smaller Twi’lek and while he dons his sacred helmet, you find it amusing how he’s still able to convey an irritated glare through the guise of the thick metal. Without even saying a word or moving to stand taller in front of the Twi’lek, your Mandalorian somehow threatens him with a simple cock of his helmet and a massive hand moving to the handle of his smaller blaster. It’s something you find impressive and you suddenly grow jealous that he can exude such terrifying energy so easily.

As you watch the magenta-tinged creature give the Mandalorian one last sneer before stalking past him, you wonder why anyone in their right mind would find it a good idea to mess with someone with such a terrifying aura. Upon meeting him for the first time, you had been too afraid to even talk to him or even look into his shiny visor, let alone scoff at him or even think about spitting on his boots. You wonder if this is a typical reaction he gets everywhere he goes and you think it must get exhausting after having to deal with it for so long.

Does it bother him? Or has he simply resigned to a life of judgment and persecution?

You can’t even imagine displaying so much disrespect and resentment towards someone who had inflicted absolutely no harm or offense on you, though you think that the Twi’lek, nor many others in the village, are aware of the concept of manners.

His visor is dutifully scanning the streets and you beam the second it lands on you as you make your way over to him with a little skip in your step; you notice the small canvas bag he holds tightly in one hand and the way the fingers of his free hand loosely curl against his thigh. His shoulders, still tense from the silent encounter with the Twi’lek, deflate as he drops his helmet to regard you properly and you smile at the way he seems to relax at the sight of you, as if it’s something he’s been thinking about all day.

Perhaps he has, just as you have thought of him nearly every moment of every day since your last meeting with him.

No, you're definitely not infatuated with the massive warrior and everything about him.

Even though you’re obviously no threat to him, the way he greets you with a kind nod and a gentle rasp of your name has you feeling a severe depth of respect for the warrior. Selfishly, you ponder if you’re the only one outside of his tribe that he seems to tolerate, understanding that you don’t have any ulterior motives when it comes to his Creed or what he hides under that scuffed up bucket.

“I’m surprised to see you so soon, Mandalorian,” You greet him with a tilt of your own head, mimicking his own actions, “I thought it would be at least another month before I saw you again.”

His helmet cocks further to the side and you think he must be amused by your soft sentiment as his fingers flex against his big, padded thighs, “Did I not warn you that you would see me sooner than you would wish for?”

Your brows rise high on your forehead and you shake your head a little at the stubborn warrior’s smug inquiry, “And what if I wished for you sooner than the week’s end?”

"Then I would think you missed me or something."

The way he speaks is so gruff and nonchalant that you think he must be covering up something softer in his modulated voice and you can’t help but to smile at his unwillingness to show you any kind of intense emotion. His helmet lowers even more until his visor is eye level with you and you’re sure that he’s judging you through the guise of that irritating blue armor, though you simply ignore it and continue to peer up at the warrior with unrelenting sass.

Something that he seems to thoroughly revel in.

“You miss me, saviin’ika? Is that why you were dying to see me?”

“Perhaps I just missed having someone to walk me home to scare off all the bad guys,” You cross your arms over your chest as a knowing smile spreads across your lips and you shift your weight to one leg, “Don’t flatter yourself, Mandalorian. Cockiness doesn’t suit you.”

He makes a funny noise that seems to catch in his throat and you grin at him when you realize he’s trying not to laugh at your words.

“If I remember correctly--” He sounds utterly amused as he idly rolls his helmet around and you nearly cringe when you hear joints cracking in his stiff neck, “I didn’t walk you home last time--I carried you. ‘Was even nice enough to even take off your shoes and take out your braids, or were you too sleepy to remember?”

“I remember all too well.”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you’re suddenly aware of the thick braids currently tugging at your scalp and you remember how gentle and graceful his fingers had felt as he deftly loosened your plaits while you struggled to not fall asleep. Your tongue is suddenly heavy and fuzzy in your mouth when you think of how you’ve fallen asleep every night since your last encounter, longing and yearning for the pleasant, soothing touch of his rough fingertips massaging the soreness from your scalp. You try to remember the last time anyone has ever touched you without any ill intentions and you think of your mother, with such soft and tender hands that would gracefully part thick strands of hair before skillfully plaiting them.

The thought of a huge Mandalorian attempting to braid your hair nearly makes you giggle out loud, though you think he wouldn’t be too terrible at it since his fingers hadn’t struggled in the slightest against your intricate plaits.

Even though the memories of your mother combing and braiding your long locks is all but a faded memory, you’re certain that the blue Mandalorian’s touch had somehow been gentler than hers--caressing your cheeks and lips as though you were a jagged shard of glass that would somehow pierce his thick armor. Was he afraid of accidentally hurting you despite knowing you can take a hard hit to the face and bounce back like it didn’t even affect you? You knew you were quite small, especially compared to him, but he had reassured you during your last meeting that he did not believe you to be weak.

You suddenly wonder if the warrior fears you more than you had once feared him, though you can’t think of a rational reason at to why someone bred and born to not feel fear would feel it towards someone like you?

He’s still observing you intensely when you finally muster up the strength to speak softly, “I never thanked you for that--taking my braids out. My hair would have been a tangled mess in the morning if it weren’t for you.”

“You didn’t have to thank me,” His baritone drops the slightest and you find your cheeks growing even hotter at the gruffness of his modulated voice; you’re skin feels like burning coals as he continues to talk, keeping his shiny visor trained intensely on your face, “Your eyes are very expressive, saviin’ika.”

You lower your head a little, hoping that he doesn’t see how flushed your face must be as you speak softly and shakily, “Is that a compliment, Mandalorian?”

“Do you want it to be one?”

Pushing himself off the wall, he lazily closes the short distance between the two of you, stoic and calm as ever. You briefly wonder if he ever gets worried or stressed, but something about the way he carries himself so gracefully and confidently makes you think it’s not often others attempt to challenge him.

You give up on your prayers to the Maker for your blue Mandalorian to not notice the intense blush in your cheeks, realizing that he must have some sort of advanced technology in the damn helmet to detect the heat rising to the surface of your skin. 

He lowers his helmet until his metal chin is nearly poking your nose before he slightly tilts it to the side; you’re not sure how such an action could be simultaneously soft and intense, yet he somehow manages it and you suppress a shaky exhale when he reaches forward to skim the tips of his leather-clad fingers along the outer shell of your ear. The violet tucked there must be close to falling, because he plucks it away from your cartilage and deftly situates it somewhere in the thick braid that’s wrapped around the crown of your head.

Your own voice drops to a low murmur as he fixes another flower that you tucked in your braid earlier; you find it endearing that he seems so hellbent on making sure none of your vibrant flowers fall from your unusually tamed mane.

“What would you think of me if I wanted it to be a compliment?”

A noise that’s reminiscent of a grunt getting caught in his modulator has you smiling a little wider as he shakes his helmet at your harmless question, though it seems to have him utterly flustered as he speaks in a more rushed tone, “I wouldn’t think of you any differently, but if it is rare for you to be complimented, I wouldn’t mind doing it more. You… I think... fuck...”

He seems to grow slightly shy and you smile demurely at how captivating someone so large and intimidating can be so nervous with something as simple as giving a compliment; you think him to be an enigma, in more ways than one. 

“You think me to be what, Mandalorian?”

He shakes his helmet again and promptly changes the subject; you wonder if he’ll ever admit to you what he truly wanted to say--what he thought about you.

“I think you look well rested,” He observes out loud and you ponder if he’s smiling underneath that blue helmet as he swiftly deflects your gentle question, “Your injuries look a lot better as well. The bruising is no longer there and there’s barely a mark on your lip."

You grin up at him, eyes sparkling as you admire the way the moonlight reflects off of his blue armor, “Thanks to you, Mandalorian. I really did not wish for you to use that salve on me; I’ve had worse than a bruised cheek or a split lip.”

Immediately, you realize you should not have said that as his fingers curl into loose fists at his sides and you let out a tired sigh.

Why do you always manage to stick your foot in your mouth?

“How much worse?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” You murmur, avoiding the intense gaze of his shiny visor to stare at the geometric shape embedded into his cuirass instead, “It is nothing I am incapable of handling myself.”

“Do you not get tired of taking care of everyone and never having someone to take care of you?”

The tone of his voice is tender and something about the genuine curiosity of his question leaves you without any breath in your lungs, as if he’s some sort of thief. Nobody has ever asked you something of that nature and you’re certain it’s because nobody has ever cared like he seems to; you don’t find it fair for someone to feel such concern for you.

You suddenly feel undeserving of all the sentiments he’s showered you with, but you will accept them for as long as he chooses to tolerate your presence.

“I take care of myself, Mandalorian,” You inform him with a sad smile, shaking your head a little when his shoulders tense, “Always have and always will.”

“You need someone, saviin’ika,” He insists, gently grabbing your chin and urging you to look up at his visor, “Everybody needs someone.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you spot all of the scuffed up marks and divots in his deep blue helmet, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

You feel flustered and timid suddenly, realizing you’re just like him in the sense that you’re not used to expressing your own emotions and you feel impossibly small and vulnerable when he lightly squeezes your chin.

“Are you not my friend?”

A leather index finger grazing your jawline has you nearly coming undone as he speaks with that deep baritone, “I can be whatever you want me to be, saviin’ika.”

“What if I’m not sure what I want you to be?”

His leather digits lazily and dutifully skim the little valley between your chin and bottom lip, “I think you already know.”

His fingers move upwards to where your cheek had once been nearly the same shade of his dull armor, though it’s now healed into a light, barely-there yellow tint and you’re reminded of how he had taken care of you just a week ago. When you had first woke up after a few peaceful hours of sleep, you had initially thought you dreamt the previous night--him carrying you home and tending to your minor wounds with the bacta salve you had given him. Upon looking in the mirror when you first arrived at your office, you had been pleasantly surprised to find that the black and blue bruise had turned into a healthier shade of yellow and the tiny gash on your bottom lip was barely a scar. If you tried to imagine it hard enough, you swore you could still feel his index finger trailing up the apple of your cheek and to the tip of your ear; you swore you could still feel his rough, skilled fingers rubbing comfort into your sore scalp.

You had longed to feel his rough fingers on your face again and as a leather digit currently strokes the tail of your brow, you wonder if it would be hard to convince him to remove his glove again.

With an intense blush turning your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, you ponder what else he can do with those fingers--those graceful hands.

When he doesn’t say anything else, you gesture to the canvas bag that he’s still tightly gripping in a large hand and clear your throat a little, though your voice sounds slightly coarse and wavering, “What’cha got there? Do some shopping in the marketplace?”

“Not quite,” He hesitates as he slowly lowers his helmet, his visor shifting between you and whatever is in the bag, “I want to take you somewhere, if that is alright with you. It's a safe place that nobody knows about."

You perk up, not wanting to go home and having to deal with your father’s anger yet, so you nod enthusiastically and immediately wrap your fingers into the crook of his padded elbow, as if it’s pure instinct at this point and you suppose it is. Though you’ve only ran into him three times, you think that after the night when he had carried you home and tended to your wounds, you would trust the Mandalorian to guide you anywhere on Nevarro, as long as he was there with you. Everyone always avoids the big warrior and you’re sure that if anyone attempted to cross him, he would deal with the situation swiftly and efficiently.

The Mandalorian is ever dutiful and diligent as he leads you in a different direction from your home and you can’t help but to scan your surroundings wildly as you two wander through the marketplace that's still bustling, even after the sun disappears and gives way to brilliant moonlight. 

Though most of the food vendors are selling some sort of questionable cooked meat, your eyes widen when you pass a stand that is offering all sorts of vibrant fruits and vegetables. Much to your dismay and embarrassment, your stomach growls and you can’t stop your head from turning to stare at the fresh food as the two of you continue past the vendor. It’s far more expensive than you’ve ever been able to afford, but nonetheless, you find yourself always checking the prices whenever you wander through the marketplace.

You don’t notice the blue Mandalorian observing the wistful expression painted along your features with a slight tilt of his helmet.

“About five miles west of the village, there is a small cave located at the base of the cliffs,” His deep baritone pulls you from your thoughts of fresh fruit and crisp vegetables and you curiously blink up at him, “Inside the cave, there are several hot springs that stay warm from the lava underground and flowers that light up the entire place. I want to take you there.”

“That sounds lovely and all, but five miles?” You feel bad that he’s going out of his way to do something nice for you and all you can think of is how sore your feet are from a long shift and your worn boots rubbing painfully against already formed blisters and bruises, “I couldn’t even do the half mile to my house last week.”

“Do you not see the jetpack on my back, saviin’ika? I wouldn't make you walk that distance after you've been on your feet all day; I am not that cruel.”

You immediately stop walking, your face growing pale at the mere thought of him bringing you high up off the ground and he must sense your intense fear and hesitation, because he immediately cocks his helmet to the side and promptly speaks up when your hand slips away from his elbow.

“What? You scared of flying or something?”

It sounds like he’s teasing you, a twinge of condescension apparent in his modulated voice, and it immediately makes you scowl at him because you have every right to be afraid when you’ve never had the option to travel off of Nevarro, let alone the galaxy, like he’s clearly had in the past. You forcefully remind yourself that most of the people in your little village are bounty hunters and criminals that get to travel for a living and that the feeling of being in the sky or in space was something he’d gotten acquainted with long ago.

“I’ve spent my entire life with my feet on the ground, Mandalorian,” You remind him with a harmless glare, craning your neck so you can properly look at his shiny visor underneath the pretty moonlight, “Of course I’m afraid.”

“You do not strike me as the type of woman to fear such things, not after everything you have already endured.”

You let out a petulant sigh, your cheeks puffing out in embarrassment as you narrow your eyes at the huge warrior and stubbornly cross your arms over your chest. You gaze at the silver tips of the jetpack that barely peek over the top of his broad shoulders and you can’t help but to wonder if there’s a possibility of the heavy piece of equipment malfunctioning mid-flight. Even though the rest of his armor is quite dinged up and a little rough around the edges, you think that his weapons and the jetpack look brand new, as though they’ve never been used before. His weapons and other pieces of equipment must be dear to him, you realize, just as your plants and flowers and the cuffs you wear in your braids are precious to you and you think he must take great care of them to keep them in good shape.

You’ve trusted the blue Mandalorian so far, so why do you fear the thought of him dropping you or his jetpack malfunctioning?

“Y-You’re sure it’s safe?”

“I would not let anything or anyone harm you while you’re with me, saviin’ika,” He holds out a large hand for you to take and you observe it warily for a few moments before slotting your fingers between his leather ones, “I know how my weapons and equipment work; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

You smile softly at him and nod your understanding, “I trust you.”

“Come on,” He rasps, his voice a little softer when he carefully gives your hand a little tug and you let him guide you once again, “We need to get out of the village a little ways so I don’t draw attention with the sen’tra.”

You assume the word means ‘jetpack’ in his native tongue and you breathe out a soft laugh, “I think your armor draws plenty of attention, Mandalorian.”

He shakes his helmet, but continues to lead you to the outskirts of the noisy village, and you find that the silence shared between the two of you is a peaceful one, rather than an awkward one. Not known to be much of a talker, you’re grateful that the Mandalorian doesn’t really seem to expect a steady flow of conversation between the two of you, as he seems to do most of the talking. Though your feet ache from a long day of work, you find that the combination of his gruff voice and the firm pressure of his fingers intertwined with yours makes for a sweet distraction and you barely acknowledge the calluses and blisters covering your feet and ankles. He speaks mostly of the hot springs he’s taking you to and that the warm water will be good for sore legs; he briefly talks about his tribe when you shyly bring up traditional Mandalorian customs.

You listen and cling to every word closely, saving it for future reference so you don’t accidentally offend the blue warrior with oblivious words and naive questions.

It’s merely a twenty minute journey to the outskirts where most don’t venture to unless they have transportation, and even then, the rocky terrain and creatures that roam the barren lands are enough to keep most people inside the bleak village.

It was only another thing your father had warned you of when you had once attempted to run away when you were thirteen or fourteen; you hadn’t made it very far when he found you, completely lost and dehydrated miles and miles away from the village. Seeing the expanse of the barren lands now, you wonder what the hell you had been thinking as a teenager, thinking you could actually survive in such a harsh environment where there was no civilization for hundreds of miles; you were surprised you had lasted more than a day.

“Is something wrong?”

You blink owlishly, not even realizing the Mandalorian had been talking to you for a while now and you shake your head a little, “N-No… it’s just been a while since I’ve seen the barren lands. Not many venture far out the village without transportation and come back in one piece.”

If he notices the shakiness in your small voice, he decides not to mention it as he speaks.

“I won’t…” He lowers his helmet until the chin of his helmet is nearly touching your forehead and you shyly peer up at him through your lashes, “I won’t let anything happen to you--you know that, right?”

Even though his natural voice is distorted and disguised by his vocoder, you hear how genuine he’s being and you nod with a small, albeit nervous, smile, “I know. I trust you, Mandalorian. Just… please don’t drop me.”

The heavy-infantry warrior doesn’t say anything and merely nods as you reluctantly let go of his hand so he can wrap his arm around your waist, keeping a firm pressure without actually hurting you. Normally, the foreign contact would bother you and have you bursting at the seams, but you think that you don’t mind the way he holds you close to his warm body, like he’s trying to shield you from the horrors of this planet. You think that if you had someone to hold you like this every night for the rest of your days, you wouldn’t hold nearly as much fear in your heart that currently lingers there like a festering wound that refuses to heal properly.

Your breath catches in your throat as the Mandalorian’s clean and warm scent invades your senses and intoxicates you in the most delightful way possible; now that you’re not half asleep, you can actually appreciate the earthy scent that seeps through the cracks of his dull blue armor. Your cheeks are flushed as you wonder if he’s enjoying the close contact as much as you are--if he had hoped for this when he came up with the idea to take you to a place far from the village.

Instinctively, you stand up on your tippy toes and slip your arms around his broad shoulders, your heart racing at the thought of what’s about to happen. Your eyes barely peer over his taut shoulder and you hold your breath when he quietly informs you that he’s going to start the jetpack; you’re hasty as you squeeze your eyes shut when upon hearing the heavy piece of equipment come to life.

The Mandalorian gives your waist a comforting squeeze when you tense a little as he slowly takes off and you force yourself not to panic or open your eyes when you feel your boots slowly leave the ground. While the hand that’s gripping the canvas bag remains tightly wrapped around your waist, you feel his other hand come up to squeeze the spot between your shoulder blades. You’re not sure how high up the two of you are and you’re not sure if you want to look, so instead of gazing down at the rocky terrain that’s far below your boots, you turn your head up to peer at the shimmering stars in the night sky instead, admiring how they seem brighter and bigger the further you two make it out of the village. The moon has more of a yellowish tint to it tonight and appears larger than usual, but you think that perhaps being far away from the village and high up in the air has something to do with the lovely spectacle.

As cold air whips around the two of you, you find yourself grateful that you decided to tightly braid your hair that morning, though a few stubborn locks of hair escapes their restraints and lightly whips at your cheeks and forehead. You can’t stop yourself from shivering the higher he ascends, the atmosphere growing a little more frigid and you thank the Maker that you chose to wear longer shorts underneath your thin dress, the undergarments ending mid-thigh.

“See? Not so bad.”

You huff against his neck, still refusing to look down as you respond just loud enough for him to hear, “You wouldn’t be saying that if I threw up on you.”

His shoulders shake a little and you think he must be suppressing a bout of boisterous laughter as his arms tighten around you, though it’s not enough to hurt you or make it difficult to breathe. You wonder how often he uses the jetpack, especially if he spends most of his days dwelling deep underground, though something about the way he expertly navigates through the barren lands makes you think he’s incredibly experienced and well-trained in using the advanced equipment. He seems just as relaxed high up in the air as he does walking on land and you force yourself to keep your attention focused solely on the soft whirring noise his jetpack makes, along with how the constellations in the night sky grow more prominent the further he takes you away from the village.

You shift your arms around him a little, trying to get more comfortable against his metal chest; he must sense your discomfort because he easily hikes you up a little higher up his torso until your elbows are resting on top of his shoulders and your temple and cheek is lightly pressed against the side of his scuffed up helmet. The cold bite of the helmet makes you shiver a little harder against his chest and you try to focus only on the warmth that lingers between the cracks of his blue armor.

“Have you ever been up there?” You ponder so quietly that you figure he won’t hear it, though he turns his helmet a little to indicate that he’s listening, “With the stars?”

“It’s been a while, but yes.”

You suddenly have so many questions.

You want to ask him what it’s like to travel among the stars and if he misses it at all, or if he simply got tired of all the traveling and being away from his tribe for an extensive amount of time. Has he traveled to the Inner Rim? Or did he only stick to the Outer Rim where he knew it would be easier to find work? If you asked him to describe what the stars looked like as he flew through hyperspace at blinding speed, what would he say to you? Would he describe the constellations and scenery of different planets in great detail? Would he describe the colors of a catastrophic supernova? The shapes and vibrancy of different types of stars? Or would he merely shake his head at your childish questions?

You have all of these questions, yet one in particular has you speaking out loud against the side of his helmet.

“Was it lonely up there?”

He’s silent for a solid minute or two and you think that either he didn’t hear you, or he’s simply choosing not to display any vulnerability in front of you. It makes sense that he wouldn’t be willing to share much of his past with you and you don’t blame him for it, understanding that you two are similar in the sense that it’s difficult to speak of your feelings and traumatizing memories out loud. You wonder if his own memories haunt him when he tries to fall asleep at night and… wait. 

Does the huge Mandalorian even sleep? 

The only times you’ve interacted with him are late at night or some ungodly hour in the morning and you can’t help but to wonder when he finds time for sleep if he’s so busy providing for his beloved tribe.

“Yes,” His arm tightens around your waist and he turns his helmet in an attempt to gaze at you, though you know there’s really no way for him to see you, what with how firmly your cheek is pressed into the side of his matte dark blue helm, “I just didn’t know it at the time.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking of a lonely Mandalorian navigating through hyperspace, all alone without the comfort of another, “What made you realize how lonely it was?”

You wonder if his own cheeks are burning painfully under that metal helmet as he reluctantly answers your question and you hope he doesn’t feel pressured to bend to your every whim or inquiry as you painfully crane your neck backwards to peer into the abyss that is his shiny visor, “I didn’t know at the time--what made everything feel so lonely--but now I think I know after spending enough time with you and seeing what your father does to you, how he makes you feel."

You tilt your head a little, obviously confused, “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I see a lot of my past self in you,” He admits, fingers lightly curling against your waist, and you think he’s making fun of you, “I didn’t have anyone and I found myself missing the tribe, but I didn’t want to believe that I was lonely and homesick. I see it in your eyes, how lonely and homesick you are as well.”

“What do you mean homesick?” His helmet cocks to the side as you continue, “You think I consider that little hut a home?”

“I think you long for a home you’ve never had,” He tentatively answers after a few moments of severe contemplation, “Like I said earlier, saviin’ika, your eyes are very expressive. Even when you smile, your eyes look sad and it reminds me of how I felt when I was traveling all alone.”

You move your head so your cheek is pressed back against the side of his helmet again, not wanting him to see the despair and loneliness that apparently seem to linger in your expressive eyes, “Is that why you showed up again tonight?”

“It’s part of the reason why,” The blue warrior concedes and it surprises you a little, as he’s usually closed off and so unwilling to expose himself to you, “I wanted to make sure that you were alright--that you weren’t hurt. I don’t... I don’t like seeing your face covered in bruises.”

You smile and slowly close your eyes, an unfamiliar warmth expanding in your chest as the thought of someone caring about your well-being lights your soul ablaze. Resisting the urge to kiss the light blue patch that’s painted in the hollow of his cheek, you settle on dropping your head so it’s pressed firmly into the bunched up fabric at the base of his neck before letting out a deep sigh. 

You hope that the thickness of his armor prevents him from feeling how hard your heart is beating for him--for the selflessness of his words and actions--and you wonder if everyone else in his tribe is like him, soft and warm underneath such unyielding and cold armor. Something about the violent and ruthless energy he exudes when dealing with others makes you think he’s not as unrelenting when he’s with his people and they probably don’t expect him to be.

If anything, painful headbutts and heavy fists thrown at one another is how they probably show their love.

You feel a little lightheaded as your blue warrior starts to slowly descend and you're grateful when you eventually see the rocky ground in your peripheral vision. When the worn soles of your boots are finally pressed against solid ground, the Mandalorian makes sure to keep an arm wrapped around your middle, your legs feeling like jelly and your body swaying a little from disorientation. 

Eventually, you reluctantly pull your head away from the warmth of his neck and slowly turn to peer up at him through your lashes, blushing at how close he is to you. He’s bent over a little so his visor is eye-level with you and you’re absolutely aware of the way his fingers are splayed wide on your hip, his thumb stroking comforting circles against the flimsy fabric of your dusty gray dress.

Is he aware of what he does to you? How frantic your heart is as it races from the way he holds you tenderly to his own chest, as if he wants to take you far away from the village and build a safe home for you inside of his own heart.

The strange tension only goes away when you speak in a breathy whisper, “Thank you for not dropping me, Mandalorian.”

“I would never do such a thing,” He reassures you and clears his throat before standing up straight so he’s towering over you again; he reaches up to slowly brush some unruly baby hairs away from your forehead and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you shiver from the soft gesture, “What kind of man would I be if I killed the only nurse in the village?”

His playful tone makes you giggle a little and you happily take his hand when he kindly offers it to you again. You’re a little surprised to find huge cliffs surrounding the two of you and you realize that you were so focused on the beautiful starlight the whole journey to the cave that you didn’t even realize he had been guiding the two of you throughout a deep canyon. The Mandalorian is patient as you gaze up at the enormous cliffs with admiration, not even realizing that such beauty could exist on a planet like Nevarro.

“I’ve never been this far out of the village,” You inform him with a breathless sigh, awe and wonder laced in your quiet voice, “I never thought the barren lands could be this pretty.”

“Not everything on this planet is terrible, saviin’ika,” He urges you towards the small, jagged entrance at the base of the cliff and you hesitate upon noticing the ominous abyss that would guide you two further beneath the planet’s surface. You watch as the blue Mandalorian calmly presses a button on his yellow-tinged vambrace, causing a bright light to emanate from the rectangular piece of metal attached to the top right side of his helmet.

“So that’s what it does,” You say out loud before you can stop yourself, earning a chuckle from the large man.

“What did you think it was for?”

You shrug as you let him pull you into the entrance of the quaint grotto, “Decoration?”

The boisterous bark of a laugh he lets out warms your heart and has you grinning as you forget about the fact that he’s leading you somewhere so secluded that he could easily hurt or take advantage of you without anyone knowing about his intentions. Out of anyone you’ve ever crossed paths with in the village, you’re certain that the Mandalorian is the only one you would ever trust to lead you deep inside a cave where terrifying creatures or monsters might linger, though you fear nothing as you stay close to his side.

“I can assure you that none of my weapons, armor, or equipment is for decoration,” He informs you lightheartedly, giving your hand a firm squeeze as he calmly guides the way further into the cold grotto, “The hot springs aren’t too much further away--stay close, saviin.”

“I do not think you would let me stray far,” You chuckle as you let him walk a step in front of you, just to be safe.

He lets go of your hand as he gracefully hops down a steep step that’s a solid ten or twelve feet and you hesitate as he turns to gaze up at you.

Trying to mimic his grace, you move to hop off the jagged ledge, though the tip of your oversized boot gets caught in a deep crack and you let out a sharp squeak as you fall forward, nearly face first into the ground. Before you can properly react and attempt to steady yourself, the diligent Mandalorian is swift and efficient with his skillful hands and somehow manages to keep his grip on your hips light enough to prevent any bruising or soreness that would possibly occur from being manhandled by the blue warrior. You let out a small noise of pain when your chin collides with his cuirass and he’s quick and even a little frantic as he cups your flushed cheeks and tilts your head backwards so he can get a better look at your face, his leather thumb moving to ghost along your sore chin.

He almost sounds ashamed when he speaks up and you feel your heart plummet into the pit of your stomach.

“I hurt you.”

“You… what?” You don’t know what to say, absolutely shocked by how guilty he sounds as he continues to lightly stroke your chin, “You did no such thing, Mandalorian. My clumsiness is not your fault and you should not blame yourself for saving me from worse injuries. Please, keep going. I want to see the hot springs.”

His thumb grazes what you’re sure will be a bruise in the morning, but you think it’s the first time someone has ever unintentionally left a mark on you without any ill intent. With a sharp nod, the blue Mandalorian presses a firm hand to the small of your back and guides you deeper into the grotto, though you’re certain by the way his visor keeps tilting down towards the lower half of your face that he’s still upset over your lack of grace.

“I would not think a nurse to be clumsy.”

He doesn’t sound admonishing or judgmental, but more upset and confused than anything and you can’t help but to find his curiosity endearing, “I am a trained nurse, not a skilled warrior like you. The only thing graceful about me are my hands.”

His helmet cocks to the side, “I’ll be sure to remember that for future reference.”

Your cheeks burn viciously at the implication of his words and deciding it best to not dig yourself into a deeper hole, you grow silent and continue to follow him.

A tiny gasp escapes you when you hear the unfamiliar sounds of running water and you immediately perk up, no longer hesitant as you skip in front of the Mandalorian to venture further within the dwellings of the cold cave. Luckily, the little flashlight attached to his helmet guides your way as you follow the unfamiliar sounds trickling water and you can hear the warrior quickly shuffling to follow you, as if he’s worried you’re going to trip and fall again. Only when he gently advises you to slow down, your hasty footsteps dissolve into a slower stroll and you’re barely aware of the way you grab his hand once again, tugging him towards the sound of rushing water.

When you finally make it to the destination he had longed to show you in the first place, you freeze in awe and wonder.

“Stars,” You murmur as you gaze upon the gorgeous, glowing plants that surround a thin creek of aquamarine water, along with several little ponds filled with steaming hot water, “This is…”

As you stare at the budding flowers and crystal-like plants that glow with a whimsical shimmer and brighten up the tavern, you realize you’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful in your entire life. The flowers that miraculously grow underground are all vibrant shades of sapphire and magenta and even though you should be intrigued by the steamy ponds filled with crystal blue water, a huge, unintentional smile spreads across your lips as your fingertips lightly skim along silky azure petals.

You can’t stop yourself from plucking a healthy-looking flower and bringing it up to your nostrils with a soft smile, your eyelids slipping shut when the floral scent invades your senses completely. If you thought the huge cliffs and shimmering constellations had been beautiful, they had absolutely nothing on the vibrant flowers that softly illuminate the grotto, or the aquamarine water that has steam rising from the surface. With the stem of the flower still intertwined between your fingers, you slowly make your way towards one of the smaller hot springs in the cave and slowly sink to your knees so you can lightly skim your fingers along the surface of the delightfully warm water.

A grin tugs at your lips as you submerge your hand completely and wriggle your fingers around.

“Mesh’la.”

You immediately turn your head in his direction, inquisitive eyes scanning his dark blue helmet because it’s the first time he’s said that word in front of your and you wonder what the hell the Mandalorian must be calling you in his native language. You hope it’s nothing too insulting or demeaning, though the way he breathes it so fondly makes you think he must be complimenting you, rather than throwing judgment your way. His helmet jolts a little, as if he doesn’t realize he’s been staring at you through the safety of his visor, and he clears his throat a little before slowly sauntering to where you’re settled on the edge of the hot spring.

“You can…” He sounds a little hesitant as he approaches you and crouches down so he’s not towering over you, “You can take off your shoes and socks if you want. I brought…” A soft expression crosses your features when you realize he’s nervous as he gazes down at the canvas bag he’s clutching tightly, “I brought this for you.”

Reluctantly, he shoves the small bag in your direction and looks away as you peer inside at the contents, your eyes widening when your fingers graze thick leather, “I-I can’t accept this, Mandalorian. You have already done far too much for me and I would not be able to repay you.”

“You need new boots, saviin’ika,” He observes you as you reluctantly remove the shoes from the bag completely, fingers inspecting the quality of the leather, “Besides, these were made for another Mandalorian in the covert but were too small; they should fit you well enough.”

“I don’t have enough credits to repay you.”

"Then don't."

"Manda--"

“Maker, you really are a stubborn little thing,” The blue warrior says in a deadpan tone, reaching out so his fingertips can lightly graze your flushed cheek; immediately, you remember the way he had caressed your cheeks and lips just a week ago and you lower your head so he can’t see the longing in your eyes.

The Mandalorian lets out an exasperated sigh when you hold out the boots for him to take, though he simply shakes his helmet, “Not everything requires a price. You gave me that salve even though I couldn’t afford it,” You open your mouth to argue with him, though he’s faster and much more stubborn than you are, “If you truly wish to pay me back, then do it with your company.”

“I don’t really make for the best companionship.”

“I think your companionship would be the only kind I wished for, outside of my tribe.”

You ignore the intense warmth in your cheeks as you reluctantly place the boots on the ground next to you before reaching back into the bag to see what else he brought for you. Upon pulling out a jar that’s filled with white, rocky chunks, you perk up and quickly unscrew the lid to smell the aromatic salt; the intense eucalyptus scent nearly brings tears to your eyes as it tickles your nostrils and clears your sinuses.

“Healing salts?” You say it as a question, though it’s more of an observation, and you turn to the blue warrior with raised brows and a slight smile, “I feel like a spoiled woman.”

He grunts and turns his visor away from you, standing up to take a seat on a flat rock that’s right behind you and you can feel the armor covering his knee grazing your shoulder blade, “You care too much for others and not enough for yourself, little nurse. It would be good for you to relax for a while.”

“And what about you, Mandalorian?” You unfold your legs from underneath your body and start to unlace your worn out boots, avoiding his shiny visor as you continue, “I’m sure those weapons and that jetpack must weigh down on your body, no?”

After tugging off your boots and socks, you roll your head backwards so you can peer up at him. Despite all of his clunky weapons and equipment, he seems relaxed as he leans forward a little, padded elbows resting on top of his thighs; he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes your upside down gaze.

He flexes his fingers a little and you think it must be some sort of habit for him to constantly crack his stiff joints, “You’re asking a Mandalorian to disarm his weapons?”

You giggle a little and turn your attention back to the hot spring as you slowly submerge your feet into the soothing hot water, shuddering at how good it feels after being on your feet all day, "I would not ask you to do such a thing, silly man. I'm simply asking for you to relax with me; you deserve it just as much as I do."

He huffs out an amused noise and you turn to gaze at him over your shoulder to watch him slowly remove the cannon that's as tall as you, propping it up against the rock next to his thigh. You raise your brows when he lets out an exasperated grunt upon removing his jetpack, cursing in his native language as he rolls his shoulders.

"Told you all of that equipment must weigh down on you," He shakes his helmet at your gentle quip and lightly nudges your shoulders with his knee before removing his utility belt, "It is good for you to relax too, Mandalorian, especially if your tribe requires your protection."

"You needed this more than me."

You hum as you carefully dump a small amount of the healing salts into the hot spring, avoiding his emotionless gaze as you muster up the courage to say what’s been clawing at the back of you mind since after your initial meeting with the enigmatic warrior.

“Why do you find it so important to take care of me?”

Besides the peaceful sounds of running water and chirping crickets, it’s deathly silent and you fear that the Mandalorian will refuse to answer your question. You lower your head, shame and regret burning something fierce in your cheeks as the silence overwhelms you and convinces you that he does not care about you--that it’s all part of your imagination. You hear him shuffle around and you think he’s attaching his equipment back to his armor, probably wanting to already leave the beautiful cave.

Then a bare hand is on the center of your spine and you find yourself shivering and sighing as a massive hand idly trails up your back. His callused fingers easily push past your thick braids and find purchase on your nape; an embarrassed whimper leaves you when he firmly strokes and squeezes the tension away from your stiff muscles.

“Because, mesh’la,” His voice is close to your ear and when you turn your head in the slightest, your surprised to find his visor just inches away from your eyes, “I would not stand by and watch a harsh world beat you down so easily.”

You think him to be the best thief in the village, because his next words, followed by the press of his forehead against yours, has you bereft of any air that had previously filled your lungs.

“I would much rather see you with that pretty smile that actually meets your eyes, rather than bruises and cuts on your face. I would bring you here every night if it meant seeing that light in your eyes. even if for only a few seconds.”

The smile you grace him with is so genuine and huge that it hurts your cheeks.

Though you believe the Maker to be so cruel to bless you with such a tender companionship, surely with the intentions to eventually rip it away from your grasps, you will allow yourself to feel such happiness in that moment.

sen’tra= Jetpack

saviin’ika= Little violet

mesh’la= Beautiful

Author’s Note: First off, I know I’ve said a bajillion times and I’m never going to stop saying how sweet and supportive you all are! When I first came up with the idea for this story, I certainly had no intentions of people reading it since it’s so self-indulgent and I’m just a soft baby that loves the thought of huge, tough warriors also being soft babies lol. I’m glad we’re all fans of tender Mandalorians being soft with their partners and I’m so appreciative of all the kind comments y’all have left. I hope you all continue to enjoy my story and I promise I’ll try to update as consistently as my hectic schedule will allow me to.

I love you all <3

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester​ @auty-ren​ @theocatkov​ @oloreaa​ @blindedbyyourgrace17​ @datmando​ @dartheldur​ @miscellaneous-mando​ @karpasia​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @whatababeleia​ @maybege​

If I missed anyone, please let me know!!

[alfredosauce50]

To the Ends of the Earth [Yandere Viking! Denmark x reader]

Synopsis: Mathias is troubled by his clash with Jarl Borg, a grim reminder of what it is to be a chieftain. He seeks the Seer’s counsel for what the future holds and whether you will be a part of it. Marriage is the first challenge; staying together is the next. He goes to war with a vengeful Wessexian King, who transfers the same sentiment to his own King Horik. Conspiracies are brewing, and enemies are amassing. But he fights on, driven by your memory and a dream. Word count: 8, 832 Content warning: Adult themes, gore, and strong NSFW. Strictly R18+ The reader is referred to as she/her.

To the ends of the Earth

The finale

Like all Norse men and women, he believed in a higher power. In a world so vast and perfect, there had to be. The Gods stirred the ocean, cracked the sky open with thunder, and warmed the earth.

They decided everything, including fate.

He was never eager to learn his, having been certain of his success. And so far, he was right. He sailed west where all those before him had failed, then bested an envious rival in an unlikely turn of events. But with every feat that added to his growing fame was the growing threat of the inevitable.

Every breath he breathed condensed into a cloud of white vapor. His hair had grown into a long mullet, but even that wasn’t enough to shield against the cold. Winter was coming. Days would be shorter, nights would be longer, and temperatures plunged well below zero, freezing the waters and shriveling up crops. Yet, it was by no means dark.

Just overhead where the skies were clear, were the Northern lights—glowing rivers of green that streamed from horizon to horizon. They were shaped like ribbons and moved like water, but the celestial show did more than take his breath away. With no torch on his person, they guided him deep into the mountains. While he tread on the damp forest floor, he counted the trees he passed.

Once he reached seventeen, a wooden hut came into view. Two pikes protruded from the ground before the door, lit on fire to beckon him inside. He walked past the crackling flames and into the Seer’s domain.

“I’ve been expecting you.” A voice began. “Come in.”

Driftwood garlands hung from ceiling to floor. Deer skulls peered into the room from the walls, but the ornaments did not demand respect quite like its inhabitant. The Seer was a revered man, for even being blind, he could see things others could not.

“You’ve never once sought my counsel since becoming earl. What changed your mind?”

“Many things.” Mathias responded, taking a seat at the foot of their bed. He took on a solemn expression as he gathered himself. He hadn’t said much, yet the Seer had already reminded him of his troubles.

“Such as?”

“This year’s raids have allowed trade to flourish.”

The chieftain kept his gaze on his calloused hands. They were hardened by years of hard work in the fields, the unyielding grip on his ax and shield.

“My city is richer than it ever was before.”

“Then what are you unhappy about?”

Mathias glanced up, face darkening.

“What happened with Jarl Borg.”

The man threatened more than he could fathom, a grim but inevitable prospect he had to embrace in his chiefdom. So even in death, he cursed his name in every waking moment of the day.

“I can’t let another earl do the same again.”

“That is not up to you. But the Gods.” The Seer raised his voice with credence. “What will become of you and your city has already been decided.”

“Then what has been decided?” Mathias leaned in, darting his restless eyes over the other’s deformed face. “Will another earl wage a war with me?”

“After your victory? No.” The Seer paused, letting him bask in a moment of hope. “Someone far greater will come your way. Whether you rise to meet them will determine the future of you and your people.”

“Who?”

“You ask many questions, Mathias.”

“Because I have many questions,” He breathed out, listening to the unwavering silence before them. As persistent as he could be, he was at the hospitality of the Gods. What their messenger chose to disclose was not up to him. “Fine. Then tell me this.”

Another pause ensued.

“Will she be a part of my future?”

“You speak of her as if I know who she is,” The Seer remarked, but continued without a hitch, pointing at his forehead. “If she becomes your equal, will she not be a part of everything to come?”

Mathias left the hut. He was given a lot to mull over, an unknown enemy and someone more than familiar.

He was uncertain of many things. Whether it would rain, hail or shine was a mystery until it happened. His life, death, and everything between were in the hands of the heavens. You were the only constant. Your image in his mind, the sound of your voice.

You were as sure as the sun, and Mathias was unafraid to chase you to the ends of the Earth.

A few days later, he stopped by your house with gifts. Unlike a few months ago, they spoke of anything but parting. The gold, necklaces, and dress he had tailored to your size symbolized a union, an official bond that could tie him to you forever.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” A woman remarked from the kitchen. Her voice startled him, seeing as her back was turned to stir a pot over a fire. When she turned around, a small, knowing smile graced her lips. “What took you so long?”

“I had to wait for the right moment, Helga.” Mathias smiled back, setting a bag of coins on the counter. Inside was 15 ounces of gold, considerably more than a typical bride price. But it was nothing a chieftain couldn’t offer. “I didn’t want to rush her.”

“Rush her?” She laughed, returning to her cutting board. “I suppose you’re right. She used to stretch her eyes at the mere mention of you.”

“She did?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, yes. She didn’t like you at all.” Helga raised her brows, slicing up some herbs and adding them to the bubbling stew. “The first time you brought up marriage, she stormed into this kitchen, cursed you, then chopped up a carrot like it was you.”

“Like I was the carrot?”

“Part of you, anyway.”

It was Mathias’s turn to laugh now. Thinking about the past reminded him of how far he’d come. It should’ve been relieving, but overcoming one hurdle only meant facing another—asking the question and hoping for the answer he wanted. A woman’s say in marriage wasn’t necessary, especially for a man like him. But to Mathias, your word was everything.

He turned to the backyard. You were drying fish with Emil, reminiscent of the day he first sailed west and, of course, your colorful refusal of his propositions.

So much had changed since then. You no longer cast him out but welcomed him into your house and person. Even now, as he watched you do chores on the cliffside, you were happy to reciprocate it.

You turned to him and smiled.

When he caught it, his lips separated agape.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Mathias breathed, never tearing his gaze from you. Every muscle in his body was urging him to you, but with equal force that compelled him to stay was the tantalizing suspense. Your mother didn’t answer and kept stirring the pot. The crackling of flames was becoming a mark of his anxieties, just like fire was a medium for the future.

“She’s madly in love with you, if that’s what you wanted to ask.” She replied, the words getting his face to flush red. Knowing it was one thing, but hearing it made him feverish with yearning.

“What else could I be asking?” He sighed, turning back to her. “We’re getting married.”

“Yes, but there’s always been more to her. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that she has a sense of pride.”

“I have.”

“She isn’t intimidated by your authority anymore,” The other continued, scooping the stew into four bowls, one smaller than the rest. The pungent smell called you in, so Mathias wouldn’t have been able to respond when your mother told him this.

“What she doesn’t like is to feel small. And you, my dear, are the biggest name in all of Denmark.”

The hall was abuzz with conversation, but the unease was unlike any other day. Men were shouting unintelligibly at one another, some shaking their heads, others wearing solemn faces. It was the fourth time the Northmen had invaded their shores, raiding their stores and laying waste to their lands. Thrice in Northumbria and once in Wessex, the very kingdom they stood in and believed impenetrable.

“My friends,” The voice could barely count as a shout, but it demanded the immediate silence of the hall. Everyone turned to the figure on the throne, their king and ruler. “Those pagan heathens are celebrating while we stay embroiled with discourse. They cannot be dealt with any sooner than when we finally come together in agreement.”

“Then what will we do, sire?” One of the lords asked, briefly joined by a hush of murmurs. “They grow in number with every attack. It’s impossible to gauge how many there will be the next time they come.”

“But we have the home ground advantage,” The king responded. “The men they bring are all the men they have. Our forces can be readied with more flexibility.”

“But what about their ships? They never venture far from them, and I’ve never seen ships that fast.”

“Their ships can even sail up rivers,” Another added, face tense. “Just as they can cross oceans.”

“The answer is simple, then.” The king rose his brows at the riotous lot before him. “If we cannot out-sail them, we won’t chase them. And if we cannot predict their next attack, we won’t. Instead, we will take the fight to them when they least expect it.”

“But we would have to cross the ocean in Winter,” The same man argued. “It cannot be done.”

“Weren’t you the one who spoke of ships that could cross rivers and oceans?” The king replied, irritated by the hypocrisy of his court. The question silenced the hall once more. “You all talk of these Northmen with the same revere as the supernatural. If a band of barbarians can accomplish those feats, are we not capable of sailing through a little ice?”

Once the court dissolved, the king retired to his chambers. As he stood facing the window, he stared down at the green meadows below, rich with foliage.

“The leader of these Pagans,” He began, never tearing his gaze from the pristine scenery outside. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s a regional ruler, sire. A chieftain.”

“A chieftain.” The other narrowed their emerald eyes. It was insulting to think someone below him could defeat his forces with such prowess. He couldn’t imagine what possibly had become of other towns. “I’ve heard stories. They kill without conscience, sacrifice their own people and worship false Gods.”

The king turned around to face his closest subject, expression knowing and fierce with credence.

“We cannot guarantee we’ll find him, but we’ll attack the first city we find. These Danes must know we’re as capable as they are, and who brought us to them.”

Mathias glided a knife across the back of his head, cutting off his mullet. It was unwise to wear his hair this short, but it was a feature of youth.

While he shaved off the sides, he kept trimming and trimming to fix what was uneven. Once satisfied, he studied himself in the mirror. Mathias cut his hair shorter than he planned, but he looked good enough.

It was also a symbol of new beginnings.

He told you to meet him on the beach after you finished your work. Surely enough, you came, finding him on the ground and staring out into the fjord.

“Mathias,” You began, chest heaving. He never called you out to a place like this. He could only want one thing with the ambiance of the tranquil waters, and you couldn’t contain your apprehension.

“You came.” He stood up with a gentle smile.

“Of course I came.” You softened your gaze, taking in his face with a smile of your own. However, it faltered at the sight of his hair, or lack thereof.

“What, you don’t like it?”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“No, it’s just that it’s so short!” You spun him around, reeling at what you saw. With so much cut off, he looked no more than a mere farmer, no more than the boy he used to be. What could have compelled him to do so was beyond you, but he always had a way of getting you to understand. “It suits you.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Mathias grinned, pulling you into a warm hug. You returned it without a second thought, breathing in the scent of his hair and clothes. “Aren’t you going to ask about it?”

“I thought I’d let you ask the questions,” You uttered, tightening your arms around him.

His heart quickened.

Without another word, he pulled away, his cheeks rosy as he watched you with an unreadable expression. Then, he got down on one knee.

The wedding was to take place on the first Friday of Winter; next week. After proposing to you, he couldn’t contain his excitement about being your fiancé. In his delirium, he made immediate arrangements for the ceremony, followed by a seven-day celebration of feasting, drinking, and games.

Asking him to wait out the colder months was like asking him to wait for the grass to grow, literally and figuratively. Mathias had waited long enough, and in his insistence, you were left scrambling to prepare.

The pre-ceremonial ritual was simple; removing your kransen, visiting the city’s bathhouse, and being enthused about the horrors of married life.

Being mentally prepared was another story.

“I’d tell you all about Arne, but I doubt he’s anything like Mathias,” Thyra declared, scooping some water and splashing it onto the hot rocks. White steam erupted with a hiss, engulfing the sauna in a warm mist. “Sweats through the mattress and eats like a horse. Leaves a mess everywhere he goes, that one.”

“You just described him perfectly.”

“Who, Arne?”

“No, Mathias.”

“Then I take that back,” She blinked, leaning against the wall. “He is a man, after all. They’re one gene away from the rest of the animal kingdom.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about looking after farm animals, human or not,” Your mother raised her brows for a look of amusement. Here you thought the preparations would be more suffocating, but the only thing suffocating about them was the sauna. “We won’t have to farm or do housework anymore.”

“What about our house?” You asked.

“Don’t you know? Mathias has servants to tend to it now. And you’ll be living with him.”

It was practically unheard of, not slaving away day and night. But being wed to an earl had its benefits.

“We’re free to do what we want now.”

He stayed true to his word when he said he would give you freedom. In a society where free men and women were worked to the bone, he had given you time and liberty, real freedom. It was the greatest gift anyone could receive, and it warmed your heart to realize. But that begged the question, what could you give in return? It was on all your minds, and Thyra was only the first one to say it.

“You’re free to do what you want, Helga,” She noted, picking up a pail of cold water. Mixed in it were oils, herbs, and flowers to enhance the scent. But more importantly, its properties as an aphrodisiac. When you glanced at the contents, your nerves were shot at the thought of being doused in it. “Your daughter may be the chief’s wife, but she’s still a woman.”

Standing on the altar with Mathias felt like a dream. The pier was overwhelmed with flowers, and the air was sweet with cypress. The whole city was there to watch, but you never looked at them once.

The golden light of the setting sun cast him in a heavenly glow. And his hair, a fair blonde, left luminous upon his head. You were enchanted by his image, the warmth of his smile. Mathias was beautiful, and you felt tears come just by looking at him. He wiped them away before exchanging swords with you, a symbol of everlasting protection.

He would watch over you forever, and you, him.

To consummate the marriage, you were both accompanied to his bedroom by six witnesses.

They never stayed long, and after they filed out, it was just you and Mathias in the candlelight. He didn’t say anything and stripped out of his clothes, filling the silence with the rustling of fabric. Once he was naked, he climbed onto bed and laid on his back.

“I’ve never eaten that much in my life,” He sighed contentedly, folding his arms behind his head.

You relaxed some, turning to the corner to start undressing. Something about Mathias made it easy to be with him. He never made a big deal out of anything, taking away from the formalities.

It held true for his character, and you found that endlessly comforting. But the moment you let your guard down was the moment he changed, wholly and entirely. Seeing your back and spine did it for him—he’d never seen you in so less, so his thoughts didn’t just wander. They were thrust into where they always ended up, and he couldn’t ignore them.

Not on his wedding night.

“I hope you ate your fill,” Mathias appeared from behind, snaking his arms around your stomach. “Because we’re burning it all off tonight.”

“You tricked me,” You let out, face warming as he coiled tighter around your waist like a serpent. It wasn’t the same without a layer of fabric to separate him from you. Feeling his bare skin against your back and everything below it left you feverishly mortified.

“Tricked you?” He whispered, pressing his cheek to yours. The curves of your back were flush against him, sending a hot twitch down his manhood. He was already at half-mast, and his mind, hazing with perversion. “I thought you knew. We’re supposed to make love to consummate the marriage.”

“But what if I get pregnant?” You asked faintly, chest drumming at the thought. The question itself was self-explanatory. You were meant to conceive with him, but you hoped he would be a little more understanding. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

Having a baby couldn’t excite him more, the mere suggestion of it awakening a sort of manic lust. In truth, he hoped to impregnate you. But he couldn’t give in to his desires at your expense, could he?

“Why not?” Mathias whispered, reaching down to give your stomach a gentle palm. His other arm tightened around you, letting you feel every inch of his dick against your back. “I’ll look after you and our family. Don’t you want to have my baby?”

“It’s not that I don’t want your baby,” You breathed, shivering from the eager prodding against your skin. He was already rock-hard from the conversation, and it was hot to realize how much he wanted it.

Mathias was ready to take you.

He was only waiting for your permission, but fortunately for him, you had a soft spot for his touch. It didn’t help how further down his hands wandered, which stroked your delicate folds for a reaction.

“Mat,” You heaved, closing your eyes as he sunk his fingers between them. He rubbed around to find your clit, which he didn’t hesitate to start playing with. “Not so hard—do it gently—”

“Okay…” He whispered, moving around your clit in soft, circular motions. Slowly, his fervent rubbing began to feel good, and you threw your head back in pleasure as he built up speed. “How does that feel?”

Too inundated by his fingers, you never managed a coherent answer. Soft moans poured from your mouth like a faucet, and hearing it had his cock dripping with pre-cum. He was throbbing for you, and he indulged himself in the only way he could.

Mathias slid his dick between your thighs.

He held them together as he thrusted against your folds, rolling his eyes back at the sensation.

Being so tall and well-endowed, he was lifting you slightly off the ground with his manhood. That increased the pressure more than any of you could handle, but he only sped up from there, pushing you closer and closer to a hot climax.

If he wasn’t sliding against your entrance, he was rubbing himself against your clit, kissing it with the head of his cock. The hot, wet friction left you both panting. Blood flushed his face, neck, and ears as he lost his mind to white-hot pleasure.

But you were already gone.

Your resolve to resist him was waning, evident in the hazing in your eyes. There was nowhere to go except his embrace, nothing to feel except his body, and nobody else your heart could ache for. So you let go, falling into the warm fire that was Mathias.

“Go deeper, Mat….” You breathed, voice hitching to the rhythm of his strong thrusts. Your head was rolled back as he held you against a wall, pounding you to oblivion. While you hung off his neck, there wasn’t anything you could do except give in to him.

This had been his plan all along; to seduce you until he could have his way with you. But then again, saying ‘no’ to Mathias was impossible.

He was persistent, and you had a weakness for him he couldn’t help taking advantage of. So here you were, letting him make love to you until he had his fill.

“If I go deeper—” He panted, pushing himself in until he was down to his balls. The tip of his cock was now kissing your cervix, and seeing your legs tremble had him aching to release. “—I’ll go into your stomach.”

“Not that deep, idiot.” You heaved.

Mathias was either bad at following direction or too indulgent to care. To make up for it, you bit into his neck, hard, leaving teeth marks on his skin.

What was meant to be retribution turned him on more than he could handle. He loved it when you got feisty, so he was back to bouncing you again, turning your complaints into moans and breathy utterances.

Licking up the spit on your chin, he silenced you completely by tonguing you down. Strings of saliva draped in his brief parts, but they never broke when he kept rejoining his mouth with yours.

While he kissed you breathless, invading your throat with the taste of him, he resumed his strong thrusts. Mathias was inside you in more ways than one, and you were losing yourself to him.

Your chest was heaving, your head was spinning, and all you knew was Mathias. The gliding of his tongue against yours, his hot manhood pumping in your walls, and his warm breath pouring into your lungs.

When he moved you to the bed, lowering you down with the utmost gentleness, you gave in to him, spreading your legs with a sultry look.

Your face was flushed, eyes watery with desire, and Mathias loved the way you looked at him. He had you in every way someone could be had, mind, soul, and body, and he was taking them all tonight.

He made love to you for hours, pinning his elbows on either side of your head so he could pound you into the mattress. Cum was frothing where your bodies connected, but dripped and draped everywhere else.

Your stomach and legs were splattered with his balmy release, more of it being stuffed in your womb. With so much of him on and inside you, it was safe to say you smelled more like him than he did himself.

Mathias had claimed you in the rawest way possible. You were all his, and every bit of unreturned affection was being overturned in these fateful developments. You were his wife and soon, the mother of his children. Thinking about it sent a hot twitch down his cock, and with one final plunge of it into your tight walls, he reached a hard climax.

His face scrunched up in ecstasy as he released his semen into your womb. His balls pulsed with every ejaculation, and you felt every jet of his cum, filling you to the brim. Mathias came countless times inside you already, but he was insatiable.

He had the strength of an ox and the stamina to match. But for you, he had an insatiable libido. Nothing would be enough until he could see himself growing inside of you, swelling you up with his child.

“I can see myself in your tummy,” He smiled floatily, watching your stomach bulge every time he plunged into you. He was hung like a horse, and it was endlessly hot to see it show. “If we keep having sex, there will be an even bigger bump, kæreste…”

“Don’t talk like that…” You heaved, closing your eyes as he started rocking back and forth. He was as equally honest as he was a pervert, and hearing him speak his mind left you feening for him.

“But it’s true.” He kissed up your neck, dragging his tongue along your jaw. You never responded, too inundated by his thick cock slamming into you like a jackhammer. He was sliding against your clit from the inside, making it pop with every roll and grind.

Seeing it drove him crazy, so he only sped up to pound you even harder. He pushed you faster and faster to your zenith, shattering your mind with a hard orgasm. It came in waves, and while he helped you ride it out, your legs were shaking.

And your breasts, bouncing furiously to his thrusts.

It was so lewd, a single glimpse of it could get his heart aching. And Mathias wasn’t shy to smother his face into your chest. He kissed your breasts before sucking on your nipples, pulling on them with his lips until he had enough of your taste.

You dug your hands into his hair, letting him do as he pleased. Having him inside you felt like scratching an itch you couldn’t reach until now. Mathias was touching a place nobody else could, and reaching a depth you didn’t know to be possible.

Doing something so carnal was equally intimate, and you couldn’t get enough.

Not until he filled you up one last time, and your ears were ringing from another intense orgasm.

When you both finished, he sat cross-legged on the mattress. You were on his lap, surrounded by his warm embrace. Unlike before, the kiss he shared with you wasn’t laden with lust.

It was gentle on your lips, every peck, every lick.

While your mouth connected with his, an unbearable sadness welled in your chest. You should’ve been happy, joining hands with your childhood friend.

Mathias wasn’t the same as he used to be, but he was still Mathias. His smile, laugh, and unwavering zest for life never left him, and instead, grew with each passing day. But the relief of being with him came hand in hand with the fear of losing him.

He saved you in every way someone could be saved. In a world torn by violence, his gentle embrace protected you from bloodshed. And in the dark ages of paranoia, he delighted you with his curiosity.

He picked up a sword so you wouldn’t have to, and to welcome death with every step he made left you aching to hold him close. Your arms tightened around his neck, and you towered higher over him, kissing him harder than you ever did before.

He could feel his lips getting swollen from your relentless affection. For the first time, Mathias was struggling to keep up with you.

It spoke volumes, so when you parted over him, he flickered his eyes over your face. Feeling tears dot his cheek answered more than he wanted.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, brows joining in a deep frown. His hands went up to your cheek, and you pressed into it quietly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You closed your eyes. “I just missed you.”

“Missed me?” Mathias softened his gaze.

“I missed you the most when I pushed you away.” You pressed your forehead to his. He pressed back with equal force, kissing away the glistening trails on your cheek. All the words were stuck in your throat, and once you started, you couldn’t stop.

Everything came spilling out like a broken dam.

“But now that I have you, I don’t want you to keep leaving. What if you never come back?”

Your greatest fear was a euphemism for his death. But somewhere down the line, they became synonymous. It reminded him of what the Seer said, a morbid warning of the inevitable. He could never be free of war, no matter how deeply he wished it.

Mathias took you out on a boat to cheer you up.

Under the ethereal glow of the Northern lights, he rowed you out into the water. You would’ve leaned back to the sky, but it was nothing compared to what was in front of you. While he moved the oars, he was going on and on about taking you around the world. His eyes were alight with passion, and he included you in every one of his greatest fantasies.

“England is only the first place I’ll discover. With more men and better ships, we can go to even more countries,” Mathias breathed, jetting clouds of white out of his lips. “Not to raid, I mean. To travel.”

“To travel,” You pondered, taken by the wondrous suggestion. It was always a fleeting dream of yours, to travel as men did. “What about our life here?”

“In this city? Why should we stay here when there’s so much more out there?” He grinned. In truth, leaving his hometown meant abandoning everything he had—his belongings, his people, and his authority as a chieftain. But to find a better place, a land rich with green or warm all year round, he was willing to make those sacrifices. “Just think about it, kæreste. Raising our family somewhere that’s meant for life.”

You fell silent, never interrupting him as he spoke. Behind his boundless admiration was a sadness that could fill oceans, but he covered it with a rosy smile.

“Huge cities of stone and marble. Desert oases and palm trees,” He stopped rowing, letting the boat drift by itself. While he eyed you with an expectant look, he added this faintly. “Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“Anything sounds amazing when you talk about it,” You smiled, watching his expression falter. It seemed like you were shutting him down, but your intentions couldn’t be any further from it. “I’d go anywhere with you, Mat. I could follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Your words paralyzed him with happiness, but what you said next took the air out of his lungs.

“I love you.”

He hung his head, smiling gently. He should’ve been euphoric, hearing what he always yearned to. Mathias had always been waiting for you to let him in, but now that he reached the deepest part of you, he realized that nothing would ever be enough.

“I’d say I loved you to death, but that would be a lie.”

When he felt your arms around him, his anguish finally rose to the surface, running down his face in bitter tears. He clung to your waist with grave desperation, burying his face into your stomach.

“Having you in this life isn’t enough. I want to have you in the next, and the one after that.” He cried.

Life was fragile, fleeting from his fingertips no matter what he did. Death, however, was inevitable, so he thought of the only salvation to it.

Endless rebirth, just to be by your side.

An arrow whistled through the sky. It sunk into the watch tower with a sharp ‘thunk.’ Before the guard could process the sound of it bouncing against the post, a deafening ensemble of whistling followed. When he glanced up, hundreds of arrows were raining down from above.

One shot through his neck, leaving him gurgling in blood as another pierced his stomach.

“Saxons.” He declared, voice thick with contempt. The clothes they wore, the language they spoke, the invaders were from anywhere but Scandinavia.

There was only one place they could’ve hailed from, just across the North Sea—the kingdoms of England, all hellbent on revenge against the Danes who trespassed their shores. Standing from his desk, he marched out of his study with wolf’s fur in hand.

“Evacuate as many people as you can. We cannot fight this ambush.” The man ordered, chest heaving.

“What about you, King Horik?”

“Make a course for Jarl Densen’s city,” He glanced back at his steward. “We need his aid. He has the most experience dealing with these Christians.”

The King sailed in through the fjord, but there was no fleet to accompany him. Only his family, who stood by his side on a single longship. There were no shields lining the sides to give it any color, nor flowers for any flair. When the earl witnessed their arrival, the reason for visitation was jarringly clear.

“I must thank you for your overwhelming hospitality.” Horik raised a drinking horn at him. Here in the great hall, the chieftain was kind enough to throw a banquet to welcome his guests. “Not just anybody would hold such a magnanimous feast in winter, let alone for unexpected guests. Skål, Jarl Densen.”

“Of course, King Horik.” Mathias hardened his stare, raising a horn of his own. If he were to be well and truly honest, a feast was the least he could do. “When I heard you were attacked by the Englanders, I was already involved. My men and I were the first to make contact with them, after all.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of your ventures. Your reputation precedes you.” The other replied, pausing to slice his pork roast. Forking a piece into his mouth, he returned the gaze with a grim one. “While I revere your achievements, I’m afraid your ties to the Saxons have doomed all of Denmark to war.”

“Then we will go to war.” Mathias glowered. These developments couldn’t be more unwanted, but what choice did they have? It was with a heavy heart that he made this commitment, and he could only hope for a speedy resolution. “Our alliance should be more than enough to crush their forces. After which, we will chase them back to where they came from and raid until all they have is the dirt beneath their feet.”

“You didn’t eat much during dinner,” You heard him say. The atmosphere was somber, and yet, he talked like it wasn’t. Just when you started appreciating his nonchalance, it became a menace to your person.

“I wasn’t hungry,” You murmured, dipping a finger into a tin of lanolin. Rubbing some on your hands, you approached Mathias in bed and started applying it to his chapped lips. He watched your movements, every swipe, and every twitch of your brows.

“That’s no good,” He uttered, mindful of the oil on his mouth. “If you’re hungry, I’ll fetch you some herring.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mat. You’ve done more than enough today.” You pecked him on the cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If I wanted something to eat, I’d get it myself.” You curled up next to him, eyes trailing over his slight frown. Without another word, he sat up and scooted off the bed. You took his wrist before he could stand. “It’s fine, Mathias. I’m really not hungry.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” You pulled him back in, much to his discontent. He laid down on your lap, but stared up at you stubbornly. “Why are you so eager?”

“I’m just thinking about our baby,” Mathias sighed,  pressing his face into your warm stomach. You softened your gaze, but never opened your mouth to interrupt him. “I want you to be well looked after. What kind of husband would I be if you weren’t?”

“I am well looked after,” You stroked his hair gently. With so many burdens of his own, you would’ve hoped to relieve some of them. But all you did was add to them, and it hurt more than you could say. “And we don’t know if I’m pregnant yet.”

“Let’s say you are. What then?” He straightened up, catching you in another defiant gaze.

“We carry on like normal,” You said. His insistence was something else, and only seemed to grow with every word you spoke. “It’s only been two weeks, Mat. I’m sure I can tough it out for a little longer.”

“No. If you have my child, I’m staying around you as much as I can,” The steely look in his eyes never faltered, not even as he made the most unreasonable demands. “And I forbid you from doing any work.”

“You’re not making any sense.” You frowned, closing your eyes as he pecked your lips. He kissed you once, then twice, but his persistent affection couldn’t stop you from pointing out the obvious. “There’s barely any work for me to do, now. And besides—”

Mathias wrapped himself around you, sensing your resistance. If he could get you to give in, just one last time, he could sleep soundly knowing you were safe.

“—I can’t keep relying on you.”

“I don’t agree,” He frowned back. His hands traveled up your waist, settling just below your breasts. While he held you around your ribs, he whispered this into your ear, voice gentle. “You need me.”

“I do need you,” You hugged him close, listening to the gentle drumming within. The carnal beating of his heart was a surefire sign he was alive, and at the same time, a reminder he was vulnerable to everything that could stop it. “But you won’t always be here. I have to manage by myself, somehow.”

“I’ll always be here,” He let out. He was losing you, and he thought of the only remedy to it; being overzealous. “This war will be fast, I promise. Then we’ll be together again like it never happened.”

“You can’t promise those things, Mat.” Your face contorted with pain. His lips pursed and his eyes grew wide. Mathias had never been so keen to argue, but there was nothing he could say in the face of the truth. “Only the Gods know what will happen.”

Just once, you wanted him to listen, but he was too far gone. Lost in fantasy and obsessed with a dream, he would stop at nothing to achieve them.

“You have to trust me to look after myself.”

“I do trust you,” He pressed his forehead to yours, mouth trembling agape. “But I don’t want you to.”

Mathias grieved the day you would ever have to fend for yourself. Not again. The thought enraged him more than he could fathom, but as of now, it was only sadness that choked him from the inside out.

Giving his reins a mighty whip, he charged forward on his horse and galloped across the plains. His men raced behind, following him to a walled-up fortress in the distance. Smoke rose from within.

When I come back, I will teach you everything I know, he told you. Inside his study was a deluge of souvenirs, courtesy of all the places he explored. Sitting you on his lap, he pulled out an opaque rock and sun-shadow board. How to navigate, sail, and all the languages they speak beyond the seas.

When he got inside, everything had been destroyed. The houses, burned, and the livestock, slaughtered. As for the king’s people, starving in the mountains. His warriors had been anxious for his return, hoping for the reinforcements he promised.

We will travel the world together, free from conflict.

“King Horik,” His steward ran up to him. They stood in front of the camp, well away from the earshot of others. Mathias and his men had settled around the campfire, unloading supplies and preparing food. “Your presence is as welcome to us as spring after the hardest and most bitter winter.”

“How are my men doing?” He brushed past him.

“Good, my lord. But I must speak with you, urgently.”

“Can’t it wait, Rune?” Horik continued.

“I have a message from the Saxon king.”

He stopped, nostrils flaring.

“What is it?”

“When you left, he sent scouts into the mountains,” Rune spoke breathlessly. His king turned to him, perplexed, and even more so when the other began ushering him away. “They found us. But they left us alive so you could consider a proposal. A treaty.”

“What treaty?”

“A peace treaty. The only condition is that you join forces with him against Jarl Densen.”

“I hate how quiet it is.” Thyra swung a wooden sword at her side, watching the same water channel as you.

Out there in the fjord was where Mathias sailed away with his fleet. Two days passed since he departed, leaving the city in your hands. It wasn’t new, being without the men. Now and then, all the warriors vacated their homes for expeditions. But their absence marked a dark period of uncertainty, having left the women, children, and elderly by themselves.

“He took all the best fighting men with him.”

“Then what are you doing here?” You hummed.

“Someone had to stay back and look after the rest,” She smiled, offering you a hand to take. Your fingers slid into her palm, hardened by farming and fighting alike. “And teach you how to use an ax. Come on.”

Without any chores to stay active, you found some joy in sparring with a friend. Mathias forbid you from many things, but picking up weapons was, by far, the most illicit of them all. He would’ve lost his mind if he knew what you were doing, for with every swing of your blade, you were stepping deeper and deeper into the world he desperately wanted you out of.

“And why is he so sure that I would betray my ally for him? The Christian who burned my town to ashes?”

“Because, lord,” Rune frowned, leaning in to say what had to be said. The English King was as ambitious as he was cunning, and would strike the Danish King where it hurt most. “Mathias Densen is why he has come to Denmark, and why your lands are lost.”

Horik narrowed his eyes.

He couldn’t deny the beginnings of this conflict, and had been willing to look past it. But he couldn’t ignore a third contender for power, either.

“After defeating the Saxons, your city will not build itself back. Who is to say that Jarl Densen won’t take advantage of that weakness? He is an opportunist.”

Mathias was eating with his war band, laughing and making faces around the fire. There they watched, king and aid, riddled with growing suspicion.

It was no secret he killed his previous ruler to assume his place. He was also the first to sail west, a pursuit once deemed by many a deluded fantasy. Their ally didn’t believe in tradition, let alone authority.

“And how does he suppose I fight against him?”

King Horik delivered news to the camp, announcing his contact with the Saxon King. The English were eager for battle, having given a place of meeting.

In three days, the Danish mobilized hundreds of warriors and shield-maidens. They marched into an open field, axes at the ready and eyes smeared with black kohl. Their leader wore the most formidable look, dark blue warpaint in the shape of a handprint.

“King Æthelwulf wants you to kill him in his sleep.”

An army appeared at the top of the hill, flying a foreign flag. Mathias slammed his ax against the center of his shield for a loud, metal clank. He sped up in rapid progression, joined by the rest of his men. They beat their weapons furiously, never taking their eyes off the enemy standing on the horizon.

The victor would decide the future, and the defeated, a victim of it. One would expand, the other, decline. That was the outcome of all battles, only this was a conspiracy. Their King had lost faith in his subjects.

With a synonymous battle cry, they charged forward.

“Odin!”

Mathias raced towards the hill, heart racing and mouth agape. He sunk his ax into the closest man, ripping their chest open. Clashing shields with another, he shoved them to the ground before hacking their head off. Blood spilled over the earth, and more sprayed onto his face.

The crimson was a fine contrast to his blue eyes, but the smell of iron never faze him. Nor did the clanging of metal, or the screams of fallen men. His senses were dulled, yet sharpened at the same time.

He was mad with vengeance, sparing no remorse for the soldiers who dared cross his path. Slashing one in the neck, he kicked their body away before taking down another. He fought with the anger of ages, driven by the promise he made to you.

Mathias would return and take you someplace safe. Somewhere free. Somewhere he could make life with you, and to realize that dream, he would gladly take it away all the same. His only regret was that he couldn’t obliterate the enemy army by himself.

No matter how hard he pushed, how well he fought, he was only one man. When he stopped to look back at his warriors, many had perished. Horik’s were no better, but the rate at which his people fell was alarming. Just when he began to suspect foul play, his King appeared at his side. He defended him against an incoming Saxon soldier, saving his life.

“When his men have thinned out Jarl Densen’s, you can attack him in his camp with more ease.”

The English retreated two hours later, saving what was left of their forces. By then, Mathias’s army was cut down by half, a little under what Horik had.

That begged the question, how could he enter a battle with more men than his ally, only to leave with less? It troubled the young earl enough for victory to go uncelebrated. While the sounding horn went off, signifying their triumph, he could only pant in exhaustion. Others rejoiced and chanted.

But the exhilaration of his friends was infectious. Mathias eventually found solace around the campfire, albeit deafened by the singing of his proud warriors. And with enough mead to go around, his worries reduced to nothing but fleeting thoughts. He won. What more could he ask for?

By the time dinner concluded, everyone retired to their tents, drunk off glory. But not the King and his men, who only feigned their intoxication.

In the dead of the night, he left his bunk with a lamp in one hand and a dagger in the other. He gave an order to slit every one of their allies’ throats. And their leader, he would have for himself.

“If you cut off his head and bring it to him, he’ll help you conquer his city as your own.”

Horik slipped into Mathias’ tent. Approaching his hammock with soundless steps, he readied his blade as he neared the bump beneath the blanket. His lamp flickered, plunging the room into a moment of darkness. When the flame stabilized, he removed the blanket and glanced down at the heap of supplies where Mathias’s sleeping body should’ve been.

His blood ran cold.

“I would kill you right now, but what good is a dead hostage?” Someone asked from behind, voice dripping with malice. He didn’t need to see their face to know who it was, not that he even could. The frozen edge of an ax was pressed against his throat, digging deep enough into his flesh for a slither of blood to form. A hand gripped his wrist so tight, it popped, forcing him to drop his dagger. He was cornered, caught amidst a wicked act of treason.

If not fear, a stinging pain engulfed his throat, but he still choked out this mind-bending question.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” Mathias grimaced, letting his expression darken. “I was just never asleep.”

“But you were drunk,” Horik seethed through his teeth. The blade sunk further into his neck, making him wince. “You had four rounds of mead—”

“Even if I was drunk, I can’t fall asleep without my wife beside me.”

The revolt quickly died when the Jarl appeared with their King at knifepoint. As Mathias stepped into the clearing, he ordered his men to kill all those who stayed loyal to their ruler.

A bloody massacre unfolded, and it was just enough to make up for all those lost in battle.

Longboats appeared in the fjord two days later. The entire city flocked to the beach, relieved to see their husbands, sons, and fathers return. You were one of them, heart racing with a euphoria you came to embrace. Mathias finally came home, and judging from the exhausted smile on his face, he won. But his victory was far more comprehensive than you could imagine, even if you played a part in it.

When you joined him on the pier, exchanging a much-needed embrace, he breathed in the sweet scent of your hair. The smell was a stark contrast to the iron on his skin, truly bringing him home. And for that, days’ worth of fatigue caught up in an instant.

While he spoke to you, he could only manage a hushed murmur. How you were doing, then how his people were doing. But when Horik passed him in chains, shooting you a dirty look, he found the energy to threaten him one last time. The worm set his treacherous gaze upon you, one that wished death on the woman who did so much, yet to little.

For that, he would grant him a fate worse than death.

“My men died for you.” Mathias leaned in with a whisper. His expression was unreadable, but his icy blue eyes burned into him with unspeakable hatred. “I was only going to kill you for betraying me. But because you looked at my wife, I’ll turn you into a blood eagle. I’ll tear out your lungs, King.”

Horik was dragged away, begging for death.

He struck fear into his heart like never before, and for good reason. That night, Horik was stripped of his kingly robes and forced to the ground. His back was sliced open, his skin spread out like wings. Each of his ribs was snapped and pulled back, flaring out like spikes. That left his lungs, which were torn from his body so he could suffocate to death.

He was propped up on a podium for the entire city to watch. You were one of the few who stayed inside, but the company made it more than worthwhile.

After washing every drop of blood off his body, Mathias joined you in the bedroom, smothering you with the affection he saved over many sleepless nights. He kissed you, not until his lips grew swollen, but until he couldn’t anymore, overtaken by fatigue.

You held him close, naked bodies tangling like yarn. He stayed true to his promise, and you couldn’t revere him more for it. Mathias was the single most hopeful person you ever met. But he was capable all the same, so nothing felt impossible with him.

“King Mathias,” A man kneeled by his throne. Yours was right beside his, only you preferred standing next to him. That way, he could hold your hand or feel around your stomach. Three months had passed since you married him, and a small bump had grown.

Even now, he had his head on it, warming the side of his face with your tummy. You let him, combing your hand through his soft, blonde hair.

“Mat, Frode has something to say to you.”

He was taken by your touch, the sound of your voice. And for that, he was indisposed to acknowledge his ship-builder. After all, there were only so many things that could demand his undivided attention. But what he heard next was a perfect paragon of all of them.

“It’s ready.”

Mathias led you down to the beach, eyes wide and chest heaving. You were more out of breath than he was, so he picked you up in a bridal-style carry.

You couldn’t be happier, but he kept proving you wrong, delighting you with every little thing he did. The same could be said for his greatest gift to you. Mathias had given you freedom, but he outdid himself yet again, giving you the gift of movement. Of travel and enlightenment.

He kissed your forehead one last time before letting you down. There you stood, onboard the grandest Viking ship of your time. And he was going to take you to the edges of the world with it.

Next: Dancing with Wolves

[silv3rswirls]

Their s/o is insecure over stretch marks

Anon asks: Hii, can I request ateez having a s/o with stretch marks, pls? 😔❤️

Note: Thank you so much for the request! I realized after writing this that you didn’t really specify that reader is insecure over them, but I kept it as, but if you’d like me to write it different that’s no problem at all! I hope you enjoy it ❤️

♡Seonghwa♡

He doesn’t like when you’re insecure about anything, especially something like this. It’s something natural and common with a lot of people, there’s no need to feel negative about it. Of course, he knows he can’t just wish insecurities away for you. He could go on for hours about how pretty he finds them.

♡Hongjoong♡

He’s good at gently pushing out your insecurities. Having healthy conversations about them and opening up in a safe way. He’s one to make you feel comfortable in your relationship, comfortable around him, and at ease with anything, you may be insecure or worried about. He doesn’t even mention the stretch marks, as they’re just another part of you.

♡Yunho♡

It’s hard to feel insecure when you’re with Yunho. He’s full of compliments and is generally a very supportive partner. He never really even noticed your stretch marks until you mentioned feeling unhappy with them. They’ve always just been a part of you, and he loves every part of you. If you’re comfortable with it, Yunho’s one compliment them.

♡Yeosang♡

He understands not being super comfortable in yourself, at times he’s also been insecure over himself. He has a comfortable feeling about him, the two of you slip into a comfortable relationship pretty fast. He’s the type to absentmindedly trace over them, quiet and lovingly. He guides you into embracing them and building up your confidence.

♡San♡

San never really thought insecurity when it came to you, mainly because he say every part of you whether it was a “flaw” or not beautiful. He never thought you’d feel insecure over something like this, but he’s very supportive. Whatever you want to do he’ll be at your side, though likes to push you into embracing anything you’re uncomfortable with.

♡Mingi♡

It makes him a bit sad when you open up about it. He feels bad for never noticing that you weren’t confident with them, he’s just so soft and in love with you he never thought you wouldn’t see yourself the same way he saw you. He wants you to be comfortable and self-loving towards everything about yourself. Especially stretch marks as they’re natural- a lot of people have them. He’s the type to give them a little kiss while cuddling.

♡Wooyoung♡

You don’t need to come out and tell him if you’re insecure over something, he picks up on it pretty well. He’s a touchy and loving partner, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pay attention to how you react when he’s all over a certain part of you. He loves them but doesn’t like when you seem to shy away from him when he touches or sees them. He doesn’t push, but he’s attentive in making sure you feel good about every part of yourself.

♡Jongho♡

He understands feeling shy in your body, as he can get that way often. He takes steps along with you to feel more confident with them. A little journey of self-love and stepping out of one’s comfort zone. But if you’re not ready to fully embrace them he’s supportive in other things. If you truly want to cover up or try oils or creams to help them fade or heal he’s also on board. It's your body and feelings, but they’re natural and could never change how he feels about you.

[blogevaawrites]

Keeping to the schedule

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, sad, marriage, divorce, smut

Summary: After seven years of being married, two daughters and a difficult divorce, they try to understand what went wrong and why they let that happen.

Part I   Part II

I tried to process the whole information he was sharing and for the first time I believed I made a mistake. I saw it then, why he has been incredibly mad at me.

Sure, at first our separation was hard, but now he was looking happy, at least that’s what he shows me. I also was well, I still loved him but deep in my heart I thought it was the best for both of us. Now everything seems so wrong.

“There was another way. You could have told me everything, we could have dealt with all of that. You let this happen to us.” I said, full of resentment. His face was different then, he came here full of concern and then all what I was seeing was frustration.  

“What are you talking about? You filed for divorce. You decided unilaterally when we were done. You ran away from our marriage at first obstacle. This is not my fucking blame.” His words were like a knife in my skin. I never took it like that. All what I could see was his unhappiness and coldness, in my heart I was doing the right thing.

Tears fell down through my cheeks uncontrollably, our seven years together seemed thrown away. I could feel him moving around the room, he was trying to calm down himself.

“I thought you were being distant because you blamed me for the infection, and then when anything seemed to change, I thought you weren’t happy and that you didn’t know how to leave me.” I said after I got my shit together. I saw him shaking his head, I wasn't sure if he wasn’t satisfied with my words or if he was answering the accusation.

He didn’t response right away, he took a few minutes to breathe loudly.

“I felt ashamed of being the one who needed help after what you went through.” He said without looking at me, he was staring the wall behind me. “I could have never ever blamed you for something like that.” He finished. His hand went to caress my face before pulling me to his embrace.

“I’m sorry” I babbled between tears.

I let myself cry my eyes out in his arms. I felt like I threw out our life because I couldn’t put aside my anger to talk our problems out , like I put my daughters through all of that because I got mad at my husband. I knew he wasn't innocent at all but guiltiness took over my whole body and couldn’t shake it off.

His hands ran all over my back and the back of my neck; the feeling of security invaded my body and the need of get out of my own thoughts grew.

He was so close to me that I couldn’t help kissing him.

His hands didn’t take long before holding my face closer to him, in the perfect position to let our tongues connect with each other.

Needing for air we broke the kiss but not for long, he kissed me again letting his hand go to hold me up from my butt. I just could follow his actions; I didn’t want to do anything else. He took me to our bedroom quickly, he sat at the edge of the bed making me straddle him.

Without leaving my mouth, he moved the strips of my shirt away from my shoulders, leaving my breast on full display for him. His hands played with my nipples before taking them in his mouth. I just could moan, moving my hips to find some friction against his bulge. He showed me his excitement pushing my hips even closer to him.

“I love you so much” he mumbled against my collarbone. His words made my noxious thoughts hunt my mind, I knew he loves me, I loved him too; it wasn’t the first time he said it after our divorce, but it was wrong now. I stood up quickly, he looked at me confused while I tried to put my shirt on again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked extending his arm to reach me.

“Who am I now? Your sidechick. Isn’t works in the other way? From a sidechick to a wife?” I said with a sardonic laugh, rubbing my eyes, trying to concentrate again.

He laughed, laying down on the bed. I looked at him completely horrified by his reaction. He took his phone from his jeans and scrolled around it for a few seconds before handing it to me.

It was a kind of a contract, an agreement to release seven pictures along with a misleading and suggestive headline.

“Meghan asked me because her team want her to be related to a certain kind of people.” He explained, I knew that this is part of his job, and he was used to it before we got together.

“It’s a pap walk.” I said understanding what he meant, I wasn’t familiar to it because he hadn’t done one since we met.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to tell you when I came the last time.” He took my hand to bring me closer to him while he continued explaining “I shouldn’t have agreed to it, but I realized of it too late and I wanted to talk to you before the pictures got release. I didn’t want you to feel disappointed or mad and don’t worry! I already asked her and Meghan to shut down any rumor.” He guided my legs to straddle him again. “I tried to bail out of it after what happened between us, but I just couldn’t.”

“Okay.” I felt relieved. I wasn’t ready to see him with someone else, and thank God, he said he wasn’t ready to date again.

“Let’s just put you to sleep, okay?” He said caressing my head and taking my hair away from my face. He saw my face and quickly he explained to me his change of mind.

“The girls are with Scott, but he has a flight to catch in a couple hours. I need to pick them up. Okay?” he said forcing me to look at him. “Hey! Listen to me I will call you as soon as they fall sleep, will that be okay?” he asked again.  

I nodded, getting up. I thought he was going to leave right away but he did not. He uncovered the bed for me to get in and laid next to me for a few minutes.

“You will always be the one. I promise.” He slurred against my temple, after kissing it.

He left the room without waiting for an answer, he must have thought I was sleeping because he tried not to make many noises.

After a few hours, my phone rang, and I didn’t wait a second to respond.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be up.” he said. I could hear him closing a door. I haven’t been in his new house, but I know his style very well, enough at least, to imagine it.

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“I know.” He let go a sad laugh. “I wanted to call you early, but Anna was interrogating my ass about my quick trip of tonight.” he said cooling off the environment.  

“Oh! Yeah! She can be very tough, it’s probably a phase.” I said with a smile, remembering the last time I had a quick conversation with our neighbor, and she thought I was dating him.

“Yeah! I guess, but I think we should check on her, maybe she’s experiencing anxiety because of the changes or something like that. I’ve been reading about kids with divorced parents can suffers these kinds of things.” I knew he was just worried about them; I was too, but right then I felt guilty, I felt like I did this to them.

“Okay” I murmured.

I was excited about his call, I wanted to figure it out what we could do to save this, but maybe it was too late. We held on everything for so long, and now it’s probably just too late.

“What do you want to do?” he asked calmly, completely away from my thoughts.

“I don’t know.”

“Tomorrow my sister is going to the lake house. She wanted me to take the girls, but I could let them go with her and we could hang out. I don’t know, we could have a kind of a date and talk, we could try to sort this out.”  

“Okay.”

“Is everything alright?” I knew he was asking because of my monosyllabic answers.

“Yes, I’m just kind of sleepy.” I didn’t want to talk anymore.

“Okay.” his voice sounded disappointed now. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

“I love you” he said after a few seconds quiet.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, I loved him, but it felt like I was accepting everything, it felt like I was saying “yes, I broke us, our family”.

“Me too”  

I couldn’t say much else. I said bye and hung up.

He picked me up at 7:00 p.m, he told he wanted to spend the day with the girls because they wanted to spend the night over there with their cousins. We decided to just have a dinner at his house in order to have more privacy and also, we could be in a kind of neutral environment since he doesn’t feel it like home, and I don’t even know the house.

“You want a tour?” he asked as soon as we got in the house. I nodded and followed him through the house. I wasn’t wrong about this style, the house it was almost a copy of ours, and it felt weird.

“It’s very similar to ours, isn’t?” I said softly, I wasn’t sure how he was going to take it.

“Yeah, I know, Scott said the same thing, but I don’t know, I’m living here, and this has to be home now.” He said and all at once I felt the guiltiness coming back to my body, it was like I kicked him out of his home.

“We have your favorite for dinner” he said completely unaware of my harmful thoughts.

“Great.” I didn’t want to spoil any possible progress.

He took my hand guiding me to the dinning room. We had a nice dinner, just talking about our past, when we met, when I got pregnant with Anna, when we took her to Disney for the first time… we had a happy life.

We talked about everything, but we didn’t talk about why we let this happened to us. It was like we weren’t seeing the big fat elephant in the room. After the dinner he took me outside to have the dessert in front the fireplace.

“Are you okay?” he asked worried, I wasn’t being very talkative, and he knows me well enough to let it pass.

“Yes.” I said taking a spoon of mousse.

He took my dessert from my hands.

“You sure?” he asked, forcing me to look at him by my chin. I just could nod; I didn’t know what else to do.

He took my chin to his head, kissing me deeply. He got his body closer to mine and his hand went to hip and the other one didn’t leave the back of my neck. I kept to his leading until I felt his hand get under my dress, touching my naked thigh. I pushed him away from me softly. I stood up and rubbed my face trying to find the right words.

“This is not my fault.” I dopped. He smiled in confusion.

“Well, I guess it’s not, I started to kiss you, but…” he started to say.

“I didn’t break us. I may have been the one who made it official, but you decided not to tell me what was going on.” As I said that his eyes went dark. I knew he was ready to fight back, I have seen those eyes too many times.

“It wasn’t exactly an easy journey, I couldn’t…” he was accepting that he blamed me. His voice also changed; it wasn’t the same voice he used to used when we were married. This one was ironic, rough, and mean, the one he use since we were divorced.

“Mine wasn’t easy either! It wasn’t just a rough patch for me, Chris. I felt you were abandoning me, and you knew what I was feeling.”  My eyes were getting wet, and I tried to do everything not to cry.

“How I could have known that?” he sounded irritated, not just because he was talking louder but he also because his head was resting in his hands.

“Because I told you, Chris! I asked you to come back home million of times, and you rather take our daughters to the other side of the world than come back home with your wife.” I said, recalling the last time I asked him when he was going to be back. He didn’t answer, instead of that he set a whole plan. He made Scott flight to Boston to pick up the girls and then take them to Japan where he was filming his fifth film of the year.  

“I was working…” He said with a different voice.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” The air got cooler; we weren’t yelling anymore. He wasn’t looking at me when I started to walk out.

“I don’t think we can do this.” I said, ready to leave.

“We have to try it.” He caught my attention.

“Emma and Anna will be alright; they are fine now.” I’ve always thought that keeping kids in a unhappy marriage it’s way more dangerous that have a civilized divorce. I knew he was worried about them, but it wasn’t right.  

“Not because of them, because I love you and I know you love me too.” He was right.

“Maybe it’s not enough anymore.”

“Yes, it is! It has to be! I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life and if it’s not with you I will be, don’t you see it? It’s been almost a year and I still thinking of you as my wife.” He stood up to get closer to me.

It broke my heart that he was right. I can’t imagine myself with another man, and it could be just a matter of time, but I honestly didn’t think so.

“How could this work? We’re going to end hating each other.” I said verbalizing one of my biggest fears.

“We won’t. I promise.” He said pulling my body to his arms.

 @moonlacebeam @denisemarieangelina @lovebittenbyevans @popteest @aubageddon91 @hey-diddly-ho-neighborino @impala1967666 @firoozehmoon