#I don’t really know if I expect people to read this or not I just had to get it out somewhere

[d-z20]

The Therapist's Touch (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You sought out Dr. Harkness for clarity, for someone to help untangle the mess in your mind. But as your sessions progress, the line between guidance and something far more intoxicating begins to blur.

- OR -

Agatha manipulates you and your mind and uses it as a way to start fucking you in the name of 'therapy'

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, smut, Dark Agatha, gaslighting, manipulation, other toxic behaviour, fingering (R recv), praise kink, lots of 'good girl', talking through orgasm, mild choking at the end

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains dubcon smut, gaslighting, and manipulation so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

You met Dr. Harkness after a particularly bad week. You hadn’t been sleeping, your thoughts a tangled mess of self-doubt and frustration. Friends—if you could even call them that anymore—had started pulling away, and work was becoming unbearable. It was one of those situations where you weren’t sure if you were the problem or if everyone else was. You needed clarity. You needed someone to untangle the mess in your head.

And Agatha was perfect for that.

The first few sessions felt normal, even helpful. She was warm but not overly so, sharp-witted with a knowing smile that made you feel like she already had you figured out. You liked that. You wanted to be understood. She had a way of pulling things out of you, teasing out the thoughts you hadn’t even fully realized were lurking under the surface.

"You feel like you're being abandoned," she told you during a session, her voice smooth and steady. "Like the people around you are slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know why."

You nodded, relieved that someone finally understood.

"It must be frustrating," she continued, tilting her head slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "To always be the one reaching out, only to be left in the cold."

Your breath hitched. Was that true? You hadn’t really thought about it that way, but… now that she said it, it felt right.

"Maybe you expect too much from people," she mused, watching you carefully. "Or maybe they don’t appreciate you like they should."

A quiet pressure built behind your ribs, something heavy and unseen. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but there was something… validating about it. Like all the hurt you felt wasn’t just in your head.

"Maybe," you admitted.

She smiled, pleased. "I think people take advantage of your kindness. You let them, don’t you?"

You did, didn’t you?

—

The shift was slow, insidious. Agatha never outright told you what to think—she just guided you there, nudging you toward conclusions you weren’t sure were yours or hers. Your relationships became strained, but Agatha was always there to reassure you.

"You’re growing," she told you after a particularly emotional session. "You’re starting to see things for what they really are."

Warmth unfurled in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like a protective embrace. The weight of her gaze felt like an anchor, steadying you in a way nothing else had.

Agatha was dangerous in the way that only truly intelligent people could be. She never raised her voice, never forced an idea on you—she simply led you there, guiding you through your own thoughts like she was pulling a thread loose from a tangled knot.

And God, she was beautiful.

You noticed it in pieces at first. The sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her eyes stayed locked onto yours just a little too long, the elegant way she moved. She always dressed immaculately, sleek dark blouses that clung to her just right, lips painted in deep shades of red or plum. And then there was her voice. The kind of voice that settled into your bones and curled up there, wrapping itself around your ribs like it belonged to you.

It was embarrassing, really. You were falling for your therapist. But she made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And she never discouraged it.

Not directly.

"You hesitate when you talk about what you want," she noted, her voice gentle. "Why do you do that?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"

"You second-guess yourself." She studied you carefully, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. "I’ve noticed it. You’ll start to say something, then stop. Like you’re afraid of being too much."

Your pulse fluttered. "I guess I just… don’t want to be a burden."

Her lips curled into something almost like amusement. "A burden?" she echoed, as if the idea itself was absurd. "Who told you that?"

You hesitated. Everyone, you wanted to say. Every time someone stopped texting back, every time you felt like you were grasping too hard to keep people close.

Agatha hummed, tilting her head just slightly. “Who have you been talking to about this?”

You blinked. “What?”

Her gaze was steady, expectant. “You said you feel like a burden. Who put that thought in your head?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I don’t know. I guess I mentioned it to a friend the other day, and they—”

Agatha tsked softly, shaking her head. “And what did they say?”

“They told me I was overthinking.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. “Ah. Overthinking.” She leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. “That’s an easy way to dismiss you, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “I don’t think they meant it like that—”

“But it made you feel unheard,” she pressed gently. “Didn’t it?”

Your breath came a little faster. “I… maybe?”

Agatha nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “It’s interesting,” she mused, voice low and thoughtful. “How often people minimise your feelings. How quickly they brush you off.” Her gaze flickered back to yours, something soft and reassuring in it. “I would never do that to you.”

A tightness bloomed behind your ribs, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. “I know,” you murmured.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Of course you do.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice softening. "They made you feel that way," she spoke, like it was some kind of revelation. "Not because you are a burden, but because they don’t know how to appreciate you properly."

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

"They don’t see you the way I do."

The words hung between you, electric.

You exhaled slowly, suddenly hyperaware of how close she was, how intimate these sessions had started to feelThe space between you felt thinner than before, her voice dipping into something softer, closer—like a secret meant only for you.

And then, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, she smiled.

"Tell me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "When’s the last time someone truly listened to you?"

Your pulse hammered.

It should have set off alarms. But it didn’t. Because she was listening. She was there for you. More than anyone else has been.

Had anyone ever really listened?

—

The next session, Agatha watched you with something unreadable in her expression. Like she was studying a puzzle, waiting for the pieces to click into place.

“You seem tense,” she noted, her voice low, honey-smooth.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but it came out strained. “Yeah, well. Life’s a little stressful.”

She tilted her head, gaze sharp, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer. “You hold yourself so tightly,” she stated, studying you like a specimen under glass. “You don’t even realise it, do you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your shoulders.” A flick of her fingers. “Your jaw. Your hands.”

You followed her gaze, your fingers curling instinctively before you forced them to relax.

“I think,” she continued, voice slow, deliberate, “you’ve spent so long bracing for impact that you don’t know how to let go.”

A strange heat curled in your stomach, something unspoken threading through the air between you.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “Would you let me help you?”

Your stomach flipped. “Help me how?”

Agatha smiled—calm, measured, soothing. “A simple exercise. One that might help you process the tension you’re carrying.”

You hesitated, but there was no reason to refuse. It was therapy. She was your therapist.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Her smile deepened, approval warm in her gaze. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

You obeyed, exhaling softly.

“Now,” she assured, “I want you to focus on the weight of your body. The way your spine curves. The way your breath moves through you.”

Her voice was hypnotic, her words weaving their way into your bones.

And then—

Fingertips against your jaw.

You startled, eyes flying open, but Agatha hushed you gently.

“Shh,” she soothed, thumb brushing along your cheek. “It’s alright. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath came a little faster. The warmth of her touch was dizzying. “I—yes,” you whispered.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Good.”

Her fingers trailed lightly, tracing the curve of your throat. You swallowed, pulse hammering against her touch.

“Your body reacts before you do,” she noted, head tilting slightly. “You don’t even realise how much you hold back.”

Heat rushed to your face. You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else entirely.

Agatha’s grip firmed just slightly—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you she was there. “I want you to let go,” she murmured. “Trust me to guide you.”

Your mind spun, tangled between this is fine, she’s my therapist and why does this feel so good?

But you trusted her. So you nodded.

Her smile was slow, knowing. “Good girl.”

Your stomach flipped again. A rush of warmth curled through you, unsettling in its intensity.

She let her touch linger a moment longer before finally pulling back, leaving you bereft. “See?” she said, as if the moment hadn’t just unraveled something inside you. “You hold onto so much. But I can help you carry it.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to her words like a lifeline. “…Thank you,” you murmured.

“We’ll work through it together,” she promised.

You believed her.

You wanted to believe her.

Even as something in the back of your mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t.

—

The session after that felt different from the moment you stepped into the room. The air in Agatha’s office was heavier, charged with something unspoken. It coiled around you, wrapping tight around your ribs as her eyes tracked your movements, assessing, waiting.

“Welcome back,” she said smoothly, gesturing for you to come further in. You obeyed, feeling strangely exposed under her gaze. She hummed, studying you. “You look tense again.”

You exhaled sharply. “I mean… I guess?”

Her smile deepened. “You’ve been thinking too much. Haven’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because—yes.

She chuckled softly. “I told you, darling. You carry everything too tightly.”

You swallowed.

“I want to try something different today,” she announced. “Something a little more… physical.”

Your brain short-circuited at the word.

She leaned forward, voice dipping into something lower, more intimate. “Have you ever done guided breathwork before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded, as if she expected that. “It’s about control,” she said. “Releasing what no longer serves you.”

Your breath hitched.

“May I touch you?” she asked, voice velvety smooth.

“Y—yeah,” you stammered, your pulse pounded in your ears.

She stood, stepping behind you. The air shifted as she moved closer, the heat of her body ghosting along your back before her hands settled on your shoulders—firm, warm, grounding.

“You’re so wound up,” she murmured, her thumbs pressing in, kneading slowly. A soft sigh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“Breathe with me,” she instructed, her lips near your ear now. “In…”

You inhaled shakily.

“Good,” she praised. “Now out.”

Her hands moved lower, gliding down your arms, her touch light but deliberate. “Again,” she hummed.

You obeyed, and as you exhaled, her hands skimmed lower, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs, her thumbs teasing at the sides of your breasts. You stiffened, heat pooling between your thighs, but she only hummed in approval.

“You’re still holding back,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin. “I need you to let go.”

Her hands drifted lower, over your waist, her grip firm as she guided you back against her body. A quiet, shuddering exhale left you, your head swimming, warmth pooling low in your stomach.

“Good,” she praised, voice like silk. “You’re doing so well for me.”

A shiver ran down your spine as she pressed closer, the solid heat of her flush against your back.

“This tension you carry,” she sighed, her breath hot against your skin, “it needs to be released.”

Her hands slipped lower, over your hips, nails scraping lightly against fabric. A slow, deliberate drag that sent fire licking through your veins.

“Let me help,”

And then her hands moved lower. Your whole body went still.

Agatha hummed in approval. “You feel that, don’t you?”

A sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—escaped your lips, as your body burned with arousal.

“Good,” she praised again, like she could feel you unravelling beneath her touch. “You’re doing perfectly.”

Her touch dipped between your thighs causing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat as your body jolted, nerves alight.

“Shh, this is part of the process,” she soothed, her lips grazing your ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. “Trust me.”

You did. You shouldn’t, but you did.

Her hands were steady, patient, coaxing you back against her body. Heat seeped into your skin where she pressed, her perfume—something dark, heady, intoxicating—curling around you like smoke.

“This is what you need,” she declared, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit. “A full release.”

Your body arched, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you could swallow it down.

“There it is.” Agatha’s voice was rich with satisfaction, her free hand dragging lazy patterns over your torso, her nails grazing just enough to make you shiver. “That’s my good girl.”

Shame curled low in your stomach, but it was drowned out by the pleasure winding tighter, by the way she spoke like she knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe she did. No one else had reached this part of you—no one else had understood what you truly needed.

Only Agatha.

“You’ve been holding so much inside,” she mused, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “I think it’s time to let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, your breath coming in uneven bursts, but you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

A pleased hum vibrated in her throat as she pressed her fingers against your slick heat.

“Oh, darling,” she cooed, her lips brushing against your temple, “you do need me.”

Your head lolled back against her shoulder, your lips parting in a breathless moan as she circled your clit with practiced ease, teasing and coaxing you into submission.

“Such a sweet thing,” she remarked, her other hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to hers. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, and the look she gave you made your stomach tighten.

“There’s my good girl.”

The praise sent a pulse of heat through you, something deep and desperate unraveling at the sound of it. You wanted to please her. To prove that you trusted her.

Her mouth slanted over yours, swallowing your gasped moans as her fingers slid inside you, slow and purposeful. A sharp cry left you as she stretched you open, her thumb still circling, teasing, never letting you sink too deep into mindlessness. She wanted you present. Aware.

Your body jerked, overwhelmed by the sensation, but her hands were steady, guiding you through it. “Breathe,” she instructed, her lips brushing against your cheek. “In through your nose… there you go, good girl… and out.”

You tried. You really did. But every exhale was a stuttering moan, your body trembling against hers.

“That’s it,” she soothed, her fingers curling just enough to make you keen. “Let yourself feel it. Let yourself fall.”

Your fingers grasped at her sleeve, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you open, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’ve spent so long running from this,” she murmured, voice low, hypnotic, each word coiling around your ribs and pulling tight. “From what you need. From what I can give you.”

You shook your head weakly, barely processing her words through the pleasure threatening to swallow you whole.

“No?” She tutted, her fingers never ceasing. “Then tell me, darling… why are you shaking?”

You couldn’t answer. She had you undone, every nerve alight, every thought consumed by her.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice velvet-soft but unyielding. “Let me take care of you.”

As the pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembled against her, every muscle wound impossibly tense. Agatha’s touch never wavered—precise, knowing, relentless.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

A breathless whimper escaped you, your hips bucking into her hand, chasing that final push. She chuckled softly, her fingers maintaining their rhythm, teasing you to the brink.

"Good girl," she praised, her voice dipping into something darker, richer. "Give it to me. I want to feel you cum on my fingers."

Your breath hitched, your body straining under the weight of pleasure, but she didn’t let you fall just yet. Her free hand dragged up your torso, nails grazing along your ribs before curling around your throat, a light, possessive pressure that made you gasp.

"You've been holding onto this for so long," she crooned. "But not anymore. Let. Go."

Her grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly as her fingers curled against your g-spot, pushing you past the point of no return. A sharp cry tore from your lips, your entire body arching as the pleasure finally snapped, pleasure ripping through you in waves.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," Agatha cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Ride it out—just like that. So perfect for me."

Your walls clenched around her fingers, the aftershocks making you shudder, but she didn’t stop. Not yet. She drew out every last pulse of pleasure, her touch easing from devastating to indulgent, dragging you through the bliss until you were nothing but a boneless, gasping mess in her arms.

"Such a good girl," she muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as her fingers finally stilled, her palm resting possessively against your slick heat. "I knew you could do it."

She let you catch your breath, but her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over your sensitive skin, teasing, reminding you who had brought you to this point.

Your breath still came in uneven shudders as she finally pulled her hand away. You barely had a chance to process the loss before she brought her fingers to her lips, her darkened eyes never leaving yours as she sucked them clean.

Heat flared in your cheeks.

Agatha only smiled.“We’ll continue this next session,” she promised, brushing a stray bead of sweat from your forehead. “I think we’re making real progress.”

-----

In this AU Agatha totally only became a therapist so she could mess around with people's minds and get paid for it.

N.B Agatha's behaviour is extremely toxic and manipulative due to the power she holds over reader. This work is purely fiction and such actions have no place in the real world.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[thebreakfastgenie]

#honestly it might help some of you to read bigoted ramblings#because so many of you waste a lot of time anxious and arguing about beliefs that these people don’t even have#if you’re going to be anxious anyway you might as well know what they’re actually saying @femalegothic

Yeah I originally included that qualification because of the timing of when I made this post, I didn't want people to assume I was validating the conservatives having meltdowns because people they hate didn't want to talk to them. But I think you're right.

Obviously there's a limit to it, there's a point at which it becomes unhealthy, and that point is different for everyone. But I have been worried for a while about the culture on tumblr that creates a belief that seeing even one bigoted post will trigger an intense meltdown in a marginalized person. I think the "I am actually shaking" and cry-typing posts of yesteryear were so popular because tumblr gave people the idea that that's how they were supposed to react. I think there's also an element of tumblr only being able to take bigotry seriously if it does a certain amount of tangible "harm," which on tumblr looks like provoking an extreme distress reaction in an individual. Bigotry does do harm, including to physical health, but it's generally cumulative exposure that does it. Most people are not going to fall apart if they see one bigoted post, and anyone who is needs to get help coping with it because it's an unfortunate part of the world we live in.

So in some ways you have to pretend this stuff just doesn't exist, except not really, because you still have to care about social justice. So you're supposed to feel righteous anger at theoretical bigots, without ever engaging on any level with the real ones.

These twin expectations create this paralyzing environment of fear. People are scared of things that are not actually happening. People are making up guys to be mad at and, I think more harmfully, afraid of. It's not pretending to be oppressed, a lot of these people face real oppression, they're just guessing at what that oppression looks like. There's absolutely no good in that! And sometimes the real bigotry is just so stupid that it's actually not as bad as what your anxious brain can conjure up. Sometimes it just takes the sting out of it to see what absurd things grown adults actually believe.

And of course it's a cliche, but if you want to do something about it you have to know what you're fighting. It's a lot easier to combat bigotry if you know what people are actually saying and what they actually believe. Even if you're not going to convince the bigots, you need to know what arguments they're using to try to radicalize regular people so you can counter them.

So yeah it would do a lot of you some good to read the bigoted ramblings a little bit I was just trying to put forth the most basic possible baby step of readings things you disagree with because I wasn't sure how much tumblr could handle, lol.

I really think a lot of you need to read things you disagree with more. Not bigoted ramblings but just opinions you don't agree with. So many people on tumblr are terrified of seeing a take they don't like about their favorite show, let alone anything serious. I think it comes from a lack of confidence and security in your own opinions and that leaves you vulnerable to manipulation. Reading an opinion you don't agree with should help you articulate your own opinion and why you believe what you do, which strengthens your position.

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 05

˚���˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: subtle yn lore gets dropped here…

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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After Bakugou had been generous enough to help haul in your endless pile of boxes—a consequence of your admittedly irresponsible spending—it seemed he decided to spare you further torment by announcing his departure.

Something about heading to the training arena to "get some real work done."

Not that his presence was bad.

No, it was torturous in the best way possible!

The I-want-him-to-stay-in-my-room-forever-and-keep-calling-me-princess kind of way.

Did that sound crazy?

Even with your ever-growing crush on the blonde, you couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over you at his exit.

He’d seen you like this—flustered, fumbling, barely holding yourself together—had even insisted you put on those stupid glasses, and yet…

Somehow, it wasn’t as horrible as you expected.

A warm flutter settled in your chest at the realization. He hadn’t cared about your appearance, hadn’t picked you apart like so many others had. It was a refreshing change from the judgment you’d grown used to.

You never quite understood why people felt so comfortable talking about your looks.

You barely felt comfortable talking to people, period.

And yet, strangers—people who didn’t know a thing about you—felt entitled to comment.

Your figure was amazing. Your hair looked great. What diets had you gone on?

God…

Bakugou didn’t seem to care about any of that.

His focus had been on your vision—or lack thereof. A stupid little thing, but the fact that he didn't seem to care about your looks made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Now, left alone in the quiet of your room, you sat cross-legged on your bed, manicured fingers scrolling through your phone.

Your official account, @OfficiallyFlora, gleamed on the screen. The blue checkmark beside your username felt more like a weight than an accomplishment.

Your profile picture, an overly polished shot of you in your glittering hero costume—stared back at you. The flawless image, taken against a pristine white backdrop, was the product of your mother’s money and marketing efforts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Too pretty. Too refined. Too far from the girl sitting here now, sock clad in her bedroom, still reeling from the lingering scent of caramel and smoke that Bakugou had left behind.

Are your teeth really even that white in person?

You don’t know…

Your bio reads: Official Page of Pro-Hero Prospect Flora, making your hearts bloom with every step towards justice!

You sighed, rolling your eyes hard enough to strain something. The bio had been written by your mother’s PR team, dripping with saccharine energy that made you cringe every time you read it.

The rest of your feed wasn’t much better: high-definition shots of battles, cherry blossom-themed merch promotions, and glamorous magazine features.

It was a glossy, manufactured version of you that bore little resemblance to the person staring at the screen, glasses perpetually sliding down her nose.

Growing bored of the staged content, you switched to your private account.

Your followers on this one are, well. Your classmates, surprisingly enough, and one of your mother's pool boys who had asked for your Instagram years ago before you ever even had an official page in hopes of getting to talk to you more?!

You can't help but quirk a brow, you should really get him off your page...

Here, the photos were more personal: snapshots of your travels, close-ups of meals you’d enjoyed, and a random assortment of things that caught your eye.

The likes rarely climb beyond single digits, but it was real and a better representation of yourself than the other page.

A pang of curiosity struck as your fingers moved on autopilot, typing in Bakugou’s name.

His official account, curated by Best Jeanist’s team, popped up first. His posts were as structured as yours—action shots, hero promotions, and carefully orchestrated PR moves.

But unlike how you felt about your feed, his action shots were breathtaking.

One image, in particular, caught your attention: Bakugou holding a tiny kitten that had been stuck in a tree. His sharp features softened as he cradled the fluffy creature, his biceps bulging against his hero suit.

You snorted, amused by the juxtaposition. No matter how intimidating he looked, the sight of him with a kitten was almost too much.

Shaking your head, you scrolled through some of your classmates’ accounts. Their updates showed them at the beach, enjoying pizza nights, and huddled around a glowing campfire.

Seems like without Bakugou around to act as head chef, they had to order takeout instead.

You frowned, an unshakable pit forming in your stomach.

You drop your phone onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. Maybe what you needed was a nice meal—something indulgent to shake off the restless energy.

The thought of heading to the nearest convenience store for another pint of ice cream crosses your mind, the idea warm and tempting. But no.

Not this time.

Instead, maybe you could make an effort. Doll yourself up a bit, put on some makeup, and head out into town. Who needs a big group when you’ve got yourself?

Determined to follow through, you sit up and scan the endless boxes of your new purchases. Finally, you land on a little buttercup-yellow tweed Chanel set, complete with a mini skirt and cropped blazer.

You slip it on, the fabric hugging your figure perfectly and highlighting your silhouette in all the right places.

Hell, for this price point, it better do all of the above!

You turn to your vanity, reaching for your makeup bag. You opt for a soft, casual look—subtle yet radiant, with just enough shimmer to catch the light. Twinkly in all the right places.

To complete the look, you sling a new ivory-colored purse over your shoulder. A cute yellow dandelion charm clipped to the side adds just the right touch of cuteness.

Standing in front of the mirror, you take a moment to admire your reflection. You look polished, confident, like someone ready to take on the evening—even if it’s a solo adventure.

Maybe you’d check out that new sushi spot closer to home!

Yeah, it’s fine that your classmates wouldn’t join you! They'd probably just make you more anxious anyways.

But as you’re heading downstairs and toward the door, you suddenly freeze. A realization dawns on you.

Hajime has the weekend off.

You groan out loud. How are you going to get there? You can’t drive!

Frustration bubbles up, and you slap your forehead. Were you really this helpless? The thought makes you wince, embarrassment creeping in at the edges of your thoughts.

"If I speak, you gonna jump and scream again?" A voice, an irritatingly familiar voice announces his presence.

The familiar gruff voice startles you, and admittedly, you do almost scream. Holding it back though, you whirl around to see Bakugou having just walked out of the elevator behind you.

He seems freshly showered, with his hair still a bit damp, out and pushed back from his handsome face. You could smell him from where you're standing.

Ugh, delicious as usual.

“You did kind of surprise me,” you admit, voice sheepish as your eyes dart away from him.

His eyes roam over your figure quickly, though you don't notice the action over your own mourning of the evening.

“You’re going out?”

The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it, and if he could, he’d smack himself upside the head. Why the hell did he even ask? It’s obvious you are. And more importantly—why is he even starting a conversation in the first place?

Up until literally yesterday, you were just another classmate. Background noise. But these back-to-back interactions are becoming unavoidable, and unfortunately, you’re slipping out of the backdrop and into his world.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a soft, resigned smile. “Well, I was going to, but… I just realized I don’t have any way of getting there.”

“Hah? Can’t take the train?”

Heat blooms across your face, creeping down your neck. “Oh, well… I’ve never taken public transportation.”

There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for you to see the exact moment Bakugou short-circuits.

“Is that some shitty joke?”

You thought your cheeks couldn’t possibly burn hotter, but—oh, look at that! They can!

“I- um, well, no. It’s not.” You swallow, fiddling with the strap of your ivory purse. “Hajime’s driven me everywhere since I was little.”

He blinks, slowly. More in disbelief than anything.

“Hajime?”

You nod. “Yeah, um… my personal driver.”

For a second, you think he might actually roll his eyes. On anyone else, the whole spoiled rich kid routine would piss him off. But with you, it’s different.

Maybe it’s the way you look so flustered, like you’re embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe it’s the way your voice dips, like you’re apologizing for just existing.

Either way, it leaves him feeling something weird—something dangerously close to wanting to help. Again.

Twice in one day. A world record, if he says so himself.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

You wince, shoulders curling inward. “I know! It’s bad, okay? But it’s just how I was raised…”

How you were raised?

Bakugou’s brow lifts slightly. So what, you were raised to be a stay-at-home daughter? Spend money like it’s a full-time job?

He knows about your family. Everyone does.

A mother who inherited an entire hero firm from your grandparents—a dynasty so powerful its stocks and investments practically fuel Japan’s economy. And a father who died in the field before you were even born—a rising star in the hero world, gone far too soon.

Your mother, a young heiress to millions. Your father, a pro hero at the height of his career. Expecting their first child. A baby girl—you.

And then, just like that, it all came crashing down.

A mission gone wrong.

A hero lost.

Your father’s death sent shockwaves through the country, leaving Japan in mourning—not just for the man he was, but for the legend he never got the chance to become.

He doesn’t say anything right away—just stares at you with an unreadable expression that makes your stomach churn.

Then, without warning, he mutters, “Get your stuff. We’re going.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He’s already pulling on his sneakers, his movements brisk and determined. “No way in hell am I letting you graduate from U.A. without knowing how to take a damn train. That’s pathetic.”

“Bakugou, you really don’t have to—”

“Second time today.” He cuts you off with a sharp look over his shoulder. “It’s already happening. Move it, princess.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue—but the words die in your throat when you see the set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze. He’s not going to back down.

You’re not sure what’s more overwhelming—the idea of taking your first train ride…

Or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one dragging you along for the ride.

You gulp, hurrying after him as he strides out of the dormitory, his natural pace effortlessly long and brisk. You almost trip trying to keep up, the heels of your boots clicking against the pavement.

God, why does he walk so fast?

“We’ve got a station down the block from the UA gates,” he says, barely glancing at you. “We’ll go to that one.”

You nod, stiff as a board. “Gotcha. So, um… where did you want to go?”

His blonde brow arches, the side of his lip curling like you just said something unbelievably stupid. “What? This isn’t about me. This is about teaching you how to get on a damn train.”

You wince, embarrassed. “Right. That makes sense.”

The two of you walk in relative silence, the crisp evening air settling over you like a thin veil.

The streets leading to the station aren’t crowded, but there are enough people out that you can feel the occasional passing glance—whether they recognize you as a hero-in-training or simply because you look like you don’t belong in a place as mundane as a train station, you’re not sure.

Your perfectly tailored blazer, Italian leather purse, and neatly manicured nails feel almost too polished for the scuffed pavement beneath your feet.

Bakugou, on the other hand, fits in seamlessly.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his comfy sweatpants loose around his legs and tight at his waist.

He looks completely at ease, like this is just another part of his day—meanwhile, your heartbeat is rattling in your ears at the thought of navigating a train station for the first time.

After a few minutes, you reach the station entrance, the underground stairway yawning open before you. A few commuters shuffle past, swiping their cards at the turnstiles, moving like they’ve done this a million times.

You, however, stay frozen at the top of the stairs.

Bakugou doesn’t notice at first, too busy pulling out his own train pass. But when he looks up and sees you still standing there, brows drawn tight with hesitation, he sighs.

“Seriously?” He tilts his head, exasperation flickering in his red eyes. “It’s just a staircase, princess.”

“I know it’s just a staircase,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing down at the tiled steps leading into the station.

You’ve never been in one of these before, never had to navigate the organized chaos of public transport, never had to think about swiping a train card or picking a route.

A ridiculous thought hits you—you’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you don’t know how to take a train… or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one who has to teach you.

You bite your lip, it's silly and you know it. “What if I mess up?”

Bakugou stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he snorts.

“With that attitude, you’re definitely gonna mess up. Sour face you got going on”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

His smirk is almost smug. “But that’s the whole damn point. You mess up, you figure it out, and then you won’t be a clueless dumbass next time.”

You scowl. “Your motivational speeches suck.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes before nudging your shoulder—just a small push, barely enough to make you step forward, but it’s enough to shake you out of your own head.

“Come on,” he mutters, starting down the stairs. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You inhale sharply and, with no other choice, follow him down.

The air shifts as you descend—cooler, tinged with the metallic scent of rails and the distant hum of an approaching train. Your grip tightens around the strap of your purse, nerves bubbling in your chest.

Why is everything so loud down here?!

Bakugou moves ahead, seamlessly navigating through the turnstiles. He scans his card with an effortless flick of his wrist, stepping through without hesitation.

You, on the other hand, stop in front of the machine, frowning at it like it’s a puzzle you weren’t given the pieces to.

Bakugou turns, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he drawls.

You glance at the screen, then back at your card. “Do I just… tap it?”

“No, you rub it on the damn thing and hope it opens.”

Your glare is sharp, but you say nothing, instead hesitantly pressing the card against the sensor. The gate beeps, unlocking with a mechanical click.

You blink. That’s it?

“Wow, you did it.” Bakugou’s tone is mockingly slow, like he’s congratulating a toddler for taking their first steps.

You don’t know how, when, or what possesses you with a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out, shoving his shoulder.

His muscled frame barely budges under your touch, solid beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He snorts, a short chuckle slipping out as he steps toward the platform, the train’s arrival chime ringing through the station.

Then, as you approach the edge of the platform, a realization slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“…Wait.” You stop in your tracks, eyes widening. “How do I know which train to take?”

Bakugou exhales so deeply it sounds like his soul is actively trying to escape his body.

“God help me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw tightening as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying something he’ll regret.

For the first time today, you swear he actually looks pained.

Oh lord. Oh good grief. If you were just about anybody else right now, Bakugou wouldn’t just be snapping—he’d be out of here so fast, you’d be left choking on smoke.

The fact that a pro-hero-in-training, someone who’s supposed to be saving lives, has never taken a damn train is the kind of thing that should be illegal.

So why is he still here?

Why hasn’t he turned on his heel, thrown up his hands, and left you to fend for yourself like any rational, self-respecting person would?

He blinks, his gaze lingering on your face, and for a brief moment—so fast you almost miss it—you swear there’s something unreadable flickering behind those sharp red eyes.

Maybe it’s the way your lashes frame your doe-like eyes, dark and long, casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. Curse you and your stupid, stupid eyes. Is this some kind of second quirk? A hypnosis ability?

Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way you fidget without realizing it.

Your hands twist together, fingers tangling like they’re trying to hold onto something steady.

Absentmindedly, you twirl the diamond-encrusted eternity band on your index finger, turning it over and over in a nervous rhythm. It catches the dim station light, flashing every time you spin it.

Bakugou’s gaze follows the movement, and something about the unconscious gesture makes his scowl deepen.

“…Tch.” He clicks his tongue, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You really are helpless, huh?”

The words are gruff, edged with frustration, but he still doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he takes a step toward you, nodding toward the digital display overhead. The glowing letters flicker slightly, listing station names, times, and train lines in a way that makes your head spin.

“C’mon, dumbass. I’ll show you how to read the damn schedule before you get yourself lost in the middle of the city.”

Relief washes over you as you quickly follow his lead. “Ah, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me… just pay attention.”

And you do. You pay such good attention that by the time you finally grasp how the whole system works, you’re practically bouncing on your heels in excitement, a bright grin stretching across your face.

You stand on the platform, buzzing with a newfound confidence, while Bakugou—looking as perpetually unimpressed as ever—waits beside you with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

Then, the distant hum of the train grows louder, and soon enough, the sleek cars pull into the station with a sharp metallic whir.

The doors slide open, and you eagerly step forward, your heeled boots clicking against the platform as you move inside. Bakugou follows closely behind, scanning the interior in one quick glance.

The train is relatively full—enough that only one open seat remains near the doors. Without hesitation, Bakugou nudges you toward it.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, grabbing onto the nearest safety pole as the doors begin to close.

You shake your head, brushing him off. “I’m okay.”

He scoffs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “The train moves fast and isn’t super smooth. I’m sure you don’t wanna go through all that with those on.”

You glance down at your shoes—sleek, heeled boots, stylish but sturdy. Your lips curve into a small smile.

“I’ll have you know my hero costume boots are even higher than these.”

His brow arches slightly, the hint of sarcasm sparking in his eyes. “Yeah? I’m impressed, considering how fast you ran away from me on day one.”

Oh, hell.

Heat creeps up your neck at the reminder, your confidence faltering for a split second. But you recover quickly, squaring your shoulders with a dramatic huff.

“Wow, Bakugou Katsuki, impressed? By little ol’ me?” You place a hand over your heart, feigning exaggerated awe. “It’s an honor.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but there’s something unreadable in the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.

Then, the train lurches forward.

Despite all your earlier bravado, you do wobble slightly—just enough for Bakugou’s smirk to return in full force.

“…Told you to sit, dumbass.”

But you can’t.

Not because you’re too stubborn. Not because you’re still trying to prove a point.

But because—oh.

A singular, large hand is suddenly tight on your waist, steadying you with an effortless grip.

Oh my.

Who needs a safety rail when Pro Hero Dynamight is holding you like this?!

You internally scream, the realization hitting you all at once. The touch itself isn’t anything crazy—it’s barely even a thing, just a reflex, something automatic, instinctual. Nothing compared to the absolute torture of this morning’s, uh, straddling situation.

And yet, this feels just as bad—if not worse.

Why? Because Bakugou, in all his brash, loud, obnoxious glory, doesn’t even seem to realize he’s still holding onto you.

His grip is firm, warm even through the thick expensive fabric of your clothes, and worst of all? It lingers.

Still there.

Still present.

Still burning through your skin like a brand.

Oh, hell.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[gilverrwrites]

for some reason, I've been thinking on the aftercare of some of the guys.

like with roman, I feel like aftercare fully depends on your relationship with him. a difference between a sugar baby and a partner, y'know?

but with dick—dick, in my opinion, KING of aftercare, you know he would treat you right. and bruce, bruce absolutely would.

it's where roy, jason, tim I'm a little stumped on. cause I feel like, I know they would be good with aftercare. I'm just trying to think of what they would do. thoughts?

I feel like w so many nsfw stuff, I was thinking about the potential fluff afterwards.

🩷

I rarely use this blog to educate unless asked (you’re always free to ask me anything), but I feel a need to remind people that aftercare, just like any other stage of sex, is something that is different for all couples. No two people are the same and you should be discussing with your partners what you want/need/expect to feel loved and cared for in the same way you would discuss kinks and what not.

Tim specifically is a talk it out kind of guy. Like, not before you started sleeping together, but in the aftermath of your first tryst he lay beside you, panting, enjoying the afterglow for a few minutes until he asks “What now?”

Without guidance he airs on caution. He’ll clean you up, offer to fetch you food and drink, you can use his shower, or borrow his clothes. He’ll want to check on any potential abrasions (biting, spanking etc), and instead of asking you if want to be held he’ll just sort of lounge beside you with his arms open, like an open invitation.

He's dutiful, so ultimately whatever you ask him for he will provide, and he's very open about telling you what he expects in return.

Until you’ve talked about it, and I mean ‘you can trust me, I wont judge, I want you to be comfortable, you deserve to be looked after too’-talked, Jason is the one that needs to be nudged into aftercare. He doesn’t want to force anything on you, he doesn’t know how to talk about it anyway, and he really doesn’t want to seem needy by asking you to look after him. So, he just sort of lingers.

“You ok? Yeah? Good, good. Me? Yeah, I’m fine. No, I don’t need anything. Cool. Stay? No, yeah, I can stay if you want me too.”

He’ll let you cuddle up to him, he’ll watch your shows or read your book with you, but he’s like a deer, if you acknowledge him, he’ll run.

At least until he’s comfortable with you, until you've done the talking and have created a mutually trusting relationship. Until he’s in love with you. Then he’s got you and your aftercare needs committed to memory, move over Dick, there’s a new king in town.

Roy's ideal aftercare is more quality time than anything. He likes to know that you want to be around him, that it’s not just sex, but his own mind wanders. Roy likes to be tucked up, cuddled in bed with you while you’re both doing your own thing, scrolling your phones, reading, gaming, whatever.

However, if you need something more attentive, if you need to talk, or be pampered etc he’ll make every effort to account for that, just be prepared to have to remind him every now and again. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he's just easily distracted.

[musclesandhammering]

(sorry, I had to respond in a reblog because I ran out of characters in my reply)

I’m sorry if I had an attitude with my reply!! I feel bad about commenting now cause I usually make a point not to bring my anti attitude onto pro posts & vice versa. I really did get a laugh out of it just because of my *insert shocked Mr krabs meme* when I realised we were on different pages lol- not because I thought your tags were wrong, just because I expected it to go in a different direction.

I probably did let some passive aggression slip in there, though, just because I always feel like Dean is largely a fandom sweetheart (especially among shippers) and usually when he’s criticised, it’s met with outrage and accusations. I should’ve been more careful not to project that onto your post, though, because i don’t even disagree with anything you mentioned.

Like… people trying to make Sam into the one who always pushed back against John and stood up for the “good” monsters and tried to protect Jack and didn’t want to kill demon vessels, while Dean did all the opposite? Yeah, definitely not. Part of the complexity of their dynamic is that they were both problematic in different ways and a lot of their issues overlap. I SO agree with you on that.

That being said, I will mention that a large part of my issue with both the character and the fans (not you in specific, I’m just speaking generally) is the exact thing you made the post about- just in the opposite direction. People insisting certain things about him are hard canon when they’re either strongly up to interpretation or just flat out fanon. I see the things I mentioned as examples of this.

And I really think like 80% of it (particularly the early seasons stuff- the porn thing and the slut shaming and jailbait comments etc etc) is that, at the time, the writers just genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with any of that stuff, so they didn’t intend those things to be negative traits on Dean’s part. They just wanted to give him some edginess and some funny one liners. Which is annoying but understandable. But now we can look back at it and say “yea so that was.. iffy” and it results in some Dean fans either calling it ooc (which.. unfortunately, it’s not) or twisting themselves into knots to explain why those things weren’t actually that bad or he only said them because of internalised whatever whatever etc… that’s a bit irritating.

The only other issues I have are how some deangirls have a slight disconnect when it comes to his actual personality (ie emphasising his protectiveness/brotherly love and brushing over his domineering behaviour and anger issues). But I mean samgirls and casgirls do that too- it’s just kinda natural to focus on your fav’s best traits and ignore their worst ones.

The other thing is his sexuality. …Listen. I’m queer myself so I know how frustrating it is to see such a perfect opportunity to make a character bi/gay- to see so many little hints and offhand comments that could have been developed into something if the writers weren’t cowards- and have to admit that all those bits of “evidence” never got solidified into anything… but they just didn’t. I’m being completely genuine. It’s so so easy to read Dean as bi via interpretational subtext, and I don’t disagree with anyone doing that… but canonically? He’s not. It’s a missed opportunity and it’s unfair as hell but he’s just not. Jensen has said he’s straight, the writers have, Dean himself has. Every bit of bi evidence can be explained away as a joke or coincidence.

And it really pains me to say that, because I get why people are so ready to die on the “Dean was intentionally queer coded” hill. But stating it as a fact, calling anyone who disagrees homophobic, letting the writers off the hook for chickening out by deluding themselves into believing bi!Dean is as good as canon when it likely never will be?? It’s so annoying. Especially when there’s other characters who (imo) were a bit more intentionally queer coded (like sam) or were outright confirmed to be lgbtq (like cas).

Again, I’m not shading you with any of this, cause I have no idea if you’ve said any of those things before. I’m just ranting out my opinions. I’d love to see your take on it, though! Seriously, I think it’s really cool that you were so nice about it and I’m really interested to hear your thoughts!!

(Reading back over this, I feel like my tone here sounds a little standoffish too, but I swear it’s not! I just don’t know how to convey emotions on the internet!! 😂😭)

so much supernatural discourse boils down to claiming a thing we actually see dean do on the show is something he would not do, claiming a thing we see dean specifically not do on the show is something he would do, claiming something all the main characters do is something dean alone is doing, or claiming something sam does on the show is something dean did.

and im so confused. because the answer is comically simple and it's a thing we all allegedly love doing and that is... watching supernatural?

[itsnesss]

heyyy so could i request something about like thanos maybe leaving the reader pregnant and then leaving her so they run into each other after the first game and she's in like gi huns like "group" and after seeing her he gets worried about her and wants to protect her but shes really hurt and they don't really want them together again but it's just kind of fluffy of him trying to protect her

𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, tension, pregnant!reader, trauma, breakup, no happy ending

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The first game is over, but the weight of what happened still hurts, like a constant pressure on your chest. Everyone tries to find some normalcy amid the madness, but you know there’s no easy way out. You’re trapped here, just like everyone else.

Your thoughts keep returning to the same question: how did you end up here? The debt, the desperation, the uncertain future. You had done whatever it took to get money, to settle the bills that dragged you into this hell. Now, it all feels like a nightmare that won’t end. But there’s something else tormenting you, something you’ve kept hidden for years: him.

Thanos. The boy who left without a word, the boy with whom you shared the closest thing to a life you once dreamed of. The boy who left when you needed him the most. The boy who didn’t know you were going to be a mother.

The irony is that in this place where death seems to be the only thing that matters, what hurts the most isn’t the constant threat of the games. What hurts the most is that you’re here, surrounded by death, unable to let go of the past.

You’re in a group of players with Gi-Hun, speaking in hushed tones. You try to keep the conversation light, although you know no one can truly forget what happened in the first game. Gi-Hun wears a tired smile, one that doesn’t quite cover the distrust everyone now feels. But still, his presence gives you some comfort. For a moment, you can forget the nightmare and feel that, maybe, there’s still some humanity in this place.

“Seriously, I can’t believe we’re still alive,” says one of the players, his tone laced with bitter irony.

You nod, a bit more relaxed. “Yeah, it feels like we’re trapped in some kind of nightmare. Like this is just a bad dream.”

You don’t expect what happens next. A familiar voice, deep and grave, interrupts your conversation. The sound is like a punch to the stomach. You turn, recognizing it instantly.

“What... what are you doing here?” The voice escapes your lips almost without meaning to. You can’t believe it. There he is, standing in front of you, after all these years. Thanos.

He watches you, his eyes locked on you, as if time hadn’t passed. His presence freezes you, and your heart pounds in your chest. The shock is overwhelming. You don’t know if it’s fear or confusion that makes you hesitate, but the pain rises in your throat. Everything you’ve kept hidden, everything you’ve repressed, comes rushing back.

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds grave, concerned, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you feel uncomfortable, like he’s trying to understand something about you. “Are you okay?”

Gi-Hun, who had been watching curiously, looks surprised. “Do you know him?” he asks, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Yes,” you murmur, unable to look away from Thanos. You don’t know what else to say. The truth is, you don’t want to say anything. You don’t want him here.

Thanos takes a step forward, approaching slowly. You feel the space between you growing denser with each inch he closes. His gaze is still intense, but there’s something different about him. Something you don’t remember, something that makes you feel vulnerable. It hurts that he still looks at you like this, as if you still matter to him.

“I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have lost contact. Are you okay?” His voice is filled with regret, and for a moment, you wonder if he truly regrets it. But the doubt doesn’t last long. The truth is right there, floating between the two of you. He wasn’t there when you needed him the most, and now there’s nothing he can do to change that.

Your breathing becomes irregular. “No, I’m not okay,” you reply, though your voice sounds more broken than you expected. “And I won’t be. Not now.”

You can’t allow yourself to fall. You can’t allow yourself to be weak in front of him. You know what that would mean. The tears threaten to come, but you suppress them. You won’t show weakness.

Taking a step back, you try to keep your distance. You don’t want him to come closer. You can’t let him drag you back into that dark place from the past where the pain wouldn’t let you breathe.

Thanos stands still, as if unsure what to do with his hands. His eyes remain fixed on you, but it seems like all you can see on his face is confusion and regret.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, as if that’s the only thing he can say. His tone is soft, but his gaze is filled with a sadness that makes you want to run away. “I never knew... I never knew that...”

“Because you left,” you answer harshly, the words cutting through the air like knives. “Because you abandoned me. You didn’t give me a choice. And then, you didn’t look for me. You forgot about me, and you forgot about everything.”

Thanos hesitates for a moment, as if processing your words. “I... I didn’t know that...,” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“You didn’t have to know,” you say, your voice becoming firmer with the anger rising. “But now it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what happened, it doesn’t matter what it was. What I want now is something different.”

The silence between you both becomes heavy. The words you haven’t said, everything you’ve been holding inside, burn. You know this is the moment, the moment when things have to change.

Thanos steps toward you, his expression uncertain. The sadness on his face is obvious, but there’s something else: fear. Fear of losing you forever.

“I don’t want you to protect me just because of this,” you suddenly say, pointing to your belly, where his child still grows, though he doesn’t even know it’s his. “I want you to protect me because, after all this, I want you by my side for me, not for what I’m carrying inside.”

The honesty in your voice shakes him. Thanos falters, as if unsure how to respond. The sadness in his eyes deepens, but you also see him trying to understand what you just said.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally, his voice rough, as if every word costs him more than he expected. “I failed you. I didn’t know how to act, and... I’m so sorry.”

The words you just said have closed that door that was once open. There’s no place for him in your life anymore.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, almost without strength. “What hurts the most is that it doesn’t matter anymore. What hurts the most is that, even though you’re still here, I can’t be with you anymore.”

Those words are enough to break whatever little hope remained in your chest. Thanos can’t hide his pain, his sorrow is evident. But there’s nothing you can do. There’s no turning back now.

“If you don’t need me... I understand,” he says softly, almost defeated. “I failed you. And I never wanted it to be like this.”

Those words are enough to shatter what little was left of hope in your heart. You don’t look at him anymore. You can’t. The distance between you grows with every second that passes. You feel the emptiness that forms, the echo of what once was.

“Goodbye, Thanos,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s for the best for both of us.”

You turn away and start walking, feeling how everything you once wanted from him vanishes into the air. You know you’ve made the right decision, even though it feels like your heart is breaking. And as you walk, you know that, although the pain remains, the only way to move forward is to do it without him.

[lovesodakid]

shadows of the dark

matt sturniolo x reader

1 3

summary : growing up in the ‘middle of nowhere’ small town in lochcliff, colorado, stories were heard of multiple strange disappearances, murders, animal attacks, and more. when you were younger, you never paid attention to that stuff. now at the age of 17 it’s all you ever hear about. what happens when you realize those ‘stories’ you heard growing up, may not just be scary fairytales people tell their kids.

warning ⚠️ : contains mature themes, smut, gore (nothing insane), angst, etc. this warning is for all chapters.

(this does take some inspiration from tvd!)

chapter 2 : history & new kids

the sound of loud clapping causing the commotion of the students to quiet down as the assuming new teacher strides into the classroom. her black heels clicking across the white tiled floor below her.

“good morning everyone! i’m mrs. johnson, im so excited to work with you guys this year and welcome to your junior year of high school!” she exclaims enthusiastically.

“now why don’t we start with-”

she’s cut off by the sound of the classroom door opening, the hinges making an ear-raping scream cutting through the silence of the enclosed room.

“is this the language arts room?” the husky voice questions.

my eyes trail from mrs. johnson over towards the mysterious man in the doorway. starting at his pants, which are a pair of blue denim baggy jeans, his black shirt being halfway covered by the black leather jacket he’s paired it with.

until i catch a glimpse of his face. the same face we passed earlier this morning in the car. it’s almost as if he can sense me looking at him when that very second, his eyes snap over to mine. his blue piercing irises gazing into mine. his stare so distinct, i feel as though he can read every thought in my brain. i swear i even see his lips curving into a small smirk.

“yes! welcome! take a seat wherever you want, what’s your name first?” mrs. johnson’s voice interrupting whatever hypnotic state i was just in.

my eyes immediately shooting down to my desk in front of me, nervously picking at the wood.

“matthew. matthew sturniolo.” i hear his biker boots clatter against the floor, coming right beside me until he comes to a short lived halt. my body recognizing the feeling of his stare on the top of my head, until he continues his stride to a few seats behind me to my right.

“sturniolo?” she questions. “sturniolo as in…carmilla sturniolo?”

the sound of rough chuckles coming from behind me, causing my nerves to shiver. i’m not quite sure what kind of effect he has over myself, but i don’t know if i like it either. “yes ma’am.”

the town of lochcliff has its ‘respected’ family names. the blackwell’s, the whitlocks, steven’s, and more. they’re known to have helped in the founding of the town around 150 years ago. the sturniolo’s being one of those family’s. although, it has been rumored that 20 years ago, the last of the sturniolo bloodline was brutally murdered on his way to work one morning. but his body was never found, hence - rumors.

carmilla sturniolo was the first woman to ever be apart of the city hall’s council. back then, it wasn’t as easily as it is today for a woman to get a job like that. carmilla’s name has been passed around from mouth to mouth for years. her, going down in the towns historical records.

she was also rumored to have been murdered. or attacked by animals some say. no one really knows the full truth on what happened to carmilla sturniolo on that fateful night of october 21st 1898.

“well, it is so lovely to meet you matthew. i hope you will enjoy my class.” mrs. johnson says as she gives him a warm smile. “okay now, back to what you can expect this year.”

-

“have you seen that christopher sturniolo guy?” jayde’s enthusiasm laced voice asks from beside me.

the rest of first period, and then the whole of my second and third periods went by in a blur. as jayde and i now sit in our free period in her car in the schools parking lot, debriefing on how our days have been so far.

“no, his name is matthew.” i correct her as i take a handful of cheez itz i got out of the vending machine.

she quickly shakes her head back and forth. “no his name is christopher. he’s new. he’s a total babe and snack. dark brown hair, bright blue eyes. literally the epitome of my type.” she exhales.

my eyebrows crease i stare at her, clear confusion taking over my features.

“there’s a guy who looks exactly the way you described in my first period. and his last name is sturniolo, but his name is matthew.”

she begins…giggling?

“oh my god! what if they’re twins!” she shoots up excitedly.

“don’t you think it’s a little strange that these two guys - whom have the same last name that no one has even heard of anyone having in years, just..come out of nowhere?” i question her.

i watch her shrug, a strand of her black hair falling off of her shoulder as she does so. “not really. probably just moved away forever ago and just decided not to tell anyone, then move back.”

i slowly nod my head in agreement. “yeah maybe.” i grab another handful of the cheesy and salty snack, throwing them into my mouth.

“oh my god! look! there he is!” she shouts as she points to the entrance of the building.

i watch as a guy who looks eerily similar to matthew walking out. but instead of wearing blue jeans with a leather jacket - he’s wearing a plain white shirt with grey sweatpants and a beanie on.

i squint my eyes trying to get a better look at him, same facial features and all. minuscule differences here and there but overall, they look exactly alike.

i continue my staring at the strange man until i see the big blue doors open again behind him, this time, 2 more boys joining him on the sidewalk right outside the building.

matthew.

and another guy who looks like them?

“y/n! what the fuck? there’s three of them!” jayde’s voice screaming happily as she watches the same scene in front of us.

three?

a/n : sorry this is kind of short! i wanted to hurry and write the second part for funsies and cause im bored. hope this is okay😭 lmk if you like it !!

[sunnysidesevenup]

Okay since apparently more people than me have seen those “fellow honest doesn’t know basic math” takes/jokes whatever lol, I’m gonna ramble about how I write Tilly and Fellow because they’re SO FREAKING SMART and they have very different skill sets born out of their respective lives. Obviously this is all made up headcanons for Fellow since we know basically nothing about him lmao so. do with my headcanons what you will ig.

First off I believe Fellow probably had some basic schooling and either got kicked out of the school itself, or whatever guardians he had stopped sending him because it “wasn’t worth it” or smth. I don’t think his resentment would be born out of just not going y’know? So I think he definitely learned basic math and writing/reading/science, etc from a more formal education, but all his actual practical knowledge is entirely him seeking it out on his own. He definitely went to a library and used those resources to learn anything that could help him.

Fellow does all the budgeting in the household, managing rent, electricity, food bills, etc. his sewing skills help cut down on clothing cost a little, and he has various skills from taking odd jobs. He definitely started out only doing honest work but then rapidly realized that no one was paying him very much, and none of it could cover the cost of anything, and he just probably slowly slid into less than legal means to make money. He’s VERY good at weighing risk vs reward, can talk his way out of things, and in general is just really, really clever.

Tilly on the other hand has zero formal schooling, and all his knowledge is entirely from listening to other people talk. He doesn’t ask anyone to teach him anything because that will put him in a vulnerable position, so he pretends he knows things until he figures it out. He also has no need for any type of budgeting considering he doesn’t stay anywhere and mostly just convinces people to give him things, so his math skills are much weaker and he’s happy to have Fellow do any of that. His reading is also not great, considering it’s hard to learn to read from just watching other people and he doesn’t seek any resources out. He’s also dyslexic, so the few times he was trying to learn, what people were saying was NOT matching up with what he was seeing, so he gave up. Fellow tries to teach him some stuff and Tilly straight up believes he’s messing around because what do you MEAN the letters are not supposed to float around and flip??? They eventually figure out what’s going on though.

However, his ability to read people and his memory for what people tell him is incredible. He listens VERY closely to what people are saying and then incorporates it into whatever lies he’s telling that week, which is how he’s able to convince certain high society people that he’s actually one of them sometimes. People often complain to him about their work life, so if the company is big enough, he’ll steal whatever he needs to get into the building and wait long enough for them to believe they just lost it. And then he’ll just walk in, identify people from description and context clues, and just greet them like he works there. I mean, the company is pretty big, so if this guy knows their name and work drama then surely he works there, right? (He’s stolen so many things this way lmao).

Tilly can learn the history of places, local stories, the best and worst areas of the city, who to avoid and who is helpful, maps and directions for wherever he is, just from talking to people, and he remembers it all even months later. He’s good at blending in and imitating people’s attitudes and knowledge.

They are both incredibly skilled at using people’s own egos and expectations against them. Fellow tends to use flattery and Tilly uses distraction, so teamed up together it’s hard not to end up doing what they want. They’re good at surviving separately, but things are much easier together. Tilly is often surprised by how quick Fellow can make calculations in his head, and Fellow is often surprised when Tilly can recite things he learned years ago from overheard conversations like it happened yesterday.

Both of them are still terrible at cooking, though, so congrats to Gidel for being the only person in the household who can make any thing edible.

[sosuigeneris]

Going by your post about daughters in high society being all-rounders, are they expected to learn certain languages, follow literary canons or maybe know specific geopolitical happenings? Is it a specific set of skills & information or is it more on a general knowledge basis?

you should definitely know your country’s language and English. Most competent girls I’ve noticed fall in two categories - either they’re extremely strong in arts (classic literature, art, music, food, essentially creative stuff) or STEM and finance.

as an overall, one normally has a general range of soft skills - the ability to converse with ease, socially confident, “respectful”, poised etc.

There are certain cheat codes to achieve this ^ and make it seem like you’re really an all rounder in the short term. Obviously in the long term you’ll have to work on your skills if you haven’t, but here’s what you can do. 1. Study the most common socially asked questions

How are you?

Where did you go for college/ uni?

What do you do?

Where have you travelled lately?

do you know about ….. ?

do you know XYZ person?

What are your hobbies?

and practice, practice these answers. Here’s your objective : to come across as knowledgeable, friendly and rational. don’t for instance, speak negatively about anyone or any experience. Instead of saying “oh my god this experience was absolutely ghastly” say “this is what I really liked and this is what I felt could be better.” You are seen as a refined woman then, not a bitchy teen. Use a wide range of vocabulary- CORRECTLY. Practice it so that it seems natural to you. Even fairly common words like “apt, apprehensive, sentient, derelict” - can make you seem a lot more polished than “so true, unsure, alive, run down”.

2. Be aware of three of the biggest news stories before any social event. Be it a dinner, party, a baby’s christening, anything. and here’s what will make you stand out - know those 2-3 stories in detail. In the age of people simply skimming over news and not making the effort to dig deeper, knowing something very well is an instant giveaway of being well read. For instance, Trump and the birthright citizenship situation. Something that an average person (especially if they are not American) may not know is that lots of non- American pregnant women - mostly Indian - in the US have begun approaching doctors to have their babies premature before the Feb 20 deadline. Now, when I mentioned that at an event recently in India, people were surprised. I was able to bring value, information to the table that no one else really knew about.

So when you speak, you want to drop a nugget of value. What you don’t want to do is get very high and mighty - you have to drop this information nonchalantly, as if you know everything. Nonchalance will give you bonus points.

3. Listen more than you speak… ATTENTIVELY. You cannot break eye contact, don’t lose focus. Nod slowly, tilt your head slightly, back straight, shoulders and hips turned towards the person who is speaking. Don’t rush and don’t rush them.

practice these small things even with your friends, school, teachers, workplace - to make something a habit, you need to practice it anywhere and everywhere. You can’t just be polished to one group of people, you must be polished to all.

4. Always approach the women/ aunties / mothers first. Compliment them genuinely. And then greet the man. The only times I break this rule is if the man is decades older, is someone I know very well, is a friend of my parents’, or if I know him better than his wife.

5. you won’t be expected to cook and clean and all that, these days it’s not really an expectation. And also, unless you want to attract men like that and you want to be that person too, it doesn’t make sense.

[beyondtheticklecloset]

Fuck the Pizza (My Hero Academia)

Summary: Class 1-A is having a pizza party, but Bakugou is nowhere to be seen. When his boyfriend goes to check on him, Todoroki finds he's in dire need of another kind of sustenance.

A/N: Was in a depressive episode, wrote out my feelings. (I'm good now!) Enjoy.

Word Count: 808

Warning: Hurt/comfort, light angst

~~~

“Where’s Bakugou?” Kirishima asked as he plopped the stack of pizza boxes onto the table. The others in Class 1-A were already gathering around, ready to dig in. “He’ll miss out if he doesn’t get his butt out here.”

Todoroki pulled out his phone and frowned at it. “I don’t know. I texted him, and he read it, but…” He considered a moment, then pocketed the device and turned on his heel. “I’ll go get him. Try not to steal all of the supreme slices. Those are his favorite.”

The half-and-half hero hurried down the hall to his partner’s door, knocking a couple of times. “Hey, Katsuki. Pizza’s here. You’re gonna miss it if you don’t get moving.”

Silence. Todoroki frowned. This was unusual. Hesitantly, he tried the knob and then gave it a small push when the door opened. He announced his presence with a “hey, babe,” but was again met with silence.

The lights were on. Bakugou was sitting on the floor, staring up at his TV as though transfixed. For a moment, Todoroki smiled softly. He had his headphones on; he must have been enamored by a new romance anime and had lost track of time. That wouldn’t explain the left on read text, but…

Oh. It wasn’t a romance anime, or any kind of anime. It was…a video of a beach?

Todoroki glanced between the screen and his boyfriend, confused. Cautiously, not wanting to scare him, he moved further into the room, closing the door behind him just in case, since the vibes in here were off, to say the least. He slowly reached out to put his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, hoping he’d notice him well before then.

He didn’t, and Bakugou jolted in surprise when Todoroki touched down on the bare skin of his upper arm. The latter expected him to snap at him for being so quiet or even shoot him a mock glare, but instead he just sighed, taking off his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.

“Pizza’s here,” he said.

“Y-Yeah,” Todoroki replied, caught off guard. He’d seen a lot of moods from his boyfriend, but never something like this. “Are you okay?”

Bakugou opened his mouth, closed it again. Swallowed. Glanced away. “Not…really. But it’s whatever.”

Todoroki grabbed his arm again, this time not caring if he startled the blonde. “No, not ‘whatever’. What’s up? You can tell me.” Please tell me. Please let me be there for you.

“It’s nothing, icy-hot,” Bakugou mumbled. “I’m just not in the mood to be social right now. I don’t want…” He trailed off, but Todoroki knew what he meant.

“Don’t want to go out there and get pizza because of all the people?”

“Yeah.”

“I can bring some in here. We can have a party of two,” Todoroki replied, already perking up at the idea. A spontaneous kind-of-pizza-date with his boyfriend? Who might even be in the mood to be the little spoon for a change? How could he refuse?

He straightened and turned to go, but Bakugou reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Todoroki turned to look back, already wilting, expecting the blonde to tell him to just go on without him. That he wanted to be alone.

But instead he mumbled, “Don’t…don’t leave me.” He tightened his grip just slightly, but it was noticeable. “Please.”

Todoroki melted. Without another word, he got down on the floor beside his partner, scooting behind him and pulling him back into his chest, letting him lean on him, letting the spiky blonde hairs tickle his nose as he nuzzled into him.

“Clingy,” Bakugou mumbled, but it was halfhearted and had no heat behind it. Todoroki pulled him in closer, crossing his legs over his boyfriend’s lap.

“You think I’m going to pass this up?” Todoroki chuckled, kissing his cheek. “You’re letting me hold you. You didn’t ask me to leave. I’m soaking this all up while I can. But…” He gentled his tone, growing serious, “Also, whatever’s bothering you…you can tell me, Katsuki. I want you to tell me. If you want to. If you’re up for it.”

The blonde was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You’ll miss out on pizza.”

Todoroki snorted. “Katsuki – and I mean this with all of my heart and soul – fuck the pizza.”

Bakugou let out a snicker, then let go and settled into Todoroki fully, allowing him to hold him and be with him, even though he didn’t feel very chatty.

At some point, one of their classmates – Todoroki suspected Hagakure, because he never actually saw who – put two plates of pizza and two soda cans just inside the door without a word, leaving them alone while still including them in the party happening outside.

Later they’d thank everyone for the gesture.

But right now, they just wanted to be.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 9

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

din x f!reader (no physical descriptions, no use of y/n)

Chapter Summary: Exploring the Mines of Mandalore is a lot more dangerous than you expected.

WARNINGS: very graphic depictions of physical violence. Canon material to season three of the Mandalorian, SPOILERS, reader gets an injury, smutless, sorry everyone.

w/c- ~11k

a/n- if you read this on ao3, no the fuck you didn't. Reworked, slightly edited-- still unbetaed so all mistakes are on me.

Grogu sits in your lap while you look out of the front window of the cockpit. The child warbles softly and tucks himself into your robes. Din looks over at Grogu, and you now complete with black mechnosutures covering the three slashes on your face. You’re headed towards Mandalore, you can see it now. It’s covered in storm clouds and you can barely see the planet hiding beneath them.

“It looks scary, I know.” Din reaches and gives Grogu a squeeze. “It used to be green and beautiful once, when the songs were written. That’s Mandalore. The home-world of our people.” He tilts his helmet up to you know. “Every Mandalorian can trace their roots back to this planet…and the beskar mines deep within.” 

You keep looking out of the window at the dark planet in front of you. It’s heartbreaking knowing what the Empire did to it. 

“That’s where I grew up--n that moon.” Din points out the window to the right of Mandalore, “Concordia.”

Your head snaps to Din. “Wait. So if you grew up on Concordia… have you never been to Mandalore before? Is that why Bo-Katan told you where the mines were?” Din nods. “So…you don’t really know… where you’re going?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“No, I know where to go. You just said, ‘Bo-Katan told me.’” He says evenly.

Oh. Okay.

Not that it changes anything, you'll still walk through those flames down in the mines for Din if he needed you to. “That’s Kalevala. Where we went to see Bo-Katan herself.” Din points to the hyperspace map on the dash of the ship.

It’s further away from Mandalore than Concordia but still within the same system. 

“I like Bo-Katan.” You said suddenly as Din continued around Mandalore. “She seems nice.” Din chuckles when you say that. Why was that funny? What was so not nice about the woman that it made Din laugh? You eye him suspiciously. “What? Is she just being nice to me to make me look dumb or something?” Din snaps his head at you quickly.

“No. No, not at all. She doesn’t think you’re dumb. Quite impressed with you, actually.” He rasps from the Captain's seat.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Impressed with what!? I guess it's... nice that she thinks that, but I’ve barely met Bo-Katan. We’ve said maybe ten words to each other. How could she know?” You’ve now turned as well as you can in the co-captain seat, being strapped in and all. 

A loud groan escapes from the helmet. “I... might have talked about you,” Din says it like he doesn’t want to. Like it might have been something he took to his grave if you had never asked him about it. “While you were away. I may have mentioned that you were training with the Jedi and that I maybe…missed you. Wished to see you.”

Your jaw drops. “You said that to Bo-Katan?” Your word filter must be broken because the words come out before you can sift through them and pick them apart and make them sound less… dismayed that those words could come out of Din to another person. About you…

“We spent a lot of time together. We talked. It’s how the lightsaber was brought up. She searched for a saber made of beskar.” Din explains and your heart beats quickly in your chest.

Are you in love with Bo-Katan? She’s the one who suggested the beskar lightsaber? You’re a fool to think that she’d do anything with Din when she’s clearly in love with you too.

You stare at Din for a long time. “I’d like to be her friend. A real friend; I’ve only got you and now the two of them.” You look to Grogu in your lap and R5 who has seated himself on the right of you, as far away from Din as he can possibly get. Din doesn’t say anything, he just keeps looking forward towards Mandalore. “What? Do you not want me to have friends?” You huff softly and look straight ahead as well. 

“Bo-Katan can be…intense.” Din said after a couple moments. “Intimidating. Even to me sometimes.” You look over to Din and shrug your shoulders. 

“I’m not scared of h-”

“ I never said I was scared of Bo-Katan.” Din interrupts you. “I said she was sometimes intimidating. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head at Din and roll your eyes. “Well, you’re intimidating. Maybe she’s just matching your energy. What would she even try to intimidate me for?” You turn your nose up to Din for not wanting you to have friends besides a robot and a green child. And himself but you’re mad at him now so you’re down to the two friends. Just the two. 

“You’d be surprised.” Din shakes his head at you as you begin your landing on Mandalore. 

“Surprised? She’s just a woman, Din. She might have beskar and a helmet but so do you and you don’t scare me.” You look over to him again and it's clear that he’s chuckling quietly under his helmet. 

“I surprise you though, don’t I?” Din turns his helmet to face you, still chuckling.

You don’t even have a response for him because he does. Every interaction with this man has left you surprised after. Every single one. 

“I’d like to have a slumber party with her, once we’ve explored Mandalore and you’ve taken your bath. I’d like to go.”

Din shakes his head at you.  “Not happening.”

Din presses some buttons on the dash and you watch, making sure to remember what he’s doing even if he doesn’t tell you.

Why doesn’t Din want you to have a best-friend that isn’t him? He is intimidated by Bo-Katan. Intimidated that you’ll want to hang out with her and spend time in her beautiful castle and sit in her fancy stone throne? He keeps you trapped on this hunk of metal soaring in the stars.

Okay... not really. You’re here completely of your own free will. Din would drop you off at Canto Bight tomorrow if you told him you wanted off. But you don’t. You love this ship and your three friends.

“We’ll see.” You snap as turbulence starts to make the ship shake. “I hate this part.” You close your eyes and hold onto Grogu tightly.

“Open your eyes. Watch what I’m doing.” Din starts flipping switches and pressing buttons. “This one stabilizes the ship’s thrusters so you stop shaking so much.” Din has his finger on a black button next to seven thousand other identical black buttons, he presses it and the ship starts to just vibrate instead of shake violently. 

“Okay.” You hold Grogu up so he can see what buttons Din’s touching on. “Can you see?” You look up to Grogu and he nods down at you. 

“This one drops the landing gear.” Din presses another button on the other side of the dash. The ship jolts twice as the landing gears drop down on both sides. “This one sets off the landing thrusters so that we don’t drop down at full speed.” Din presses that button and the whole ship jolts again and starts to rumble. “You remembering all of this?” Din asks, looking over at you.

“We might need to label them, but yeah. I got it.” You nod up at Din. He shakes his head. 

“No labels. You just know.” He looks back down at all the identical buttons on the dashboard he’s looking at. There are ten thousand screens and about twenty million buttons and the only thing that differentiates them is their colors. The three Din just pressed were all black. 

“How am I supposed to just know right from the jump? They all look exactly the same. How do you just know?” You almost sneer at Din because what does he expect from you? The closest you got to a cockpit before you knew him were the games at the arcade! You tell him this and he just shakes his head.

“You have to learn. That’s why I’m showing you.” Din motions his hands over all the buttons. “You’ll figure all this out. Don’t worry.” You sure will figure it out because you’re gonna label them. You’ll label them so good. You nod at him and flick your eyebrows up one time. 

“Oh, I’m gonna learn them. I sure will.”

Din tilts his helmet to the side. “I don’t know if I like the way you said that.” The ship touches down as Din finishes speaking and you un-clip yourself from the seat and hold Grogu close to you. Din places his hand on your lower back as he leads you into one of the weapon rooms of the ship. 

Din grabs his blaster pistol– an IB-94 you learned recently, off the wall and holsters it to his belt. Then he reaches for something you had never really paid attention to before, you thought it looked like the clip to one of his weapons or maybe even a small held hand taser gun version of the Amban–which was gone now, sadly– but Din grabs it off the wall and holds it in his hand. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, holding it out to you.

You take it in your hand and almost fall to the floor with it. Din takes Grogu from your arms and you hold the cool metal grip in your hand. You shake your head as you tinker with it, struggling to keep it in your hand because of its intense weight. Then you see a button.

Din has already taken several steps, still holding Grogu, and is covering the childs eyes. 

Pressing the button unleashes a white plasma blade shaped like a sword. It almost knocks you back into your ass, but the metal table behind you feels you upright as it skids across the floor noisily. You're forced to walk backwards with your lower back pressed against the cool edge of the table until it crashes into the wall.

You had never seen or held a lightsaber like this before. Why was it so much heavier than all of the others? It felt like it was buzzing in your hand, not vibrating softly like your own on your belt already. No. This one felt like you were holding a container of angry kouhun bugs in your hand; they were jumping and flipping around in there waiting to escape to come sting you and with their assassin venom. Kill you. This thing felt dangerous. 

“A darksaber." You sigh in dismay, holding it out in your hands away from you. It was like the thing was alive and had a mind of its own. So much power in your hands. “This is the darksaber that sliced your leg, isn’t it?” You glance over to Din, who is now standing in the hallway watching you from a distance with the child, his hand is still over his eyes. 

“What?” He calls out to you from the hall.

You roll your eyes and try to tame the power you're holding onto tightly but it is hard. It feels like what the lightsaber felt like when you held it for the first time back in the Jedi temple. Like there was something actually living inside; fighting back against your touch in your palm. Something that didn’t want to be there and was desperately trying to escape you.

“This is the darksaber that sliced your leg?” You hold it up and show him the blade while you shout at him.

He nods and lets his hand fall from the child’s face like he knows you’ve got control of it and aren’t going to slice your own legs off and traumatize Grogu.

“Who did it to you? Whose was this?” You can’t take your eyes off the blade. It’s white but you can see through it like it’s not a solid plasma blade like all the others. Like it’s hollow in the middle. It’s still buzzing and fighting against you in your hands. You use all the skills and mind calming techniques that Ahsoka taught you back in the temple… it doesn’t work. This thing is fucking crazy. 

“I did.” Din calls back from the hallway. You sheath the blade and stare at him as you hold just the grip in your hand now. “I don’t know how to use it very well. It’s like its…”

“Fighting you...” You finish his sentence.

He flicks his head to you and nods. “Yes. Fighting me.” 

“I’m honestly shocked you even still have your leg.” You set the darksaber down on the table behind you. “That thing is unlike anything I’ve ever held in my life.” You’re in awe of it.

No wonder they call it a darksaber, the thing felt evil… you felt a little evil after holding it. Like you could do something bad. “I don’t like it.” You wrinkle your nose at it after a moment of staring at it. 

“I’m shocked you could even hold it upright while it was on.” Din says as he walks back into the room now that it’s safe. “I try sometimes to work on it but it’s difficult. Less difficult than before, but not something I’d be able to use in a fight if I wanted to win.” Din looks down at you. “Maybe you could teach me.” 

Your jaw hits and dents the metal table you're in front of and you look up at him. 

“Me?” You hold your hand to your chest and look back at the darksaber on the table. “Teach you something?” You’re in complete shock. You’re not a dumb woman. You’re very smart and intellectual. A little conversation starved, yes, in desperate need of an interaction  with someone besides Din and the child and the droid. Still smart, still intellectual but there was not one thing you thought you knew that Din would be interested in learning from you. Now he’s asking you to help him conquer the darksaber. “I don’t even know how to use it.” You whisper up to him. 

“I’d let you work with it first. Figure it out yourself and then teach me. You’re more skilled with the sabers. I’m better with the blasting and flame throwing.” Din touches the pistol on his hip.

You’re still in shock. The fact that Din trusts you with this thing is an honor more than anything. When he met you a little over two years ago this thing in front of you would have sliced your legs right off. Now he wants you to show him how to use it. 

“Okay.” You trace your finger along the darksaber again. You think you feel it buzzing softly still and you take your hand away. “Okay. I’ll figure it out. I can do that.” You look up at Din who was waiting for your response. Din nods and places the darksaber back up on the wall.

Grogu looks at it and warbles. 

“No. I mean it. It’s too big for you now. One day maybe.” Din looks down at the child in his arms. “I mean it. No.” Din points his finger down at him and Grogu wraps the three clawed fingers around his gloves digit. “Ouch. I can see how he got you.” Din says, leaning in to look at the razorblades on the ends of Grogu's fingers. 

“It’s not too bad. He also didn’t mean it. He was just playing.” You give Grogu a couple of scratches along his ears and he sighs and closes his eyes. It makes you smirk. 

“He maimed you.” Din says flatly. 

“You said it wasn’t that bad!” You pull away and bring your hand to your cheek. “You said that when we left the medical center! You lied to me!? I didn’t think you could lie!” You back away from him two more paces and stop. Din cocks his head to the side like a charhound would if you shook some snacks in its face. He stares for a long time that way. 

“Why would I be unable to lie?” He’s so confused. You are too. You didn’t think he was capable of doing that, you don’t know why! Everything he says always just seems so innocent and honest!

“What else have you lied to me about!?” You point a finger at him. “Full of lies. Say I look fine and then say that I’m maimed. Which is it? Fine or maimed? Make up your mind.” You throw your hands up in exasperation and try to find a mirror but there isn’t one on this Maker forsaken ship. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, following you around as you try to find a flat metal surface to look into. You turn on your heel and storm over to Din. You stand in front of him and grab his helmet with both hands and pull his head down to yours so he’s level with you. Inspecting your mechnosutures in the face visor reflection. 

“I am maimed.” You let his helmet go and you sound downcast, like it’s really true and you don’t want to believe it. 

“You’ll be okay. I didn’t mean maimed.” Din puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’re still ner ad’ika ratiin .” Din says comfortingly. “Even with your evaar’la hokaanir aliik .” You hear Din stifle a laugh from under his helmet.

You frown and pull your shoulder away. “What does that mean?” You grumble. Furrowing your eyebrows at him. 

“I don’t want to tell you.” He clears his throat of the giggles and chuckles he’s hiding in there. “You won’t think it is funny.” Din reaches for your shoulder again. You glare at him. “New cut sigil. You can wear it proudly! They’re your battle scars!” Din tries to make up for laughing at his joke, but he’s trying not to laugh again.

You don’t even wait for him to get the last word out before your strong straight hand sneaks in between the beskar plate on his chest and the one on his shoulders and you jab into his pressure point. 

“New cut sigil .” You grumble as you turn to walk away. Din’s left laughing, holding his shoulder with his other hand. “Are you a comedian? Do you perform at the Canto Casino in the comedy lounge in the night after I’ve fallen asleep!?” It’s said while you throw your hands in the air. “I thought we had mines to go spelunk? You, wasting time making bad jokes.” 

“I thought it was a good one. Because you are fine. Still perfect and beau-” You hold your hand up to him as he follows you out of the weapons room. You don’t stop walking. 

“You don’t get to call me those things anymore.” You turn your nose up and walk faster. 

“Says who?” Din walks quickly, sounding shocked at what you’ve said. He tries to step in front of you but you side step him and he does the same thing. “Says who? Not my little one. No.” Din puts both hands on your shoulder. “You are perfect and beautiful and now… intimidating.” Din says it like he’s trying to convince you that it’s true.

It’s not. You think you look dumb.

“You look like a warrior.” Din whispers through the modulator. 

“I got scratched by a green baby.” You say flatly. You’re unimpressed with his attempts to make you less mad at him for his bad joke.

Din shakes his head. “No. You got these--" He rubs one gloved thumb gently across one of your mechnosutures, "...in the mines of Mandalore. Fighting alongside me.” Din says simply like it’s the truth. “We can lie.” 

You gasp loudly, glaring up at him. “You lie all the time, don’t you!? Just a big beskar wearing liar.” You huff.

Din chuckles softly like you’re the funniest thing on Mandalore right now.

He better watch out, you’re getting your hand ready for that special pressure point of his. 

“We need to send R5 out there before we can go.” Din says, ignoring you. “Will you talk to him? I don’t think he likes me much.”

“So, I know it looks scary out there. But you’re gonna be alright. You just need to go explore a little bit and then come right back and I’ll be right here waiting for you.” You point out of the window. The droid bloops slowly and sounds like he’s powering down. “No. Don’t go to sleep. We need your help. If you go out there and help us, when we all get back to the ship I’ll give you a good scrub and an oil bath? Does that sound nice?” You try and tempt the little droid to go out there like Din wants.

You’d rather go out there yourself then send your second son out there alone. 

R5 scans his little head to look out the window. He bloops once and the beeps, and then his little lights flash on the front of him. 

“Thank you.” You sigh. “Now go on and be careful. Hurry back to me, okay?”

Din’s watching from the doorway of the hull shaking his head. You walk back to him and Din shuts that door and then drops the ramp for the little guy. “You don’t have to talk to him like he’s a child.” Din says as the two of you watch him roll down the ramp.

You glare up at Din once again for the second time since you landed on Mandalore. “He’s like a child. He’s small and innocent and just wants to be scrubbed and bathed. Probably would like a snack if he could eat one. He is a child and I care for him.”

“You’ve known him for two days.” Din’s unimpressed with you. “I thought the Jedi didn’t get attached.” He tilts his helmet down to you when the droid rolls out of sight. You think it’s funny now when Din turns his head to look at you because you know that he doesn’t need to. His screen allows him to see you even though he’s looking straight ahead. He could see you like he was looking right into your eyes. 

“I knew the baby for two days and I cared for him.” You say matter of fact and look out the window and see that the droid is gone. “How long do we have to wait?” You ask Din impatiently. 

“C’mon. We can watch him on the scope in the cockpit. Din grabs your hand and leads you quickly to the dash and points at the radar screen. “Look, that little red dot is him–” He stops talking and keeps his head still and then speaks. 

“Don’t be a baby. Just take the samples and get back here.” Din says into the comms in his helmet. Then he goes back to pointing at the radar.

“Be nice to him! He’s doing you a favor.” You grumble and look at the screen Din is pointing too. 

“He’s doing what I bought him to do. Paid good credits.” Din shakes his head from behind you. He’s hovering over you and brings one hand to your ass to squeeze it gently and massage your flesh through your pants. Grogu babbles from the captain's chair and Din rips his hand away. 

“Yeah. Got distracted and forgot the kid was here.” You mock him teasingly. You do push your ass back into his hips though, the hard beskar presses back against you tightly as he grinds his hips into yours subtly. You watch R5 through the monitor. His little red dot is rolling right along and then it disappears. “Where did he go?” You ask, looking back at Din over your shoulder but the screens on the dash all start to dim and flash softly. 

“R5? Come in R5.” Din speaks into the comms of his helmet but he must get no response. You and Grogu watch Din with fear in both of your eyes. “He’ll be fine, it’s probably just interference.” He doesn’t say it convincingly enough for you or the child and you give Din a look. 

“A child Din. He’s like a child.” You’re not messing around. Din needs to go find your other son. 

“Ugh. Okay fine. I’ll pressurize my helmet and suit. You two sit tight.” Din leaves the cockpit and Grogu watches out of the windows as Din walks around to the front of the ship. 

“Are you okay?” You ask through the ships comms. He nods and you both hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. 

“The fusion– disrupted the– field around the planet. Down– on the surface–, you won’t be able to– with anyone– of the atmosphere. It sounds like it might be disrupting the– out here as well. Don’t—- if you can’t get in—with me. I’ll— back.” Din explains but he cuts out multiple times. You kind of get the grasp of what he’s trying to say and before you can say anything back to him he’s already walking away, out of sight behind a split in the rocks shooting up from the ground. 

Din is only gone for ten minutes maybe before you hear grunts and growls coming from the coms of the ship. They’re cut out but it doesn’t sound like Din was trying to talk to you, it just sounds like fighting and shouting and– blasting!? Din is using his blaster pistol already?

You feel so helpless because you don’t even have a suit– that lying sack of shit!

He never planned on bringing you into the mines! You don't had a suit to go with him! Din is a beskar wearing liar, and you’re mad at him-- But his sounds of distress coming through the com-link are stressing you out enough to make you forget your anger. 

“Din!?” You call out into the coms. He doesn’t respond, it's just more garbled noise and growls and grunts coming through the ship's speakers. “Din!? What is going on out there!?” He still never responds and eventually the comm cuts out completely and you’re left in complete silence.

You stand up and look out the window, waiting for him to come back. “Come on.” You whisper to yourself. Your hands grip the edge of the dash so hard you break two of your fingernails. “Come on .” It’s a plea for him to appear from behind the rocks. The coms never come back on.

Grogu babbles softly and is looking up at you with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

“Okay.” You sigh it out like you’re trying to make yourself believe that everything is going to be okay. You’re shaking because you don’t know what you’re going to do. You haven’t stopped looking out of the windows for Din but he never comes. “Please.” You whimper, the helpless feeling starts to grow inside of you. You swallow hard when the thought comes into your mind. “Okay.” 

You wait another ten minutes for Din to reappear from behind those rocks. You never take your eyes off them but nothing comes. Not even R5. 

“Okay.” You remove your shaking hands from the edge of the dash and pick up Grogu. You set him into the co-pilot's chair and strap him in. He gives you a questioning look. “We have to save your dad somehow, don’t we?” You ask him as your trembling fingers fumble with the clips and clamps. You have to slow down and breathe and kneel before Grogu. “I’m scared.” You whisper to him. “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I just need you to trust me and help me if you can. Okay? Use the force if you have to but I need to get this ship off the surface and I need to call Bo-Katan.” Grogu warbles as if he’s trying to encourage you. 

The captain's chair feels different now as you strap into it. You look at all the buttons and try to replay what Din showed you when he explained how to take off. Your fingers glide over all the buttons carefully and you press the one in the top left corner and the ship starts to rumble as it always does when it starts up. You laugh, pleased with yourself and your still shaking hands move to the green button on the side of the dash. As you go to press it the child babbles happily from the seat beside you and you see Din and R5 walking from behind the rocks. You sigh and shut the ship back down. 

“Why was the ship on?” Din asks through the coms. 

“Because I thought you were dead!” You shout at him. “I heard all this commotion, and you didn’t answer me. I thought you were gone! I was going to get Bo-Katan’s help!” You snapped at him through the window. 

“I told you not to worry.” Din says as he gets closer. He looks up at you through the windows.

“And the atmosphere ?” You snark at him, remembering your lack of a suit and helmet. Din nods. 

“Breathable. R5 gave me a reading back in the cave. Are you ready?” Din asks, like he could sense that you had been doubting him, not trusting that he would do what he said.

You nod at him silently through the window.

"Okay then, I’ll drop the ramp.” Din starts towards the back of the ship and you grab Grogu, having to unstrap him, and set him in his floating orb as Din walks back onto the ship. 

“I’m glad you’re okay. You scared me.” You look up at him as he takes his place by your side. 

“I don’t want to bring you down there. But I told you I would. You need to listen to everything I tell you. Pay attention. Don’t stray from me. This is dangerous. More dangerous than pirates and Gorian Shard’s destroyer.” Din’s voice is serious.

You nod your head in understanding and not make any smart comments in fear he might leave you on the ship if you do.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The three of you– you made Din leave R5 back on the ship now that his job was done and he could take a nap while you guys explored. The cave's entrance was dark and it smelled awful.

“Do you not smell that?” You ask, covering your nose with your elbow. 

“Have your lightsaber ready.” Din ignores you, so you just follow his directions–like you’re not super fucking excited to possibly use your new lightsaber on someone.

Din takes one step in front of you and leads you into the mouth of the cave. Whatever Din had been fighting comes into view.

They're big, ogre looking type creatures-- and they fucking stink.

“Alamites.” Din explains when he sees you looking at one. 

“Did you bring the darksaber?” You ask, inspecting one of the trolls wounds. A cut that looks like it had been cauterized in places.

Din nods. “I was barely able to wield it.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Got the job done, though.” Din motions you forward. “You’re going to have to hold onto me tightly.” He says as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Why?” You ask, your head turned upwards looking at the huge dome top of the structure above you. It has holes and big open gaps from where the bombs fell so many years ago. Din holds onto you tightly and takes one step forward and you’re falling down. So far down. You cling to him, your arms around his neck and look down. 

“Oh my Maker.” You close your eyes and press your face into the crook of Din’s neck. You stop free falling and now, you’re slowly dropping through the air. The roar of Din’s jet-pack is deafening. 

“I really need my own helmet, and possibly my own jet-pack!” You yell into Din’s helmet.

He nods and keeps his grip around your waist as you two touch down onto the ground. Your feet search for the ground and they land on something metal. You step back from Din and your foot almost goes over the ledge you’re on, but Din reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into him. 

“The mines are further down there.” Din points to where you almost just fell to. “Please. Be. Careful.” Din grabs your waist again and you wrap your arms around his neck as he takes two steps off the ledge. 

“Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it.” You grumble to yourself with your eyes still closed. The only good feeling about any of this is Din’s arm wrapped around you. It reminds you of sitting in his lap in the hotel room on Tatooine. That brings you good feelings and the next thing you know…your feet are wet and you’re standing in a muddy brown puddle. 

Din takes your hand and leads you forward. Everything down here is so big. You’ve never been in any mines before. You had no idea if this is how they all looked or just the ones on Mandalore. You trip twice because you’re not watching where you’re going.

“Wow.” You whisper in awe at the sheer size of everything around you. “I wonder what this place was like before the Empire got their fucking hands on it.” You can’t even control yourself in front of the child. What the Empire did to the people of Mandalore and the planet they lived on was disgusting. An atrocity. 

“Song worthy.” Din says simply like he’s thought about it before or maybe having the thought right now like you are. It is getting darker and harder to see now. Din turns the light in his helmet on and somehow the child also turns a light on from his floating orb. You’re stunned. 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” You look down at Grogu in amazement. “What other cool stuff does your bed do? I thought it just floated.” You cannot believe it and you can also not believe that you’re the only one without a light. You glance and Din and in a flat tone tell him once again, "I need my own helmet."

“We’ll work on it.” Din responds as he looks for a way to go. The three of you enter a dark room and Din holds his arm out to stop you. “Wait here.” Din takes a couple steps into the room and looks around. His helmet and light fall on something stuck under the dirt and dust. You watch as Din leans over and picks whatever he found up and once he unearths it, you see it’s a helmet just like his. It’s dusty and broken. You are hoping he doesn’t turn around and offer it to you like it’s another one of his bad jokes.  

Something rumbles beneath your feet and you take three steps back and Grogu stays beside you, following you. You’re suddenly lost in a cloud of dust as something shoots up from under the sand where you had just been standing. You press the button on your lightsaber and unsheathe the plasma blade. It purrs like a loth-cat in your hands. You can hear Din groaning and exclaiming in pain. 

“Din!” You call out into the dust but he doesn’t respond. A red circle of light appears in the dust at least ten for fifteen feet in the air. It looks like there is an…eye…moving behind the red illuminated lens. You squint your eyes but something dark and big is coming at you in the dust cloud. You hold up your lightsaber and block your body with it. A large metal claw comes barreling at you. You hold the saber up as hard as you can and the claw comes into contact with the scorching heat of the blade you’re holding. It retracts for just a moment. You use that second step towards it and bring the saber down hard onto the metal claw. The handle vibrates wildly in your hand when you slice through it. 

The cyborg-crab-spider-robot in front of you is visible now that the dust has settled. You see Din’s helmet peeking out of the chest cavity of the creature and take another step towards him, the lightsaber held over your head. You bring it down like an ax on to the cyborgs claw again, this time leaving a large melted gash in the metal. 

“Drop him!” You bring the saber now sideways, slicing across the gash you just made. You leave a large melted X in the metal of the claw. One of the six legs of the cyborg comes up high above your head and you look up at it for a moment. “Shit.”

It starts to come down on top of you but you dive to the right, away from the child. You roll over on to your back immediately and see him pulling the one leg from the ground and another leg, a new one comes up above your head and comes down fast. You scramble backwards quickly, the leg comes down hard and pierces the sand and whatever was below that between your knees. “You son of a bitch.” You look up at the cyborg's red eye who is pinned right on you. 

It’s claw is stuck now. He can’t pull it out. You point at the cyborg and stand while it struggles to free its stuck leg.

“” You swing the lightsaber at your side a couple of times in one hand, bring it to your chest, grip it tightly now in both hands, and with as much power as you can muster inside of you, bring it down sideways into the leg of the creature. You slice right through  metal and the remaining part of its leg comes free from the piece stuck into the ground. The creature lets out a screeching, mechanical scream and takes a stumbling step back. He never releases Din as he turns and scurries down the metal pipe you were all just walking down 

Grogu starts to babble and you look back at him. He’s pointing in the direction the cyborg just went. 

“What? You want me to follow it? I don’t think I can take that thing by myself.” You’re panting, watching the cyborg scurry further away.

You’re in shock. You cannot believe you just did that. Who are you? An actual warrior? The cyborg is out of sight now. You keep your plasma blade extended while you rest your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. 

Grogu starts to float after Din in his orb, babbling sadly. 

“Okay. We’ll go see what we’re up against at least before I go running for help, I guess,” you sigh and keep your lightsaber extended as you follow behind Grogu.

You’re careful where you step and laugh softly at your earlier thoughts about not having a light. You had one this whole time. This saber was brighter than the lights either of the boys had.

Grogu leads you down the dark metal pipe underneath the Civic Center of the city. Metallic scraping and electric ticking fills the air. You sheath your saber and Grogu stops, holding his arms up to you. 

Grogu and yourself carefully make your way into a large room like the one before but this one is filled with cages and chains and all sorts of other mechanical things you don’t know the name for. You and Grogu kneel behind a rock that’s shooting out of the ground. You’re higher up, on a ledge with maybe a two foot drop to the sand below in the room. You spot Din– he’s in one of the cages but this one is in the center of the room. The cyborg limps along before it rests behind a table. The eye in the center of the red illuminated circle disappears. A hatch opens on the top and a giant bug-like creature pokes its head out. It has multiple galls down the side and back of its body; sharp ones that look like they’d poke you real good if they got into you. 

The bug has long legs and lanky arms. It might be the scariest thing you’ve ever seen. You watch as it walks to Din and starts to disarm him, tossing his weapons on the ground carelessly. The darksaber gets thrown into the sand like it’s nothing. 

Grogu looks at you and you look back at him. 

“It’s too big for you.” You mouth to the child. He looks at the lightsaber that’s in your hand. You sigh quietly. Grogu is good with a saber, not as good as you but he can defend himself if needed. Not really great on the offense if you can remember correctly from one of your few sparring sessions with him at the temple. “I don’t know if I can even get it.” You mouth to him, pointing at the darksaber. 

Grogu closes his eyes and holds his little partially closed fist out and starts to concentrate. 

“Oh my Maker.” You can't believe it as you turn your head and watch as the darksaber starts to wiggle on the ground sightly. “No fucking way.” It’s all silently mouthed, so the bug doesn’t hear you.

The saber starts to wriggle a little more and then it’s being dragged across the ground. It stops at the bottom of the rock you two are sitting behind. “Up. Lift it up!” You mouth to the baby, motioning with your hands ‘up’, watching the darksaber flop on the ground. 

Grogu babbles at you in a whisper. You turn to him and plead quietly.

“I know it’s heavy but you need to lift it. Lift it up and I’ll grab it. We need to do it for Din.” You put a gentle hand on Grogu’s shoulder. “You can do it. You’re strong. Strong Grogu.” You encourage him and go back to peeking over the edge of the rock at the saber in the sand. “C’mon.” You whisper to Grogu. “So close.” It’s a strained whisper as you carefully and slowly start to reach for the weapon on the ground below you, it’s just out of your reach, flopping around in the sand. You’re fully exposed like this. If the bug were to turn around like it’s doing right now it would- shit. 

The bug sees you reaching for the saber on the ground and lets out a shriek of surprise. 

“Hi.” You wiggle your fingers at him as you let the rest of your body slide down the rock. The saber's in your hand already as you take a face and mouthful of sand. You somersault, unsheathing the blade as you land on your ass.

The bug is already coming at you. The darksaber pushes back against your hand like it’s being propelled in the opposite direction in which you're holding it.

“Knock it off!” You growl at it. Your own saber, the beskar lightsaber, the beautiful thing that Din gave you, gets tossed up behind your head. “Grogu, catch!” You yell over your shoulder as you grasp the darksaber in both hands now and drive it into the small lanky inside part of the thigh of the bug. It lets out another shriek, this time of pain and scrambles back towards its metal robotic spider. 

You spit out the rest of the sand that’s in your mouth and scramble on your hands as knees as you try to stand, following the bug quickly. 

“Oh no you don’t.” You bring the darksaber down hard where the bug just placed its hand. All of its fingers slide off of the limb they were attached to. “Yes!” You exclaim, looking at the blade of the darksaber. “C’mere,” you grunt, reaching with your free hand, grabbing the bug by its wounded, finger-less nub. You squeeze it as tightly as you can. The bug looks down at you, starting to chomp its angry and sharp teeth towards you.

You yank him down off the mechanical crab-spider-hybrid-robot-thing the bug was trying to crawl into. You bring the saber down on its arm as you’re still holding on to its wrist. The arm detaches in your hand and you throw it back at him angrily. The gross insect is attempting to crawl away on its back, looking up at you. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it either,” You hold the darksaber grip close to your side and reach out with your free hand now, holding onto the bug's shoulder. You lunge forward and drive the plasma blade into its chest. It shrieks again and lets out a small wheeze before going limp below you. 

Grogu is standing behind you, your pale pink plasma blade extends from the handle as you turn around to look at him. 

“Now you want to help? I’m already done.” You wipe the remaining sand off your face and out of your mouth, spitting as you walk towards Din. “Are you alright?” Kneeling beside Din in the cage.

“Yeah. Get me out please.” Din groans. 

You stand up again and unsheathe the darksaber and bring it down hard on the lock of the cage. It melts apart and Din falls to the sand with another groan. You attempt to help him up but he ends up just yanking you down on top of him when he tries to pull himself up. 

Your chest feels like it explodes when it hits his beskar chest plate. All the air you’ve ever known or planned on knowing is nowhere to be found.

Now, Din has to get up on his own and now help you up as you wheeze and writhe on the sand in pain. 

“Why?” You wheeze up at him as he brings you to your feet. “I just…saved your life…and you knocked the…wind out of me… hit me in the… forehead.” You rub the new red spot on your forehead from the chin of his helmet and continue to wheeze and try to find new air somewhere.

Din places one hand on your back as you lean forward and rest your hands on your knees, a similar position to the other room but this time your head hurts. “Not helping you…ever again.” You groan as the wind finds you now. 

“Fucking impressive.” Din says finally once you’re standing vertical again. “You figured out the saber then already.” Din half jokes, half can’t believe it himself. 

“Gotta be mean to it.”

It's blurry suddenly, and you feel weightless. You’re being flung through the air–fast. The air is stolen from you, not just lost this time…no.

Someone you cannot see took the air from you when you hit the rock you were flung against. “Oh fuck," It doesn't come out as audible sounds, just wheezes and gasps for air.

Din is no longer standing where he was, he has the darksaber that you dropped when you got flung into the air in his hand, and is running for his blaster pistol. 

How did you get all the way over here?

Grogo throws your lightsaber in your direction as you try to stand but everything inside of you is on fire, so you don't catch it. You think your back might be broken because you feel like jelly. The weapon lands at your feet as you struggle to kneel, unable to keep your balance even so low to the ground.

Din shouts something in distress, and you search harder for strength to stand somewhere inside of you, taking the lightsaber in your fist. 

“I’m fucking over this thing” You wheeze, arching your back. Every single vertebrae you have snaps and pops back into place. It actually feels amazing. Something in your right shoulder pops when you roll them and that doesn’t feel too good but you press on. It hurts to lift the saber over your head, Din is still shouting though. You meet Din in the middle of the room as he gets knocked over onto his side by one of the quick moving feet. “Din!” You shout, holding your hand for the darksaber. 

The bug, who somehow got back into the fucking robot’s back is to you but when you shout it turns and it’s red eye finds you and it screams at you, turning now with it’s pincers clanking at you loudly as it snaps them together repeatedly. 

“I don’t know how I’m not dead either.” You sigh and take two quick steps towards and underneath the robot. It steps back with you but not quickly enough, missing the foot part of it’s one legs and it stumbles on the missing digit. “Okay.” You grunt as you shove your lightsaber up into the chest cavity of the bug. “Din!” You scream it at him as he aims his blaster pistol. You hold your other hand out but he doesn’t hear you. “Fuck!” You scream again, pulling the blade from within the cavity of the bug, oil spills out onto your face and chest as you push your blade upwards again. “Give me the fucking…darksaber!” You scream to no one as you try and drive the blade further into the chest cavity. You have both of your hands holding onto the grip. 

The bug is stuck on your blade, you must be shorting something inside of the chest cavity but it’s still clicking its pincers at you and Din now. Din’s dodging giant metal legs that are trying to spear him. 

“I need the fucking darksaber!” You scream it louder than you thought was possible. The bug is pulling away from your blade now and you don’t know if you’ll be able to get another good plunge upwards if he pulls away from you now. 

Grogu is standing where he had been when you guys entered the fucking cave in the start, hasn’t moved and inch but now his little fist is being held out in front of him and you’re watching in disbelief as he uses the force to take the darksaber from Din’s hand. It falls to the ground immediately but he pushes it towards you, still with the force. Once it’s at your feet you try to reach for it but your arm won't reach while you still have your lightsaber inside of it. 

You look between the bug above you and Din and Grogu and everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You yank your blade free from the bugs chest cavity, reach for the darksaber. The pain in your shoulder now is blinding as you drive your pale pink blade into the chest cavity once more as the bug moves over you, going after Din. You unsheath the darksaber with your other hand and drive that one up into the belly of the robot. The darksaber blade slices through it like it’s fabric and you’re able to tear along the belly of the bug-robot-crab-spider. You pull your own blade from the robot and bring it back to the darksaber blade and plunge yours alongside it. The bug tries to run but the blade tear further into the metal, melting it. 

The sand on your knees is the last thing you remember.

“Gotta wake up.” Din’s rasp is ringing in your ears. You shoot up and gasp. “There she is. Told you she was alright.” Din speaks to someone. It’s Grogu. “You alright little one? You scared the child.” Din sounds scared himself. 

“I don’t know.” You look at him with wide eyes. “What happened? Am I dreaming?” You look around, half expecting to be back on the Crest. You’re still in the robot-bugs room. “Am I alright?” Looking back at Din with fear in your eyes. “What happened? Did I fall asleep?” 

“Slow down.” Din rasps gently. “You passed out. Your shoulder was partially dislocated. I set back for you though.” You look down at your shoulder which is still on fire now that you think about it. “Fought through the pain like a real warrior.” Din grabs your left hand and brings you to your feet. 

“That thing’s really dead now?” You try to point but your shoulder sends fire to your brain. 

“Dead. All thanks to you. I was able to put a blaster into its head once it went down.” Din pats your back gently. You’re shaking. Every muscle and bone and tendon inside of you feels like it’s going to slip out of your skin.

Din walks with his hand on your back like that for what feels like seventeen more hours until you come to a pool of water. 

“Are these the waters?” You ask, leaning against a rock beside you. Din nods and takes a couple steps towards the edge.

Something in your heart aches when he does. You were hoping you’d never find them and he’d be able to keep his helmet off for you forever. Selfish thoughts. It’s hard to watch so you look away and pretend to inspect your shoulder but you sense Din standing in front of you. 

“One more before I go in.” Din’s unmodulated voice whispers to you.

It makes your head snap up and his dark eyes and perfect everything are looking down at you. You touch his face, hold it in your hands even though your shoulder is falling apart. You try and memorize every single line and wrinkle and facial hair he has. The shape of his eyebrows and the cupid's bow hidden partially behind his perfect mustache. It makes your eyes water, thinking you won’t get to see it again.

“No tears.” Din leans in and kisses you softly. There isn’t force behind it. This isn’t a kiss of lust. This kiss told you how much Din cared for you. How gentle this man could be with you, and you alone.

It physically hurts you when he pulls away and puts his helmet back on. Din was right, this wasn’t time for tears. Din was doing what he came here for–what he wished for–so you’ll support him. Wish the best for him and hope he’s doing the right thing. 

Din starts to recite the creed as he takes his first steps into the water. You watch as he slowly starts to sink lower and lower. Suddenly, he’s gone with a splash. You sit up and look at the now rippling water. 

“Where’d he go?!” You look at Grogu who is still looking into the dark water. “Grogu! Where did he go!?” You shout at the child. Grogu just points where Din had just been. You run to the water's edge and look in. You can see nothing. You start to panic but you dive in anyway, you’re going to save Din. You break the surface and take a deep breath and look down into the water but it’s too dark to see anything and it’s deep. You’ll never be able to swim down to where the bottom could be. You look to Grogu. “Is that thing waterproof?” 

The top half of the floating orb drops down and you can hear it seal from over by the entryway into this room. It speeds towards you and drops into the water in front of you. There are two handles right along the top. You place your hand in one and tap the top of his orb twice with the other before slipping your hand into the hold. You take the biggest breath of air you can into your lungs before Grogu submerges you. It's still dark down here but Grogu’s light is still on and you can kind of see. It’s mostly just rocks and then more darkness. 

Your shoulder feels like it might actually be dislocating right now with the speed this thing is pulling you through the water. It’s hard to hold on. You’re still relatively close to the surface when you need to tap on the top of the orb. Grogu brings you to the surface where you gasp softly as your head breaches the water. You breathe for several seconds and put just your face in the water looking down below you. A light. Din’s light. It’s so far down. So, so far and still so far to the left of you guys. You tap the top of the orb after taking another big breath and steer the orb so you guys are right over Din. 

Air. You need air. You knock on the dome and Grogu takes you to the surface again.

“Open.” You spit water out of your mouth as Grogu partially opens his orb. “He’s right down there. So far down–” Your head goes under the water for a second but you reappear and spit water out of your mouth again. “You need to go down fast, Grogu faster than you can make this thing go. I’m gonna grab him and hold onto him and you at the same time and you need to bring me back up to the top faster than you brought me down there, okay? I don’t want to die, Grogu. Please.” You feel tears coming to your eyes. 

Gorgu closes his orb and revs its little engine. It makes you laugh as tears fall down your cheeks. You tread water for another minute before you inhale as deeply as you can and grab the hand holds. You knock twice. 

Darkness. Plunged into a wet noiseless void. It’s worse than the room at night. At least Din was there to keep you safe and now you have to save him!? This was so much worse. So much fucking worse than you could have ever imagined anything Din did out here in the galaxy when you were back on the Crest. You’re so close and already your body is telling you to expel this bad air. You let out a couple bubbles and the pressure in your chest releases a little. 

You’re at the bottom. You have your hands around Din’s waist but you can’t lift him. You try so hard, you calm your mind like a Jedi and try again but you’re not strong enough. You shout at him under the water but he doesn’t respond. More bubbles escape from your mouth as you plant your feet firmly on the wet sand below you and pull up from under Din’s arms as much as you can. He slides across the ground and you shriek. You get one arm under his chest and knock on the top of Grogu’s orb. He takes off as your hand finds the hold and you’re being rocketed upwards.

You can feel Din slipping and your hand is slipping out of the hold on Grogu's orb now too. Then it's gone. Grogu’s orb is gone.

You’re plummeting back down to the bottom and you connect with a muted thud. It’s not as soft and sandy as you remember.

You look down and instead of white gray sand it’s–scales? You look around as you empty the last of the bad air out of your lungs. You look directly into one giant yellow eye. It’s so close you can see your reflection in it. The eye itself is bigger than you are. You have no idea what you’re seeing. Horns?

It’s a hallucination. Something your brain came up with to try and comfort you while you die, surely this isn’t real. The eye blinks at you twice.

Din lays beside you, still unmoving as your body instinctively takes a breath in. Water fills your lungs and everything is suddenly warm and quiet.

Okay-- SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. Not really.

This was my little take on what happened in the mines. I had so much fun writing out reader being a fucking BADASS and saving Din's life with that weird robot bug. I also don't know how drowning works- so... lmk if you do.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux @harriedandharassed @realmamabear79 @blahkateisdone @picketniffler @cheekychaos28 @lilac-boo @pedrostories @wandamaximoff4578 @probablyreadinsmut @katw474 @cowboy-like-m3

[squirrelno2]

Ok so Davrin! I have Thoughts about Davrin.

Because if you’re aware at all of the stuff I write you’re probably aware that I am a big fan of the kind of character who subsumes their own desires and survival and personhood for the sake of being One Thing, whether that’s a living weapon/made to be a soldier situation or just a “I am Your Best Friend first and foremost situation”. It is, uh. Small wonder I end up liking characters of colour the most, since those are the ones most often written with a Purpose in the story who don’t get to expand beyond that Purpose in the narrative, or if they do have that arc that I crave it’s still underrepresented in fanworks so it becomes my favourite and most frustrating niche where I have to create the content I want to see in the world, which is “person who tries to ignore their own needs gets to realise they’re allowed to love and be loved whether or not they’re useful”. Please be aware that while I don’t specifically discuss Davrin’s Blackness in the next few paragraphs it is a large part of why I’m writing this now because it massively changes the way this story gets read, both because people with unexamined biases will gloss over his story and just accept Davrin as being a tool to the story instead of a person and also because those of us who are aware now must consider how to address such a storyline knowing that Black people most of all are reduced in their stories to things and plot points.

So getting back to Davrin in particular I am both obsessed with and frustrated by how he’s written because! His narrative is such a good example of this trope! He is a monster hunter, and to a lesser extent at the start a protector, and from the moment we meet him he is trying very hard to keep himself shut in that box. He downplays any effect he has on the griffons, is upset at the idea of taking care of Assan because that’s what the others are there for, he’s just the sword arm. As time goes on and we do things like, you know, fight an archdemon without getting our Warden buddy killed, he seems so lost and almost devastated to have not died when he was “supposed to” – and this is a man who doesn’t really seem suicidal at all, he has no real desire to die, he just. Expects to. And what he can do to save others is always more important to him than what he could do to save himself. When my Rook walked in there expecting to be overjoyed with him that they were both still around I have to think the gap in emotion was so jarring to both of them, because like. This man has accepted his own death in the face of the “greater good” for so long that he never once made a contingency plan or even wild hope for “what if I don’t die?” And it’s so cool that he and my Rook got to walk hand in hand through danger and decide they deserve to be happy! It’s so cool that you get to potentially get him through the entire game and into a life with open possibilities and who knows what kind of future for the Wardens! That’s my shit!

And while I can’t say I’ll never choose the Grey Warden option for the griffon choice, to me that is so much a metaphor about letting yourself become a weapon vs finding peace and joy that is in line with you as an individual that if I’m playing the game acting on my conscience, not a Rook who’s further from me, I will always choose Arlathan for them. Because that’s so obviously a metaphor for Davrin’s own growth as a character.

This is where it pisses me off, though – too much of that metaphor is treated literally. Davrin doesn’t verbally acknowledge what the griffons’ changing role means for him, and I’m unsure if an unromanced Davrin ever says anything about planning for the future, having only gotten through the game once thus far. The fucking epilogue where all the companions say a little line about what’s in their future and Davrin just mentions the griffons and not his own fucking life??? Like he had a little line about pursuing romance or whatever but again. That’s a romanced Davrin. If he and my Rook hadn’t vibed “the griffons found a new home in Arlathan” or whatever would have been presented as the sole culmination of Davrin’s character arc. I love coparenting a griffon as much as the next guy but we cannot replace the “sword arm” persona with a “griffon daddy” persona as though him subsuming his needs and wants for the sake of Assan is any better for him than doing it for the Wardens. What the fuck.

Anyway short version of all that is Davrin has my favourite kind of story, and griffons are a metaphor for the way Wardens treat themselves. and the POINT of me writing all that is that you cannot approach his story without acknowledging that the fact that he’s a Black man means people who work/ed on both canon and fan content are ready and willing to treat him as a tool in his own fucking storyline for the sake of an animal, and he deserves so much better because holy hell if you’re gonna write a Black man with this kind of “I exist for a Purpose alone” arc you have got to pay attention to what you’re doing. Please. his story involves Assan but it's not about Assan it's about him.

[iztarshi]

Viktor observations (S1, Act 1)

I've given into the blorbo feelings and just started taking notes on all Viktor's scenes. Rambling ahead.

Viktor starting out reading Jayce’s blackboard is such a fun way to foreshadow him getting involved. “I believe someone should have said that earlier” is snarky, but “what happened here?” may well be a genuine question. He does want to know.

Viktor does not seem remotely nervous around Enforcers. He has no trouble breaking into the conversation between Jayce and Greyson, nor any issues with being here to arrest someone. He’s right in both cases, he’s not in any danger and neither is Jayce, but there’s no undercity instinct of fear or distaste.

“I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy, who it may serve you to remember is also the Head of the Council.” Viktor throwing absolutely all of his borrowed authority into one sentence there. Jayce wanting to know who the hell he is isn’t entirely unreasonable, since as far as Jayce knows there’s a random snarky guy in academy uniform assisting with his arrest, but Viktor seems to take it as a challenge.

Viktor does seem to genuinely disapprove of Jayce at this point, which is fair since Jayce obviously thinks it’s really unfair that he’s in trouble for keeping explosives in his house.

*

I am fascinated that Viktor’s first impulse as he gets caught up in the idea of magic is to ask Heimerdinger if he could make Jayce’s theories work. It’s an interesting relationship because there’s warmth there and despite knowing Heimerdinger’s disapproval of magic, Viktor’s not worried about letting on that he’s interested (although he definitely downplays how interested) and there’s a feeling of familiarity, a sense that Viktor has brought his interests to Heimerdinger before. Heimerdinger doesn’t seem to take Viktor very seriously, but then he treats all his students like children.

Viktor’s also, sort of, under Heimerdinger’s protection. As we saw with him throwing Heimerdinger’s titles at Jayce, without a patron or a house name the fact that he works for Heimerdinger is what gives him any kind of status in Piltover.

*

Viktor’s approach to suicide prevention is really funny. He starts out being sarcastic, seems genuinely surprised when Jayce reacts badly to that, and then treats Jayce being about to jump off a building as an unfortunate obstacle to discussing his theories. I don’t think he’s intentionally being mean, but he came here prepared to have one conversation and it was not one about Jayce’s feelings. He softens up a lot at Jayce’s sincerity about how beautiful magic is and “no one believed in me” obviously strikes a chord with him.

“Poor, cripple, from the undercity” hits a lot harder in the wake of season 2. Viktor says it defiantly here, it’s what other people think of him, but it obviously has shaped a lot of how he sees himself. And notably I don’t think it’s how Jayce sees him at all - even when he didn’t like Viktor in previous scenes he was thinking he was an asshole, not any of that. I don’t think poor or from the undercity are even things Jayce could tell, and Jayce doesn’t react to Viktor needing a cane. (He’s very solicitous of Viktor in Act 2 but that seems to be a result of knowing Viktor for seven years and also Viktor’s failing health.)

“I want to help you complete your research” is also something where the specific phrasing hits now, because Viktor wanting to help is at the root of so much. I’m not sure there are any relationships Viktor forms where he’s not helping (think of “can I help?” to Singed about Rio) except maybe Heimerdinger and there he’s a literal assistant, but he is getting paid for it.There’s a mixture of ambition - as he says later, he doesn’t want to be an assistant all his life - and sincerity here. I don’t think Viktor was expecting to get anything out of helping Jayce, necessarily, but he still wanted to create magic for its own sake and for the sake of the people it could help.

“When you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission” is such a cool line and also probably a warning about how far Viktor is from being grounded about anything ever.

The main impression Viktor gives so far is that he’s really intense. Whether he’s intensely disapproving, intensely interested, or intensely encouraging.

*

While a great deal of tragedy has been happening to Vi’s family, our scientists have clearly been having a great time filling this blackboard.

I have questions about where Viktor is from… well, no, not where he’s from exactly, the answer is the undercity, but is he from an immigrant community? Not only does he have an accent no one else shares but his reaction to the phrase “crank it” comes off as if English (or whatever they’re speaking) might be his second language. None of our other Zaunites are remotely unfamiliar with slang.

The “crank it” exchange is so adorable, not for what they’re saying but for how they’re animated. Jayce giving Viktor a look of blatant admiration for figuring it out and Viktor’s startled little smile as he realises he and Jayce are enjoying one another’s company. They’re both lonely, Jayce gets along with people but I think he has trouble really connecting to people when so many dismiss the thing he’s built his life around as dangerous nonsense even before he nearly got banished for it. They want to be friends so badly.

The timing of Viktor pulling out the keys to Heimerdinger’s lab is amazing and hilarious.

*

The scientists are very cute, attempting a break in their academy uniforms and being bad at it. The vibe is definitely more misbehaving students than hardened criminals.

I wonder if Viktor’s blue flashlight is chemtech? It somehow looks more undercity than like anything we see in Piltover.

Viktor’s reaction to Mel is interesting. I mean, aside from “this isn’t my bedroom”, once she and Jayce start talking it’s Viktor who answers her question about why Jayce can prove it now when he couldn’t earlier with “we figured out how to stabilise it”. He’s very much not inclined to keep quiet or let Jayce handle things.

I don’t think Mel means “You’re the professor’s assistant” to be demeaning, I think she’s trying to figure out what on earth Viktor is doing here. Jayce is immediately protective though.

“Heimerdinger will recognise the potential,” Viktor says. Viktor’s going against Heimerdinger here - robbing him, in fact - but he assumes it’s something that will be all right afterwards. If he can just make Heimerdinger see then of course proof will win him over.

“Piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation,” says Jayce, completely without irony. Which is probably part of why Viktor is looking less than happy about the way this is going.

The other part might be that Jayce and Mel have a rapport that decidedly leaves Viktor out. Mel wants to use science to put Piltover on the map, but she deals in people. Earlier she baits Jayce into revealing what he was trying to do in front of the council (and nearly gets him exiled), here Jayce tries the same thing more clumsily. First baiting her when she says Heimerdinger and the council are scared by asking if she is, and then with an appeal to emotion - and to the benefits of having Piltover be the place to develop this technology, which is decidedly the right tack to take with Mel. He probably didn’t need to convince her, and certainly can’t manipulate her, but the fact that he responds on her playing field makes him interesting to her.

Viktor does not like any of this and gives Jayce an absolutely disgusted look for being smitten with her.

The lines are already laid out. Mel wants to put Piltover on the map and make it more prosperous, Viktor wants to help the people who need it most, Jayce wants both and is not ready for the contradictions.

*

Viktor’s expression in response to “are you sure you know what you’re doing?” is so funny.

He is sure enough to tell Jayce to trust him instead of turning the machine off, though. Viktor’s really in charge of this whole venture.

They’re so smitten with the magic itself. Bright-eyed and fascinated.

Viktor using his cane to bar the door is one of those things that really highlights how much things have changed by act 2. Here he needs it sometimes, but as long as he’s in a single room he seems to be able to move around without it and plans around that.

Jayce ís copying the mage’s actions from memory when he activates the crystal. Knowing the mage was Viktor I wonder if some of the theatricality was to make the gestures easy to copy? Not that making hextech easier for Jayce to crack actually helps with the apocalypse but I’m not sure what the mage was trying to do, and if he’s leaving Jayce with runes he does seem to want Jayce to be able to use them.

I don’t really have anything to say about the floating. It’s amazing and they’re so happy. Just pure wonder.

“This is not what Piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys.” Heimerdinger really wants them to come down so he can scold them. They’re his dear, wayward pupils and he’s very fond of both of them, far too fond to really be angry.

[ww2yaoi]

rewatched episode 1 of the pacific. instead of inundating you all with one bajillion posts I'm just gonna dump all my thoughts in one post per episode. here we go:

leckie’s letters to vera are a great narrative device even if they didn’t happen irl. establishes leckie as the thoughtful writer type and also provides a good excuse for voiceover narration that clarifies leckie’s thoughts and the headspace he’s in to the audience :D also really funny that irl vera was like we never met at church! I was protestant!

“when this is all over… let’s say a year from tonight” oh sweet summer child… but the way everyone in basilone’s family kind of knows shit is going to get fucked up and their faces fall but they can’t acknowledge it because they can’t scare each other. man

very interesting the different kinds of father figures that are shown in this show. the kindness and gentleness of men like eugene’s father and basilone’s father vs. the flippant and distant nature of leckie’s father… this show says a lot about family that the other shows don’t because they never focus on the homefront. makes the pacific very unique

eugene weeping in the very first scene he’s in… literally character of all time

I love the dynamic between eugene and his brother it’s soooooooo interesting

“thank you, gene, but I didn’t—” WHAT WAS HE GOING TO SAY!!!!! probably something about not needing a gift or a going away present… or not getting eugene anything in return

love the acting in the sid and eugene scene when sid says “you don’t have to worry about me” it’s so faaaaake his fake assssss the way the bravado is so put on and his smile falls and he looks worried for a moment like he is so scared. and eugene is just anime eyes so endeared with him for whatever reason that i don’t think he notices that sid is scared at all. they’re stupid boys and it’s all probably been exciting up to this point and eugene probably admires sid for what he’s doing but it’s all going to come crashing down and I think you can see the first hints of collapse in the acting

the way they ask leckie what does this all mean why are we here and he chooses a homer quote that’s basically like don’t ask questions you don’t need external reasons or justifications just do it because it’s your duty to your country and that’s right and just. literally the most vague answer he could’ve given. he’s such a little shit

the entire second half guadalcanal part is so very excellent… maybe it’s just because I have a lot more context after reading sid’s book but I enjoyed it immensely and I’m surprised not more people talk about how good this part of the episode is

leckie getting called a dummy for almost falling off the rope ladder lmao can y’all be nicer to him please

I love the subversion of expectations in the landing scene. I know it happened like this irl but it almost feels like metacommentary on war media about the eto like saving private ryan and band of brothers. like if that’s our frame of reference we think this is the pto’s version of d-day, but it’s so anticlimactic. it’s no day of days it’s no saving private ryan opening scene. just goes to show what a different kind of war the one against japan will be and how the show will be different too

the night scenes are definitely difficult to comprehend sometimes in this show LMAO but to be fair the characters would also be discombobulated so we’re probably getting a glimpse at how it would be for them… nonetheless… it does take some focus to 1. identify which character it is (4 different whites we will deliberate) and 2. what are they doing and where are they going and what are they saying it’s so loud — like I never really noticed until now that sid is the leader of his mortar squad, or whatever positon is the one that calls the mortars

maybe a reach but it’s interesting how sid is framed as a witness to the nervous breakdown of that very gung-ho sergeant who was going on those aggressive racist rants in the troop ship before the invasion. did seeing that as well as lt. stone’s reaction to it (“he’s lost it”) contribute to some of his more reppressive coping mechanisms postwar… not wanting to think about it and not wanting to be seen as weak for being affected by it. keeping up the facade?

there's this shot near the end of the episode

and I always thought they were just burning japanese pictures and letters they found on the japanese soldiers but it's actually this from sid's book I believe:

much darker...

okay I think that's all I have to say stay tuned for my thoughts on ep 2 :)

[otaku553]

Haha

[fitpacs]

,