#and it's been taken from them in ways that even with THAT it's not going to fix at all

[lesamis]

If you're up for it could you explain what is making the Germany government stuff so funny? I can find news articles about it (a coalition is dissolving? There's been tension for a while?) but they're all fairly serious. Thx!

ohhh, sure thing! i'll do my best!

i'll say upfront: this is a pretty serious thing to happen. our chancellor fired our minister of finance, Lindner, which definitively breaks up the governing coalition. germany will likely have snap elections at a moment in which far-right parties are polling extremely well. if news coverage about it seems like people are Worried, that's because, well, they are.

however. the reason it's funny is because our minister of finance was fired. ministers aren't really... ever fired. like, it's not a done thing. i'll fully admit i didn't even know it was an option until yesterday. and our minister of finance wasn't just anyone, he was one of the most mocked and hated figures in politics to germans who vote anywhere left of center.

the coalition that governed until yesterday was made up of the green party, the social democrats, and the neoliberal party (FDP). the FDP is infamous (and i mean, my parents already raised me to hate them for that) for playing kingmaker in coalition governments: they never get all that many votes, but they get just enough that whoever they agree to form a government with will probably succeed. they then tend to force extreme concessions from their coalition partners, because hey, if we walk off, you can't govern at all! so you better play along!

for the past three years, this behaviour has been extremely frustrating for germans who voted for greens or social democrats, because policy from their faction was constantly being blocked by the FDP and often by Lindner personally. the FDP received 11,5% of votes in 2021, but to many of us, it felt as if they were the only party who really had any say in the governing coalition. it made the green and social democratic coalition partners look spineless and passive.

and now, i invite you to imagine how on the day of the US election results, the day the whole world rolled their eyes at the sheer fucking stupidity and pointlessness of it all, at NINE IN THE EVENING, just as germans are getting ready to settle in to bed to dream of nightmare global politics -

the news suddenly breaks that our notoriously invisible chancellor just decided to fire Lindner for that exact behaviour. this chancellor comes out and says, on camera, to the entire sleepy nation, that acting the way Lindner did - blocking necessary policies, refusing to approve budgets unless his party's interests were met - was childish, selfish, irresponsible, and unfit for government, so, whoops, he had to go. shame. coalition over, i guess.

so, politically, that was a long-needed but never-expected moment of triumph for those of us who think the FDP is a clown show made up of human TESLA shares, and it came at a hysterically funny moment.

on a personal level, i can barely explain how uniquely hateable Lindner has always been. he's what would happen if a stock index graph came to life. he hates poor people with a relish; he mocks welfare recipients and would ax minimum wages in a second. he's everyone's business major roommate who shows up in boat shoes fresh off a yacht to discuss NFTs with you. throughout the entire time that he's used his rich boy policy blackmail strategy, he's been smug about it, and he was never taken to task for it, and millions of germans have been longing to throw rotten fruit in his face since 2017. and now we finally get to do it. via memes. on the day of trump's election win.

so that's why it's funny.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pup's Halloween

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Child!Reader

Summary: The fourteenth of my Halloween-centric fics

Lucy loves her family.

Her parents. Her brother and sister. Her aunts and uncles and grandparents. All her cousins and everything in-between.

But she loves, most of all, this little family in Spain she has.

With Ona tucked under her arm in bed and the baby in their new bedroom just down the hall and the even more excitable child that she shares with Keira and Laura.

She loves Keira too, to an extent. Not that romantic love that surrounded them when you got adopted but still a deep love that comes with being co-parents to an excitable little girl that's up way too early to be healthy.

"Pup," Lucy groans, voice still thick with sleep and unbelievably groggy as she hears the familiar pitter-patter of feet on the carpeted floor," It's too early."

"No," You say," Mummy says when the clock says nine and five-zero. She says that's wakeup time."

"I'm not Mummy, Pup," Lucy reminds you," This isn't Mummy and Mama's house. It's Mum and Mami's house."

"With Baby Sibling, yes, I know. Still, wake up time. Pumpkin day."

Lucy's eyes crack open, lifting her head off the pillow and astounded by the way Ona's still fast asleep throughout this whole exchange.

"Why don't you just get into bed with us?" Lucy asks, weary and still heavy with sleep.

You point to the tv mounted on the wall. "Paw Patrol?"

"Mami's still asleep."

"I wake her."

Lucy fights back a groan. "No, Pup. We can watch Paw Patrol but it has to be low, alright? Mami deserves to sleep."

"Okay."

Lucy helps you into the middle of the bed, letting you drink from her water and turning on your favourite episode of Paw Patrol before you speak again.

"Baby Sibling awake too," You tell Lucy.

She screams into her pillow - her lay in well and truly forgotten.

By the time she gets back to the bedroom with the baby, you've successfully woken Ona who looks a little dazed and confused but happy nonetheless.

"And Mama take me climbing at rock wall with funny thing around my legs," You're telling Ona when Lucy comes back in.

"I told her not to wake you."

Ona laughs, bundling you closer as she raises her arms for the baby. "I have no problem being woken by Pup kisses."

You grin at her, showing off all your pearly whites before clambering over to Lucy to give her kisses too.

"Pumpkins now?"

"Later," Lucy corrects," Let's get through breakfast first."

The idea of pumpkin carving had originally been Keira's idea but it had only been in passing but you'd really taken to the idea, insisting that you actually get to do it with at least one of the couples.

At seeing the slight look of disgust on Laura's face at the idea of rummaging around in pumpkin guts, Ona offered up her and Lucy as the sacrifices.

Which is really the reason why Lucy's sat at her own kitchen table trying to dig a knife through the stubborn pumpkin sat in front of her.

The baby babbles happily in their highchair as Ona stands at the kitchen sink, supervising your hand washing.

"Do you need any help, Luce?" She asks.

"No!" Lucy insists," I've got this!"

She very much doesn't have this but Lucy isn't about to let a stupid pumpkin beat her.

Finally, after several desperate moments, she manages to cut through and breathes a sigh of relief as you come over, dressed in your puppy costume.

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says, hefting you up onto her lap," We're going to take this pen and draw what we want to cut out."

You take the pen, nodding seriously. "I draw puppy."

"No, Pup," Lucy says gently," It's Halloween. Remember those designs I showed you? Something like that."

Ona chuckles from her seat across the table with her own pumpkin.

"No," You say," I want puppy."

"I-"

"If she wants to draw a puppy then let her draw a puppy," Ona laughs," It'll make her happy."

"But I'm the one that has to cut it out."

"Then you'll make her happy," Ona says.

Lucy sighs again and you look up at her.

"Mum?"

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says," Let's find some pictures of a dogs on a pumpkin to get ideas, alright? Let's see if we can copy one down."

Ona, like Lucy predicted, finishes her pumpkin much quicker than you and her and you leave Lucy to cut out the picture in favour of watching Ona place a candle into her pumpkin, showing you the way it lights up the scary face she's cut out of it.

"Do you need any help?" Ona asks.

"No! I've got this!" Lucy insists as she gets through a particularly tricky curved area of your puppy drawing," I'm nearly done."

But it seems Lucy's version of nearly done is different to Ona's definition of nearly done because times passes and your baby sibling gets put to bed and you have your bath time.

"Mum," You call, toddling towards her in a different puppy onesie," Night-night."

"Night, Pup," Lucy says on autopilot, leaning down to drop a soft kiss to your crown," Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams!" You says back, slobbering all over Lucy's cheek in your own version of a night time kiss before hurrying back to Ona for your bedtime story and a glass of warm milk.

"Done!" Lucy announces, putting down her tools to triumphantly look around," I did it!"

"That's nice." Ona's head pops around the door frame. "But can you be a bit quieter? The kids are asleep."

[rhube]

Listen, having worked in university marketing, I am here to tell you that not all ads are evil or trying to deceive you. People work really hard at conveying precisely the information you need that will tell you if a product is for you.

There are people in advertising and marketing who are well aware of the laws about not deceiving customers and who think constantly about what they can provide evidence to claim, not making stuff up.

And yeah, they're trying to persuade you, but that doesn't automatically mean 'buy this piece of shit we're telling you is solid gold'. It means, 'we really believe in this, we have evidence that it's good and could be a great thing for you, but we need to find a way to tell you that and make you trust us' which takes a lot of thought.

And as a consumer there's a lot of stuff I just wouldn't know about if not for advertising. We need advertising to tell people there are solutions to problems, quality products, and fun things to get excited about.

Advertising isn't inherently BAD. And it's one of the few industries in which creative people can make a liveable wage with their art or writing.

The problem we have at the moment is that a lot of people with no training in making good ads, people who don't care about laws, or are based somewhere with less regulation, who are churning out annoying, misleading, not-accesdible garbage.

And these people aren't researching their audience and tailoring the content to people for whom its relevant. Instead a whole tech industry has grown up where people who know fuck all about marketing have companies that scrape and aggregate your data, who sell it to other tech companies that sell advertising space, which is bought up by yet another automated service that has been trained to get 'the best deal' for the company that wants to sell a product.

That's not how it works when you wanna make a useful ad. You should be doing customer research with your actual customers. Analysing the data you get to tailor both the advert and the advertising space.

But these automated systems talking to other automated systems don't do that.

Like, first off, the data is SHIT. It may not even differentiate content you noped out of from stuff you looked at for half an hour. And if it does, it treats all the content on the page equally. All the stuff you're ignoring is tagged as 'on sites this user spends a lot of time on'. Whereas human customer research, for which customers consent and usually receive some kind of reward, involves tracking eye movements, mouse movements, clicks, and an interview afterwards to ask what they were thinking about and why they stayed on one page over another. This is so much more helpful! It helps make content more useful to users and prevents wasted marketing effort.

But almost no one does it these days because, well, it's expensive. You gotta compensate the consumers you do your research with, design sensible things for them to test, have someone monitor and analyse what they do, and interview them after. That's very expensive compared to a bunch of lightning fast calculations that can all be automated. So companies don't pay to do it properly, and they don't actually tailor their ads to you, and they're not trying to be informative.

At best (and I can't stress enough how rare this is) ads that are based on this data and algorithms and/or machine learning deliver what will get you to look at the ad for longer or click the ad to go to a website. But if that means bright flashing colours and the world's tiniest 'x' so you can't actually close the ad without clicking through, these automated systems are designed to get you to do THAT, not buy the product.

Honestly, I know it sounds like I'm asking for sympathy for the devil, but I have seen this from the tech side, the marketing side, the researcher side, and the user doing the test. I have taken a course on content strategy and heard what academics in this field have to say, and it's honestly not evil. They're trying to adapt to an environment where you're constantly barraged with demands on your attention, so it is in the advertiser's best interest to be clear and tailored and not waste your time.

But unfortunately an awful lot of people have been sold on the idea that these automated systems ARE targeting people who would be interested with stuff that's relevant to them, and they're just NOT.

You can see it if you compare an entertaining TV ad by an established brand who can pay for the research to the vast majority of internet ads. They can be funny, entertaining, informative, even insightful. They can also be stereotyped and annoying of course, but on the whole they're much less of a headache than the nonsense funnel we get exposed to constantly online and in mobile games.

Tbh, advertisers, producers, and consumers have all been screwed over by VC-owned companies that are being squeezed from on high for every last drop of short term capital. And that means automating things because it's cheaper and quicker than human analysis, even if it means the whole thing becomes annoying, unhelpful garbage.

But scale it back and think about your artist friend. Your creator with a small etsy business. Your self-published author. Your inventor with a neat accessibility tool. They aren't producing groceries, but if they don't advertise, literally no one will know their products exist.

Advertising DOES have a good and important role. Under-regulated advertising in a toxic system not aimed at serving producers OR customers is hamstrung and cannot perform that role.

The only acceptable ads should be shit like "groceries on sale" and "free event at the local library"

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.���

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[lvmoure]

When I Was Your Man CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

Summary: In which Carlos realized that it was his lost.

Warnings: break-up, angst, cheater

The room was silent except for the quiet hum of the city lights through the window. Carlos sat across from you on the plush couch, his posture as stiff as his gaze. He looked at you, but it felt as if he was staring through you, his expression cold and unreadable. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the emptiness echo through the large, beautiful room that you both once shared.

"I just don’t understand, Carlos." Your voice was barely a whisper, yet it hung heavy in the air. "All I ever wanted was…something real. Just us. Simple things."

Carlos looked away, his jaw tight. "You knew how it would be from the beginning," he said, his voice flat, distant. “With my schedule, the travel, the life…you knew.”

You felt a pang in your chest. "I did know. I accepted all of it because I believed in us. But it feels like I don’t even know you anymore. I wanted you, Carlos. Not your career, not your lifestyle. Just…you."

A long, strained silence followed. You watched as he shifted in his seat, finally meeting your eyes with a flicker of something — perhaps regret, perhaps sadness — before it disappeared.

"What did you expect, then?" he asked quietly, almost defensively. “I told you from the start…I don’t do… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if “this” was something foreign, strange. "All this hand-holding and flowers, it’s not me."

You looked down at your hands, fingers nervously twisting together. "I expected that maybe…just maybe…you'd try. Maybe care about what I want. Just small things, like holding my hand, talking to me at the end of the day. It’s never been about grand gestures, Carlos."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s not even about what you did with her. It’s about feeling like I was never enough. Like I was just…there.”

He stiffened, his eyes darkening, but he stayed silent. The absence of words weighed heavier than any argument. It was as if he was already gone, the connection that once held you two together severed.

“Carlos…are you even sorry?” you finally asked, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, he seemed taken aback. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but then he looked away, his gaze falling back to the ground. “I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

A bitter smile crept onto your face. “Sometimes silence says more than anything, doesn’t it?” You stood up, taking one last look at him. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for you. And that was when you knew — he wasn’t going to fight for this.

A few months had passed, and in many ways, you felt freer than ever. It was strange to think that such simplicity could bring such happiness. And then, there was Timothée.

Timothée was different. He was warm, gentle, attentive — all the things you had longed for, the things Carlos had seemed incapable of giving. Tonight, as you both walked out of a small café, the warmth of his hand in yours was almost surreal. You glanced down, a smile touching your lips. It was such a small gesture, but it meant the world.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you with a soft concern that had become second nature to him. He always asked how you were, always noticed the little shifts in your mood.

You nodded, smiling up at him. "I’m good. Really."

He grinned, squeezing your hand. “Good. Because I have something for you.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bouquet of wildflowers. You laughed in surprise, a happy, genuine laugh. "Timothée…"

“They’re simple,” he said, smiling shyly. “But I thought you might like them.”

You took the flowers, your heart swelling with warmth. "They’re perfect."

He lifted your hand and kissed it softly. “Perfect for you, then.”

The flash of cameras brought you back to reality, and you blinked as the paparazzi swarmed around you. Timothée kept a firm grip on your hand, pulling you close and shielding you from the crowd. Unlike before, the attention didn’t feel invasive or stressful. With Timothée, it felt safe.

Later that night, as you lay next to him, you couldn’t help but think about how everything you had longed for with Carlos was finally here. Timothée’s arm was wrapped around you, his breathing soft and even. And for the first time in a long time, you felt seen, cherished.

Carlos sat in his dimly lit apartment, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table beside him. The photo on his phone screen showed you laughing, hand-in-hand with Timothée. You looked…happy. Really, truly happy.

The realization hit him harder than he expected. There was a pang of something sharp, bitter, clawing its way through him. Regret. He knew it now, more acutely than he ever had. He had taken you for granted, assumed you would always be there, no matter how cold or distant he’d been.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. Memories flooded back — moments when he could have held your hand, spoken to you, made you feel cherished. All the small things you’d wanted, the things he thought were meaningless, suddenly felt monumental.

“Carlos?” His teammate’s voice cut through the haze, but Carlos barely registered it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, brushing him off. “I need a minute.”

He turned back to the photo, something heavy settling in his chest. He thought of all the times he could have been there for you, the moments he missed out on because he was too focused on his career, too wrapped up in his own world to see you slipping away.

Another photo appeared in his feed — this one of Timothée with his arm around you, a small bouquet in your hands. He remembered you asking him, once, to bring you flowers. Just once. He’d laughed, brushed it off, called it “silly.” But now, seeing the way your face lit up for someone else, he understood.

As days passed, Carlos found himself haunted by the memories — your laughter, the way you’d always looked at him with such hope. It was the simple things that had mattered to you. All you had wanted was to hold hands, to feel connected, to know that he was there for you. And he’d let it all slip through his fingers.

He stared at his phone, re-reading your last text before the breakup. "I just wanted you, Carlos. Nothing more." He realized now, painfully, how simple that request had been, how much he had failed you by not seeing it.

Carlos closed his eyes, the regret pooling in his chest like a weight. You had been everything, and he hadn’t realized it until now — until it was too late. The cold, distant man he had been, the one who’d never truly understood your worth, had lost you to someone who cherished every part of you, someone who held your hand and brought you flowers.

He took a shaky breath, whispering into the empty room. "I’m sorry." But he knew it was too late. And he was left with nothing but the hollow echo of what could have been.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Ok I’ve seen some doomerism post-election that has clearly lost touch with all reality but this is next-level. If you’re thinking this way:

1) breathe.

2) go get some sunlight and maybe talk to a human being offline and/or not about Trump

3) step away from the go bags and emergency plans, because I guarantee you that whatever you are packing and planning in that state of mind isn’t actually going to be what you need if/when you need it. He doesn’t come into office until January. You can do this tomorrow or next week, once you’ve taken care of yourself. You can’t prepare for anything if you’re spiraling this badly.

4) breathe.

5) there will be history books. I know this because there have been kingdoms, and dictatorships, and empires where accurate literature was outlawed. They all fell eventually, and we know about them because someone somewhere wrote them down.

6) Even if you or I or we don’t survive this, if there are people still left in the world this history will be told and remembered. If there aren’t people left in the world, our stories will still be visible on pages and in photos, even if there’s nobody to remember. The concept of recorded information is not going to disappear. Our records will outlast us in the end.

7) if you are so worried about there being no histories, no truth, no stories left from those who are impacted, then I want you to pick up a notebook or piece of paper or napkin, or open a word document if you know a place (like a public library or school) that offers free printing services. Write now, write later, write what’s happening, copy and paste screenshots from social media, and hell copy/paste whole news articles, and print them. Write in class, write at work if you can, write before bed and when you wake up. This is how stories survive when they’re illegal. Take your pages and notebooks and printouts and put them in something watertight and secure, that you can carry with you, or give them to a trusted person with a house and bury them in old clothes, or make a time capsule. If you are afraid of the history of this time disappearing, it is in your power to change that.

8) or don’t. You don’t have to do it now, or this week, or this month. It’s something you can do, not something you have to do. Do it if it makes you feel better. Do it if it makes you worry less. Do it if it makes you feel powerful. You can also write or draw about things utterly irrelevant. It’s still your voice. Otherwise? Rest, be kind to yourself now.

9) breathe.

[guppybibi]

Simon is a stealthy man, obviously—it's required for his job. Though the fact isn't quite true when it comes to proposals. You could clearly tell what he had in store for you the moment he coincidentally didn't have any work to do when the weather was just right and when he suggested that it was the perfect time of year to propose relax and go on vacation to anywhere you'd like.

Of course, you play along obliviously and decide to go to a tropical place that you've been eyeing for a while now. Simon wasn't complaining about your choice either, a chance to watch the sunset together and see you in a cute swimsuit? Sign him up!

So he books you two a tropical getaway, and insists that you should use his card to go shopping for a nice little dress, yeah? What's your ring size too, love? For future reference..nothing else.

~

The trip so far has been nothing but perfect, the plane surprisingly had enough leg space so Simon was comfortable the whole time. No turbulence either, it was like God was on Simon's side this time.

When you two arrive at your destination, the fresh breeze gladly greets you and the sun's heat is making beads of sweat form on your forehead already. It seemed like the heat had the same effect on Simon as well, although he was sweating more profusely than you for some reason..He'd never tell but he was insanely nervous right now, it felt like his guts were being turned inside out over and over again.

Everything does go smoothly, you two arrive at the hotel he reserved, quickly changing into your swimsuits since you couldn't wait to go out there and take a stroll around the beach. Maybe collect some seashells as a souvenir, build sandcastles or get a tan, do whatever you want, princess. Simon's going to be right beside you the whole time, glaring sharp daggers at anyone who even dares to look at you in the wrong way. Was it too much and completely unnecessary? Maybe, but you could never be too safe in these times. Creeps were always everywhere, casually walking around in broad daylight, hidden in plain sight.

Every single thing you wanted to do or get, was done and bought. You had to say, you were pretty surprised when Simon wasn't making any sarcastic comments about how he wasn't a money dispenser. Not even batting an eye when you got something from a clear tourist scam, weird. But hey, you're really in no place to complain here. Plus, money comes back, but the memories you and Simon will make here won't.

~

Hand in hand, step by step, you and Simon walk by the shore, your eyes full of adoration as you tried tracing the glow of the sun's light on Simon's face. You couldn't tell what was more breathtaking, the landscape or the man in front of you? The sun was bound to set soon, though it never really rests, you couldn't even imagine being the sun, working nonstop with no breaks is a big no no.

Quite ironic since in Simon's eyes, you were technically his sun. You were the center of his world, everything was peaceful when he was around you. Unlike when he's in the military, it always feels like he's out of orbit.

He has to do it, his heart can't contain it anymore. He has to propose, he's going to propose. Right here, right now. It was the perfect moment, the sunset peering, maybe a few folks watching but Simon couldn't give a damn about them. This was about you.

"Love," he calls out, stuffing his hand into his pocket to get the ring box. You snap back to reality, tilting your head in acknowledgement. You were taken aback by the sight of him kneeling on one knee, holding out a box with a shiny ring inside that you were barely able to hear the words, "Will you marry me?".

Without hesitation, you scream out "Yes!" at the top of your lungs, leaving Simon chuckling, still not getting up. "Wait up, luv. I prepared a message for you, mind if I tell you it first?" You were still jumping around the place, looking like you were about to bounce off to outer space. Once you manage to collect your excitement, you nodded, preparing yourself to hear Simon's message to you.

It was all about how you were the light of his life, all of that. It was short and sweet, not unnecessarily long but truly from the heart.

It's safe to say that the both of you went home from that trip with a big grin on your faces.

[oimitocat]

STRAY KIDS REACTION….

… to boyfriend!reader being angry and they find it hot (nsfw warning) (hyung line!)

ᡴꪫ CHAN… was extremely similar to you. you’re a lay-backed person, sure sometimes you have episodes where you’re not exactly in the mood to socialize but still, you’re charismatic and let things slide more than he does. you always say it’s because you don’t have energy to entertain that stuff.

yet, seeing you angry — TRULY angry, was something he’d never think he’d get to see. so color him surprised when he hears you shout and pace. the furrow of your brows, your darkened eyes. you looked… good. that tone, he’d never heard it and… it stirred something in the pit of his stomach.

“something wrong?” he asks after a while of eye fucking you.

“company said i need to go on a damn hiatus because some shitheads are spreading a rumor. i could care less, why do they have to make it seem like i’m anxious or whatever?”

chan blinks. “rumor?”

“yeah, super stupid. all i did was call them to say i wasn’t happy with how our last show ended. dude, they literally couldn’t get my headset to work, i had to wing the timing and stuff. their lack of work effort pisses me off.” you groan.

“i know but…” chan pauses when you glare at him. he swallows, “hey, i mean a hiatus is good. you get to rest.”

“i don’t want to rest-“

“i get to have you all to myself without worrying about you missing out on your schedule.”

“if you’re bored, play with me. if you’re angry, take it out on me. you’ll have all the time to do so.” he grins.

you blink, “i- what?” and you can’t even be angry anymore… just frustrated. but chan will also take that.

ᡴꪫ MINHO… had the habit of annoying you and frustrating you sometimes, but never actually making you angry. as idol’s there is a lot of things that can drive you mad. minho for example hates wardrobe malfunctions. fans went crazy over some clips of him angry and upset over a few outfits and so have you.

you never really cared for much, at the end of the day you get a nice paycheck and you’re good to go. still, that doesn’t mean you don’t care about your job. so when he sees that your mic isn’t working and you’re more than upset at the lack of resolve from the sound techs…. he simply cannot look away.

even when you get off the stage, you’re glaring and absolutely not in the mood. everything you do is with anger— ripping off your headset, wiping off your sweat, loosening your outfit. goodness, you look delectable.

“you mad?” he asks teasingly, of course he has to tease.

“i’m not in the mood minho.”

oh! that anger had a pretty tone. “fuck,” he breathes out, pressing himself closer to you, “you gonna take it out on me?” and your eyes bored into him.

he definitely didn’t regret it later.

ᡴꪫ CHANGBIN…. didn’t know you could get angry. he’s only seen you be all soft and gushy. he’s seen you be defensive and stern but never angry. he’s literally making his way to the studio when he hears your voice boom outside the door. worried, he walks in and sees how your standing and yelling at the other producer.

“what’s-?”

“-how long it’s taken us to keep these files and you forget to save them?!”

the producer fidgets, “doesn’t change have a copy? he always has a copy-“

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN THE COPY IS THE SAME AS WHAT WE WERE ADDING TO IT YESTERDAY! you can’t recreate something that was authentic!” you pace, pulling at your hair, “shit man, i worked so hard on that!”

“y/n calm down,” he tries, “what file is it-?”

“changbin, i literally cannot right now.” and you leave.

in the end the file wasn’t deleted, just misplaced in the wrong folder to which it was saved. still, the lack of clarity pissed you off. you didn’t want to work that day and changbin was trying so hard to coax you. yet, seeing you mad was so good for some reason. changbin knew he could make you feel better (totally not feeling you with his hands? and you being angry was making things fun.

ᡴꪫ HYUNJIN…. doesn’t remember a time where you’ve been angry. he’s also never even wanted to. he doesn’t like noise and he remembers how you always say you blow up when angry. hence, when he hears you slam your fist on the desk, he jumps. you’re dramatic like him, so he tried not to think much of it except…

“are you kidding me?” he hear you say with an ominous tone. low and sultry, makes him pause. “so you’re saying that you’re wasting my damn time.”

he peeks over at, seeing you frown and glare at the wall while on the phone. he doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look on you… his mind starts to wander…. would that expression look at him? you’re talking, angry, clearly. and it’s so…

“why are you angry?” he asks when you hang up with an insult and throw your phone of the desk.

“cus apparently i have to do everything myself. why the hell would you-“ and he zones out, watching your angrily rant.

you plop down on the chair, angry. he stands and walks over to you, desire in his gut. “baby don’t be mad…” “well i wouldn’t if they did what i was paying them to do.” “-let’s get your mind off that, yeah?”

and boy did he.

[chanafehs]

My Veilguard review:

Note - I will be honest in saying this is very long and very negative. If you enjoy this game please don't let me be the one to ruin that for you and skip on this post. I will be discussing spoilers. This is just my opinion so please don't crucify me for it.

I think my thoughts about this game were shaky to begin with as I had been exposed to different spoilers and information before the launch. I wasn’t actually expecting this game to be amazing but as someone whose favorite Dragon Age game is Dragon Age 2, which is arguably the weakest in the series (until now), I still went in with the impression I would have a good time regardless. I did not have that at all, in fact towards the end of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3 all I wanted was for the game to be over. 

The problems for me really started right in the beginning with the Inquisitor character choices and their characterization. No choices for your Warden, no choices for your Hawke, and only three choices for your Inquisitor out of the dozens you made in Inquisition. The romance option just felt like a very polite way of asking if you romanced Solas or not, especially after completing the game where your non-solas romance will only get one letter for you to read, outside of that, the Inquisitor will not even mention them. Disbanding the Inquisition meant basically nothing and vowing to stop Solas felt like it had little bearing on what my Inquisitor said when she showed up. 

The time frame to make Dragon Age 2 was just over a year and somehow included more choices from Origins than Veilguard did with over ten years of production. That is the information that's been banging around in my head throughout this entire game. In Dragon Age 2, we get the consequences of our decisions with Alistair’s fate and we get extra dialogue concerning Isabela/Zevran/Leliana/Anders/Nathaniel + some sidequests. Veilguard couldn’t even give us so much of a mention of our Inquisitor’s friendships and the consequences of those friendships outside of Solas. The Inquisitors themselves are locked into one personality type as well, and regardless if you choose to stop Solas or not, they are very amicable toward him. 

During the second cut scene you get with the Inquisitor in Dock Town, they will go on to ask you about your progress and then go on about Solas. Mind you, my Inquisitor is extremely unsympathetic to Solas and I chose the option to stop him no matter what, so why is it that every time I speak to her, she keeps trying to ask me if Solas is being genuine and that he was her friend? That doesn’t sound like someone who has vowed to stop him. They will also try to draw parallels between you, Rook, and Solas. Even at the end of the game, they will still try to appeal to you to see reason with him. That is essentially all the Inquisitor is there for. Incredibly frustrating. 

Throughout the game you will get missives from the Inquisitor detailing the devastation that is being brought to southern Thedas and every letter feels like more and more of an insult. To keep it short: Southern Thedas as we know it has been essentially wiped out. I think that deserves more than a footnote in some missive most players aren’t even going to see.

So the setting we spent all three games in, that we saved countless times, had our companions and protagonists die for, gets demolished in the background where we cannot see it. Skyhold had to be taken back from demons and whoops, that's not actually something you can do anything about. Nothing the Warden, Hawke, or the Inquisitor ever did mattered at all and it renders everything from the previous games absolutely irrelevant. 

With that aside, the companions are also another issue for me. I found myself having trouble getting attached to any of them and every single time I recruited one I had the internal question “Why are you even here?” None of their companion quests really tie into the story at large, save maybe Harding and Davrin, and they are incredibly boring save for a few cool moments.

The main appeal of Dragon Age for me is the companions, it’s why Dragon Age 2 is my favorite of the series. Despite the overused environments and the rushed production I still had a great time with it because of the companions. I was actually eager to do the companion quests and learn more about them and how they all fit into the main narrative. Even characters I didn’t like, I still understood why they were important to the story. Like I can’t stand Anders but I know why he is there, he has a purpose.

Every companion is painfully amicable towards you even if you decide to be “stern” towards them. I found myself not caring what dialogue option I chose about them because it made absolutely no difference. There is nice, funny nice, and gentle parenting. That is really all you have to work with in terms of the dialogue wheel. It was more difficult to get disapproval than approval and I can probably count on my fingers every time in this game I actually got companion disapproval. There is only one companion in my playthrough that became hardened, Lucanis, and it had virtually no impact on his character other than the fact he leaves for a couple of saves and comes back to kissing your ass. 

Something I actually really liked about BG3 and the previous Dragon Age games was working for your companion approval - this meant actually learning about your companion and what made them tick. If you don't understand them well enough you get disapproval, when you actually listen to their ideas and thoughts you get approval - there is an active effort to get these things. In Veilguard this does not exist and you are essentially promised approval no matter what, meaning there is no encouragement to know who these people are if they're just going to support you regardless.

I have to agree with the Skillup review they made about this game saying that every dialogue option feels like it was made with HR in the room and I one hundred percent agree. This is not how real people talk to each other. This is how teachers talk to toddlers when they want to explain the virtues of sharing toys with their classmates.

It felt honestly insulting at times to be treated like I don’t understand the concept of bigotry, I still have no idea what they were trying to go for with this, like were they trying to appeal to a market of high school boys who hadn’t discovered what empathy was yet? There is zero trust in the player and every dialogue and decision you make in these moments feels handhold-y and preachy. Like Pixar levels of life lessons you learn.

In the moments where I had to settle arguments over coffee and companions not respecting each other's interests, I could not honestly believe this is the same universe with Loghain Mac Tir, Meredith Stannard, fuck even Corypheus. Humor has always existed in Dragon Age and I love the comedic banter between the characters but it was always humor that served as an escape from the oppressive and dark situation around you, here the dark and oppressive situations feel like an escape from the unrelenting friendliness and tone deafness of your companions. 

The companion I probably had the most issue with was Taash and the way they were handled. I’m not going to get too deep into the Bharv scene because even thinking about it makes me cringe but If someone messed up my pronouns and then immediately dropped to do pushups I am most definitely killing us both. Isabela’s explanation is extremely preachy and she proceeds to do the exact thing she says she hates about people messing up pronouns. Anyways. Moving on. 

Taash I think is a good example of how to not write a multiethnic character. I don’t expect a white person like Trick Weekes to understand the first thing that comes with being multiethnic or having strict parents that intersects with that identity but it is most definitely not whatever the hell this is. 

The only thing I can offer here is that as a multiethnic person (my father is Palestinian and my mother is mainly Irish and Seminole) is that there has never been a point in my life where I felt like I had to choose what culture I am let alone give that choice to someone else in my life I just met.

That’s not what being multiethnic is. I do not have to choose between anything - I am whole and I don't need to cut myself into halves and quarters to be accepted.

It also feels subconsciously like you are supposed to choose Rivain as the Qunari are depicted as bigoted and oppressive as they always have been in this game. Knowing all of this really tainted my experiences with them as a character and I understand a lot of other non-binary individuals love the representation they brought on that level but personally, I’m just tired of “queer representation” always coming with racist undertones. Again, this game feels like it always had white queer people in mind, not lgbt poc. 

These kinds of comments are really only made worse knowing what the Qunari take inspiration from - primarily Black and Brown SWANA Muslims. Why should Trick Weekes have any authority over a questline like that is beyond me. 

Also, this sucked. Especially because they said it to Neve too. I don’t really want my non-binary representation sprinkled with Misogyny as well, especially since we can’t really call Taash out on this comment unless you’re playing a woman (as far as I know).

Aside from Taash, I thought the writing around Harding was strange. Don’t me wrong, I love Harding, but I do not remember her being this friendly and people-pleasing in the Inquisition. If you play as a Dalish elf the first thing she says is she’s surprised that you would care about anyone else - there is absolutely no inclination of this kind of perspective in Veilguard. Additionally, despite knowing everything Solas has done and the consequences that had on her ancestors, she still tries to push you to reason with him?

All of her quests about learning about the Titans, experiencing and embracing their anger, and you still want to appeal to Solas? That was another thing I found so weird about this game, throughout the entire story you are being told again and again that Solas cannot be trusted, he is to blame for everything, and will stab you in the back and yet it seems like every companion tries to push back on you if you agree with this viewpoint? 

Also, something I didn't know at this point of the game but I do now is that Solas had killed Varric and she does know this so why is she acting like this knowing Solas had killed her friend who she spent years with?

Genuinely this whole game felt like: Devs: Solas is a villain

Rook: okay understood

Devs: actually nvm you don't understand him if you think he's a villain

The only companion quests I was actually genuinely interested in were Emmrich and his thoughts around death and becoming a lich. Lucanis' quests had the best boss fights for sure. Outside of that, it felt like “Go here with Bellara” or “Go here with Taash” and it got so grating I couldn’t wait for these quests to be over so I could progress with the main story. It felt like an annoying back-and-forth game to finish a main quest just to finish all the companion quests and then go back to the main quest. Like a list of chores to get through before you can have any fun. 

The inclusion of characters like Morrigan and Isabela in this universe was extremely hollow and they do not feel like the Morrigan and Isabela we know at all. With Morrigan there is a bit of an explanation to this with the essence of Mythal however she reiterates that it is still herself and it is only the memories of Mythal that remain inside of her.

In my canon playthroughs of Dragon Age, I romanced both Morrigan and Isabela, so I was curious to see how the developers would address their pasts with our Warden and Hawke. Unfortunately, the answer is that they don’t address it at all. Morrigan hardly mentions her past, leaving us to wonder if Kieran even exists. The game implies that the relationship between Morrigan and the Warden is insignificant; a codex entry oddly suggests, in a very slut-shamey way, that Morrigan had more lovers than there are trees in the forest. Isabela doesn't reference Hawke either, as she fondly remembers Kirkwall for found family and friendship. It seems that if you romanced Isabela or Morrigan, congratulations—your canon doesn’t exist.

I will echo the statement others have made about all the cameos feeling like mascots because that is really what they are. There is no substance to any of them, Isabela only feels like she is there to be a supportive voice for Taash, Morrigan will only really talk about Solas and Mythal-Dorian is the only one who actually gets a substantial quest related to him. I thought he was fine minus the "illegal slavery" bit because what is illegal slavery Dorian. Next up we will discuss legal murder.

Another thing that genuinely broke the immersion for me in this game is how awful the armor is. It is a Dragon Age game so I wasn't expecting Haute Couture but the design is all over the place and nothing looks right. Not to mention the extremely weird orientalist undertones that follow the Lords of Fortune everywhere. The outfit Isabela is wearing is even worse in person and I tried to give this game the benefit of the doubt by thinking we would be getting some underwater mission with her and that would be the explanation behind her bikini outfit - this did not happen.

The belly dancer-esque outfits with the coin-bedazzled turbans were pretty egregious and made me want to limit my time in Rivain as much as possible. For a game released in 2024, I am disappointed we are still dealing with the same Orientalist fantasy tropes. Even the Qunari are more naked in this game than I had ever seen previously. At least DA2 and DAI gave them pants. But hey the Antaam are all blighted and evil so who cares right.

Speaking of the Antaam, a lot of the antagonist motivations for this game genuinely did not make sense to me. The Antaam are suddenly giving up their fear of magic to pair up with...the Venatori? To fight for the elven gods? It honestly felt like they had no idea who to make fight for the Evanuris so they just pulled two of the baddies from the Inquisition and went "We can just use them and call it done". When you press for information on why this is the answer is always a mustache-twirling dialogue about power. Nothing much deeper from that than any of the villains besides Solas. All of the villains, especially Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, are extremely one-dimensional and have no motivations other than being evil and striving for power. At least Corypheus had cool lines.

I'm not going to get too deep into lore changes since I know a lot of things happened in the comics, books, and TV show (all of which I did not read or watch) but I honestly do think it's a bad idea to have a "soft reboot" while needing to read several books to understand everything. That's not being welcoming to new players that's homework. If you wanted a soft reboot probably don't start off with half your plot and characters coming from various comics and novels people need to catch up on.

The portrayal of the Dalish in this game is inconsistent. When we inform them that their gods are evil and planning to overthrow the world, they respond, "Okay, heard you." How can they accept this explanation so readily? In previous interactions, Solas shared that the Dalish did not listen to him and even threatened him when he revealed this truth. Yet, when we present the same information, they believe us almost immediately. Is there no pushback or skepticism? The Dalish accept everything about the evil elven gods meanwhile Andraste’s followers remain completely unaffected by these revelations.

I think what frustrated me even more was watching our elven companions express grief and regret over the actions of the elven gods like they had something to do with it, painting the Dalish as adjacent to oppressors when they themselves are oppressed in every way. The only thing that remains consistent is the sad boy Solas act about it.

At the end of the game, two of my companions - Harding and Emmrich- were killed. Emmrich's death was unfortunately overshadowed by a zoom-in on a rock and I had no idea he had died until I got the popup. Still, all I can think about is just going "Rock moment" when he died. I don't really have anything negative to say about Harding's death other than the way she went out was fitting for her narrative. Bellara got blighted and there were no consequences for this and she walked away from it - forgive me but I am still under the DAO impression that if you get blighted that's game over but all the rules about the Blight have been changed in this.

I decided to trick Solas, and honestly, I don’t have anything negative to say about it, except that Solas should have noticed me holding the fake dagger since it was clearly in his line of sight. I liked the idea of outsmarting the god of trickery. While it wasn’t extremely satisfying, but I’m okay with how it turned out.

Even as the credits began rolling I still have trouble believing rook's role in any of this. Just the persistent nagging idea that they really just have no place in this story at all. In the beginning I wanted to see how Rook is looped into all of this and how they become central to the fight against Solas but just like with most of the companions, I have no idea why they are here. This should've been the Inquisitor's story to finish.

I'm not going to pretend that everything about this game was irredeemable and terrible. There were genuinely parts I enjoyed and had a good time with. The romance ending scene with Neve was fantastic, even though it took a long time to get there. Davrin was an unexpected aspect of the game that I actually liked, as I never cared much for Grey Wardens before, but he changed my perspective. Harding's mention of the Inquisition was also very sweet. Although I wasn't particularly invested in Emmrich, I loved the conclusion to his quest when he became a lich lord.

While I'm not the biggest Solas fan, I actually really enjoyed the cutscenes between him and Rook because one of my aims with this game was the ability to be mean to Solas and kick him while he was down. They definitely delivered there even though everyone else kept disagreeing with me.

The worlds are beautiful and the CC is definitely the best we've gotten in any Dragon Age game, I spent probably a solid hour in there. The hairstyles are great and the four unibrow choices? Bioware you shouldn't have <3.

Overall I definitely didn't have the best time with this game and towards the end of act 2 I was incredibly bored and the combat became repetitive and stagnant enough that I turned down the difficulty to get through it faster. I can't see myself replaying this any time soon and I am unsure what my stance on Dragon Age is now, do I Ignore this game ever existed or do I carve out everything I liked and pretend this is the Dragon Age I love? I have no idea, I am disappointed at how this game leaves us off and I really wanted to sit here and say It's good but I can't.

I think this game will reach out to and resonate with a different group of Dragon Age fans than me, I just wish I could enjoy it as much as I see other people doing. I was originally going to give this game a 3/10 but knowing you can pet the cats I will give it a very generous 3.5/10.

[itshardtobeagoddess]

I have my own story to add to this!

So, ​I am not someone who can just exist in silence and I never have been, but several years ago, in late winter, I was hanging out in my bedroom late at night. It was getting too cold in there, so I had to turn off the fan that I usually use for white noise, and I heard something that i couldn’t quite place. I sat really still and listened for a while. I heard a scrabbling sort of sound coming from the upper part of one of my bedroom walls. This has freaked me out terribly, bc I have a severe phobia of mice, rats, bats, and all related animals that may take refuge in a wall. So I am freaking out and sobbing and I go to get my dad to have him listen and he looks at me like I am insane saying he doesn’t hear anything. Bc of this, I am unable to sleep for literal days. Eventually, I am able to sleep, but only during the day. This is bc I know that most of the creepy animals that could potentially be in my walls are only active at night, therefore the safest time for me to sleep is during the day when they would also be asleep.

Then one day in the midst of all of this after like a week of not sleeping, my doorbell goes off. I check and no one is outside that I can see, so in my sleep deprived mind this can only be the result of whatever is living in my walls. This causes me to break down in absolute hysterics bc I am sleep deprived and terrified and am very loudly sobbing. In retrospect, this was very clearly kids playing a prank and they for sure heard my breakdown and thought it was hilarious bc they did it again a short while later (causing even more hysterical crying on my part). Either way, after I had calmed down from the mental breakdown, I have decided enough is enough. I am not going to be terrorized in my own home. I am going to call a pest control company to figure out what this is and get it taken care of whether my parents believed me or not.

When someone finally came over another week later, they had to go up into the attic which was accessed from my bedroom closet and they inspect everything. Once they come back down they tell me that we have 3 (😟) bats in the attic, showed me a picture of them sleeping in the rafters, and say that they are surprised it’s only 3 saying most people don’t notice until they have a whole colony of bats. We were able to get rid of them fairly easily and with no harm to the bats (bc even though I am terrified of them I know they are an important part of the ecosystem and I would feel bad if they got hurt). I felt so vindicated after though that I wasn’t crazy and there really was something in the walls and my parents had shit hearing.

Moral of the story is listen to your kids.

bees?

[cara-mel5]

i loved the brazilian grand prix. that max win was easily one of the all-time great drives. wet races in general are incredible. it was chaotic. it was fun.

it also shouldn't have happened.

you have a rookie (ollie bearman) saying he can't see anything and he's "not trying to die". you have your most experienced driver and the head of your drivers' union (fernando alonso and george russell) saying it's too dangerous and the race needs to stop. your calmest drivers (oscar piastri) sound genuinely terrified and say they can't race in these conditions, whilst half the grid (max, charles etc.) are BEGGING for a red flag. you have race engineers (GP) who don't know why the race hasn't been stopped and are just telling their drivers to survive. you don't stop the race. and you don't even let them put on wets.

yes, the race was red flagged after the colapinto crash - but it shouldn't have even got to that point. drivers (talented drivers by the way) were slipping off left and right. there was so much standing water on track it was practically a small ocean. there was no visibility. at all. all you saw was spray and blinking lights. no idea of distance. WHY WERE THEY STILL GOING??

when do we start treating drivers as actual human beings? when do we start prioritising their lives over entertainment?

formula 1 was safe until senna and ratzenberger died. formula 1 was safe until jules bianchi died. is formula 1 safe now? for how long? until someone else dies a completely avoidable death? because that could have happened in brazil. someone could have died.

one wrong turn. that's all it would have taken.

i was scared watching them. i'm scared now thinking about it, days later. i can't even imagine driving in those conditions. what they were feeling. thinking. it makes me sick.

and this isn't even mentioning everything that happened in quali. this weekend was a wreck from the start and it still continued. WHY.

there's nothing wrong with liking the race - i liked it. it produced a spectacular drive, the kind that will be talked about for decades to come. but you have to acknowledge that it should have ended in 20 laps and that the possibility of someone being seriously injured or worse was way too high. i hope it never happens again.

[megalony]

A Little Too Eager- Part 2

Here is the second part to my Eddie Diaz imagine, thank you all for the lovely feedback on the first part. I hope you will all like it.

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Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: (Y/n) and Eddie are excited to expand their family with Chris and their daughter, and now the prospect of having triplets together. Five kids.

Enjoy.

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A tired smile fluttered across (Y/n)'s lips and she leaned her head on her hand while her elbow pressed down into the arm rest of the sofa. She curled her legs up beneath her and relaxed down into the cushion like she was starting to melt on the spot.

All she seemed to want to do recently was sleep. It wasn't as if she was doing too much or even in the later stages of pregnancy. She was about five months pregnant now, but she didn't look it. She looked further along, just like everyone kept telling her. No one seemed to have a response when she told them she was having triplets.

If she was feeling like this now, (Y/n) dreaded to think what she was going to be like once she hit seven or eight months along.

Her eyes cast down to her daughter and she smiled again. (Y/n) had put a Disney movie on tv and she was eager to turn it off and watch something else, but she knew she couldn't. Winnie wasn't exactly watching the movie, but she would cry if it got turned off. It was serving as a background stimulant for her while she sat in front of the sofa playing with her toys.

The little girl never seemed to play with toys when she was a baby or a toddler, it was one of the things (Y/n) noticed first. Where Jee would want to play and throw and interact, Winnie was distant and unbothered by any kind of toy, even teething toys. Winnie and Jee were only a year apart but it had flagged up all the ways in which Winnie acted different to other kids her age, it was what got them onto the track of getting her diagnosed.

But the four year old was slowly getting more involved with playing with toys and interacting with other kids.

"Okay?" She watched the way Winnie drifted from one toy to the next, not really attached to any of them but wanting some kind of stimulation.

She was sat cross-legged on the floor, softly rocking back and forth while she murmured and babbled incoherent noises (Y/n) couldn't make much sense of. But it was good to see Winnie trying to make some sort of chatter and she was clearly happy.

The little girl lifted her head, a sparkle glinting in her eyes and a smile splashed out on her face that brightened up the whole room.

Winnie lifted the toy in her hands which had taken most of her attention for the last few minutes. It was a baby doll. They were the new toys she was starting to become fascinated with. Last year, when she started to play with toys a bit more- mainly because she started nursery school- she had been playing with a lot of Chris's toys. She liked his race cars and the stretchy elastic figure toys he had.

Although Eddie had to tell her she couldn't play with the cars anymore when he found her trying to chew on them. If she licked the paint off she could make herself sick and they couldn't have that.

But now she had moved onto dolls after seeing some of Jee's dolls which had taken her fancy.

"Baby." The four year old wiggled the doll in her hands before she lowered it down and cuddled it to her chest with a toothy grin.

"Is it a baby?"

"Baby." She repeated firmly as she started to sway from side to side. She was beginning to speak a bit more, she wouldn't say sentences, they were very far from that. But Winnie understood the names of things and how to interact on a one-word basis.

"Mummy's got a baby too." (Y/n) pointed to her stomach and ran her palm across the side of her bump.

When she had Winnie, Chris had been so happy and eager to have a sibling, he absolutely loved the thought. He was the same this time too. But Eddie and (Y/n) had been worried about Winnie. They didn't know how she would react to a baby in the house, or how she would cope with needing to share her parent's attention. They were hoping that because she was still young, she would adapt a lot better than if she were older. And the fact that she had Chris too meant she knew how to share attention, at least somewhat.

Having three babies in the house at once was really going to test the boundaries and Winnie was either going to adapt quickly or react very badly. They were hoping for the former.

When (Y/n) glanced back over at her daughter, she was surprised to see a light sparkle in Winnie's eyes and the little girl shot up from the floor. 'Baby' rambled past her lips as she shot over to the sofa and leaned her arms on the edge so she could be close to (Y/n).

She balanced on her toes, pushing into the edge of the sofa as she leaned on her arms. Her head tilted to one side, curiosity burning in her deep eyes as she watched (Y/n) move her hand along her bump again.

They didn't have anyone in their family who was or had been pregnant recently, so Winnie wasn't sure what this meant or what was going on. (Y/n) wondered if Winnie thought she was just getting fat or if she had some sort of inkling that something different was happening to her mum.

Reaching down, (Y/n) gently took one of Winnie's hands and held it up in between them before she started to tap on her fingers.

"Mummy's got three babies. One… two… three." She counted on Winnie's fingers before pointing to her tummy. Winnie would eventually understand when three babies turned up in the house that this is what they had been preparing for and talking about.

When Winnie didn't react and stayed unusually still, (Y/n) pointed around her bump, counting again. She didn't know exactly how the babies were laid, they were starting to move and kick a lot. But she had a rough idea from their last scan whereabouts they were all crammed together.

"Baby."

A grin danced across Eddie's face when he heard Winnie's voice as he walked down the hall. He scratched the back of his neck, leaning his head to one side as he followed the sound of her voice. He briefly peeked into the kitchen when he passed, seeing Chris sat at the table with a colouring book and music blasting on his phone.

He padded across into the living room, trying to be quiet and he stood just behind the sofa to see what both girls were up to.

He loved the way Winnie was leaning on the sofa, as if she as listening to a story- something she rarely had the attention span to do unless she was sick. She seemed to be balancing her weight on her elbows, and she ran her hand timidly along the side of (Y/n)'s stomach, just for a few seconds. She looked as if she thought (Y/n)'s bump was going to move or suddenly change shape, or maybe she thought it might hurt (Y/n) to touch her there. But she was still smiling.

Eddie watched curiously as his girl stood up straight again so she could reach out for the baby doll resting next to her on the edge of the sofa. She held it out towards (Y/n), changing from a repetition of 'baby' to 'babies' which made both parents smile.

(Y/n) sat up a bit straighter when Winnie suddenly started to tap the baby doll against her stomach. She was getting excited. (Y/n) wasn't sure what her daughter was trying to do or if she was just happy at the thought of having three babies in the house at some point.

But when the four year old got a little too eager and bashed the doll quite harshly into (Y/n)'s stomach, (Y/n) leaned back and held her arm out in front of her bump.

"Don't be rough."

Moving around the sofa, Eddie leaned down and held onto Winnie's shoulders, causing a small gasp to tumble past her lips and a cheeky grin lit up her face when she realised who it was standing behind her. She leaned back into Eddie's legs and held up the doll in her arms as she giggled.

He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head while he squeezed her shoulders.

"You be careful with that, girlie. Don't hurt mummy, play nice." It was lovely to see her getting excited, but she couldn't play rough.

A quiet "Mama," left Winnie's lips while she bound the doll to her chest, her eyes focused on Eddie as he crouched own to be level with her. He curved an arm around her waist when she shuffled back so she was stood in between his thighs with her head on his shoulder.

He leaned his left arm on the sofa and looked over at (Y/n) as she reached across to brush her hand against the back of his neck. The touch had shivers rolling down his spine and his grin softened as he nudged his nose against her wrist.

When Eddie leaned forward, his little girl leaned with him, watching his every movement as he moved his hand to cradle (Y/n)'s stomach. He pressed three delicate kisses to her bump, something he had taken to doing a lot lately. And as he glanced his eyes over to Winnie, he noticed she was watching him again.

She had her doll pinned against her chest and she was tilted forwards near (Y/n), but her head was inclined in Eddie's direction and her smile was clearly a confused one. She didn't know what he was doing.

A chuckle rumbled past Eddie's lips when he watched their daughter twist her head to the side with an open-mouthed smile, presenting her cheek to Eddie. Something she did when she saw him kissing (Y/n) or Chris and she expected one too.

"You're cute," He murmured softly and kissed her cheek before he looked up at (Y/n). "Want a drink?"

"Please." (Y/n) leaned her head back when Eddie got up and hovered over her, curling his fingers beneath her chin so he could steal a kiss from her lips. The touch was warm and inviting and (Y/n) had the urge to reach out and drag him to sit down with her.

But she watched instead as he kissed her cheek, then the top of Winnie's head before he headed off into the kitchen.

She thought for a moment that Winnie would trail after him, but the little girl clambered up onto the sofa instead and hummed and whined until (Y/n) opened her arms. She twisted around with great effort so she was laid out on the sofa rather than sitting with her knees curled up. And Winnie made herself comfortable in between (Y/n)'s side and the cushion with her head on her mum's chest.

(Y/n) had been the one to get Winnie up and dressed today and had spent most of the morning with her. She seemed to cling to whichever parent got her up or picked her up from school. Unless she wasn't well, then she would glue herself into Eddie and scream if he left her sights.

Heading into the kitchen, Eddie flicked on the kettle and grabbed some cups, as well as a beaker because he knew Winnie would only try and take (Y/n)'s drink if she didn't get one too.

"Want a drink, bud?"

"Juice please."

Eddie set about making them all a drink, but he glanced across to Chris every now and then. He could feel his son's gaze burning into him; Chris would usually stare him out or follow Eddie around if he wanted something or he had something playing on his mind.

He could feel his mind wandering as he looked around the kitchen counter. It was going to look different in a few months. The kitchen would be overwhelmed with bottles and formula and bibs and hundreds of baby clothes all strewn about the place. Their home was going to be packed and loud and rowdy and full of mischief and overwhelmed with love.

He stayed quiet, making two cups of tea and fixing the kids a drink while he waited for Chris to speak.

"Dad?"

A soft grin spread across Eddie's face when he felt Chris wander over to stand beside him. He watched him tap his hands against the counter and tilt his head at an angle so he was looking up at Eddie with those big eyes that could get him almost anything he asked for.

"Yeah?" Eddie slid a glass of juice across to Chris and finished pouring the milk in the teas before he turned to face him. He leant his hip on the counter, pressing one hand to the counter while the other fell to his hip.

"Now there's gonna be five of us," He began shuffling his weight from foot to foot as he looked down at his hands rather than up at his dad.

Five siblings was a big change, although Chris had been surprised at first, he was happy to have four younger siblings. He loved Winnie, sometimes when they went out and she got nervous, he felt like her protector. Especially when their grandparents came round, because they didn't always know her stimming or what made her anxious so Chris would tell them and keep them up to date on all the new things she was doing.

And he was secretly hoping to have at least one brother this time, three babies gave good odds at one of them being a boy and Chris wanted a brother to play with and teach and grow up with.

"Hm,"

"(Y/n) will be their mum, but can… can I call her mum too?"

Eddie was glad he wasn't holding the drinks yet because he feared he might have dropped them in shock. He wasn't expecting that. The sheepish look on Chris's face made it seem like he thought he was going to get in trouble for asking. Maybe that's what he believed.

Maybe Chris thought he would be damaging Shannon's memory or betraying her if he called someone else his mum. But that wasn't the case. If Shannon were alive, then things would be different. But she wasn't, and she would want Chris to be happy at any cost, Eddie knew that.

He also knew that (Y/n) thought of Chris as her boy, if anyone asked her about her kids she would tell them she had two- although that would soon be changing to five.

She promised Eddie when they got engaged that she would always put Chris first and do what was best for him and she had proved that every single day. It would make Eddie happy if Chris called (Y/n) his mum, and that was never something Eddie would have contemplated before he got into a relationship with (Y/n). The thought filled him with love rather than with dread.

"Of course you can, if that's what you want, buddy." He wouldn't want Chris to think that he had to if he wasn't sure or he didn't really know. There was no obligation, just like there hadn't been when (Y/n) and Eddie had Winnie. They would never push him in this direction if it wasn't what he wanted.

"Yeah, will she mind?" Chris finally lifted his eyes to look up at his dad, and he was shocked to see that his dad looked like he was about to cry.

"Go and find out."

Twisting to the side, Eddie held one of the cups out towards Chris and patted his shoulder. When he winked and grinned, a smile flashed across Chris's face and that was all the encouragement he needed. If Eddie thought (Y/n) would be happy about this, then there was no need to worry.

He cradled the cup in both hands and steadily made his way out the kitchen and into the living room.

He found (Y/n) laid on the sofa with Winnie tucked under her arm and a new Disney movie on the tv. He could feel his heart beginning to hammer against his chest as a new bundle of nerves ignited in his stomach when he drew closer to them.

"Here's your drink, mum."

(Y/n) felt her jaw slack and her head whipped up to look in Chris's direction where he stood by the arm of the sofa. She could see the nerves pooling in his eyes and in the way he kept darting his eyes across to the tv to stop himself from panicking in case (Y/n) had a bad reaction.

She shakily reached out for the cup and creased her stomach forward so she could set the cup down on the table before she dropped it from the adrenaline coursing through her blood.

Her eyes melted with tears when she looked back up at Chris and she tenderly took his hand to tug him closer to her. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but he sat down on the very edge of the sofa beside Winnie to be closer.

A broad grin spread across Chris's face when (Y/n) looped her arm around his shoulders and leaned in enough to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you, baby."

***

"Hi,"

A soft look crossed (Y/n)'s face and she cracked her eyes open to lock her gaze onto Eddie. Her blurry vision followed him as he shuffled up from sitting on the end of the bed to hover over her. One hand rested near her shoulder and the other moved to cradle her stomach while his head tilted to one side.

"Hey," She murmured back softly while he swooped down to steal a kiss from her lips. (Y/n) could already tell by the little noises in the air that Winnie had followed him into their room, it sounded like she was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Feeling any better?" Eddie slid his hand beneath (Y/n)'s top, a wicked grin overtaking his features when his cold touch made her squirm and groan into his mouth when he stole another kiss.

(Y/n) hadn't been well today. She and Chris had spent the morning watching movies in the lounge while Eddie took Winnie shopping with him, the little girl loved going to the shop whereas Chris wasn't too keen.

And just over an hour ago (Y/n) sheepishly asked Eddie if he would mind if she went to bed. She could barely keep her eyes open even though they had just had dinner. She had been about to tell Chris he could watch a movie with her if he wanted when Eddie conscripted Chris into playing a video game and ushered (Y/n) off to bed.

If she didn't feel well Eddie wanted her to go and sleep and rest, he would supervise the kids. (Y/n) was technically already looking after three kids so far, it was only fair Eddie watched the other two.

"I think so." She didn't have a horrible headache like she had earlier, and a bit of sleep had actually made her feel better rather than making her drowsy and unwell.

"Good, I'm just gonna grab a shower, you need anything?"

(Y/n) shook her head as she brought both hands up to cup Eddie's face. Her thumbs brushed across his cheekbones and she smiled as she brought him down for another kiss. She could feel the tension in his arms when he leaned down a bit more until his chest was against hers.

And the tell-tale way he groaned against her lips was a sign that she needed to release him before he climbed into bed with her. His fingers danced along her stomach and near the waistband of her shorts before he grumbled something incoherent and sank his teeth down into her lip.

She wasn't sure what else he muttered into her mouth, but when she opened her eyes, (Y/n) loved the love-drunk look swirling in those dark brown eyes. She pecked his cheek before letting her head sink back into the pillows when Eddie shuffled off the bed.

His hands fell to his hips for a moment before he looked down in Winnie's direction. She had one of Chris's big fire truck toys that she had been pushing around the house.

"Hm, I don't think so." He murmured softly while he leaned down and scooped Winnie up and nudged the truck out the way with his foot.

He was going to sit Winnie in here with (Y/n) while he went for a shower and Eddie didn't trust her with that big toy. She might throw it or try and play rough with (Y/n) again.

He set her down on the bed where (Y/n) instantly opened her arms and brought her girl in for a cuddle. And when Eddie pulled off his shirt, he held it out towards Winnie. He knew she had a strange fascination for clothes, she liked the different sensations and materials and immediately, she snatched it from him and started to cuddle it.

He muttered "Be good," to Winnie and the same against (Y/n)'s stomach before he grabbed his lounge wear and headed off to the bathroom.

"Want the tv on?" (Y/n) sighed and heaved herself up into a sitting position so she wouldn't fall back to sleep, although it was tempting. She needed to stay awake so she slept tonight as well.

She leant back into the pillows and tucked Winnie up into the side of her bump while she put the telly on and switched to a cartoon channel.

For a few moments, she kissed the top of Winnie's head and started to hum with her. But then the little girl started to wriggle. She didn't want to sit here. Being in bed meant going to sleep and she only stayed in her parent's room if she was ill or couldn't get to sleep.

A whine passed her lips as she wriggled out of (Y/n)'s embrace and shuffled to the end of the bed. She started to shake Eddie's shirt in her hands before she looked over her shoulder at (Y/n).

"Daddy."

"Let him get a wash, you've got mummy." She patted her chest and sat forward to tug Winnie back towards her for a cuddle, but the four year old wasn't impressed.

She shook her head and started to mess with the shirt again like it was a flag she was waving for attention.

When she huffed and whined in defiance, (Y/n) rose a brow and gave her the same look back. And when Winnie pointed towards the bedroom door, (Y/n) shook her head with a firm 'no.'

Couldn't she just lay with (Y/n) for a little while? Couldn't she be happy to sit with (Y/n) and have a cuddle? (Y/n) wished she could tell Winnie that she didn't feel well and have her daughter sit with her rather than fidget and become desperate for Eddie.

But all day she had been following Eddie around. He got her dressed, he took her out shopping and he had been tidying up with Winnie right beside him like a shadow. She had even hovered in the kitchen while Eddie and Chris prepared dinner. Going to (Y/n) might make Winnie feel as if Eddie was going out without her or that he didn't want her anymore.

She knew he wasn't going to work. He would show her his uniform and kiss her goodbye if he was going to work. He hadn't done that, so he had to be in the house and if that was the case, Winnie wanted to be with him.

The little girl tossed Eddie's shirt on the other side of the bed and tried to break out of (Y/n)'s arms. When she heard 'leave daddy to shower', she responded with a loud screech and some frustrated tears trickling down her face.

Her feet started to kick into the bed and she broke out of (Y/n)'s arms and tumbled off the bed, on a mission of her own.

(Y/n) could feel tears welling up in her own eyes as she threw the covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. It took some effort to get her body working and get up when she felt so tired she could barely focus. She wanted to lay down. She hadn't even felt hungry when it came time to eat. All (Y/n) felt like doing was going to sleep; the triplets were draining her.

A chill tore through her and she realised she was only wearing her night shirt and some shorts because she hated sleeping in leggings or joggers.

Reaching out, she snagged one of Eddie's jumpers that were on top of the dresser and she tried to hurry as she yanked it over her head and dragged the soft material across her stomach. (Y/n) was starting to doubt if any of her maternity clothes from when she had Winnie would even fit her. She looked nine months along already and she had another three months to go until she would be at eight months which was the cut off point for multiple pregnancies.

Her hand traced the wall to keep herself upright and she shivered and gasped at the cold floor against her bare feet when she hurried out into the hallway to follow her daughter.

She cringed when she found Winnie.

The four year old was stood outside the bathroom. She knew Eddie was in there, and she had clearly found that he locked the door because she was patting her palm against the door. She wasn't hitting it or banging furiously, just little taps.

She only hit or banged on the walls as a behaviour when she was very distressed and she knew Eddie would tell her off for it if she tried.

A loud sob passed Winnie's lips and tears started to trickle down her face while her free hand pressed to her mouth so she could bite down on her thumb. A habit that made her look so much like Chris as it was one of his stims he still did to this day.

"Baby, come on. Daddy's getting a shower." (Y/n) sighed and reached out for her baby girl but Winnie wriggled and patted the door again.

"Daddy,"

"He's busy, come with me."

"Winnie, go with mama."

The little girl jumped at the sudden sound of Eddie's voice that travelled through the door. His tone wasn't as smooth and loving as usual. There was a sterness to his voice and a warning tone, he was telling her and it wasn't often that she didn't listen to him.

"Daddy," Her voice was feeble and she stopped patting the door in favour of looking down at her feet and feeling sorry for herself.

"Winnie." Eddie's voice came right back to her with a sharper edge that had the little girl shivering and her tears stopped immediately.

Eddie tilted his head to one side, tangling his fingers in his hair while he closed his eyes and strained to listen for the girls on the other side of the door. As soon as he heard Winnie patting the door, he stayed quiet. He didn't hum to the music playing on his phone, he didn't say her name or make any sort of sound.

He couldn't open the door every time she shouted out for him, she had to learn that she was safe in the house if Eddie or (Y/n) were in another room. And she couldn't demand for him to come out and have him right there at every beck and call. He would be with her in ten minutes.

He sighed in relief when he heard their footsteps retreat and he knew Winnie was going with (Y/n). At least she hadn't gone into a meltdown. He would hate to have to tell her off, dripping wet from a shower with a towel around his waist.

He knew it was worse when either of them were alone with the kids. If Eddie had the kids while (Y/n) was at work, he had Winnie waiting outside the bathroom each time he went to the toilet. She followed him in the kitchen while he made tea. He couldn't shower until either (Y/n) came home or he relented and let Winnie wait in the bathroom with him.

And he knew it was worse for (Y/n) when he was at work recently and she didn't feel well. She had to watch Winnie who followed her around, and (Y/n) had their daughter following her to the toilet every time she went, which was often now she was having triplets.

Rather than going back to bed, (Y/n) took Winnie's hand and let her daughter steer her into the living room.

Chris was perched on the sofa watching a movie and (Y/n) could of cried in relief when Winnie clambered onto the sofa.

(Y/n) followed after her and sat down in the middle of the kids, tilting her head back on the sofa while one arm hooked around Winnie and her other hand flopped onto her stomach. It didn't feel great to have three wriggling babies pressing down on her back and weighing her down, she felt better lying on her side, but at least she was sat down now.

She rolled her eyes softly but smiled when Winnie sniffled and leaned into her belly, clearly feeling sorry for herself.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) snuggled her head down into the back of the sofa but she kept her arm bound tight around Winnie's waist, just in case she tried to scarper off again. And she focused her hearing on the movie so she wouldn't totally fall asleep. Her lips curved up when she felt Chris tenderly lean his head on her shoulder and cosy up into her other side.

The three of them fell into a cosy silence together, with the odd hum or sniffle from Winnie every now and then. But as soon as the bathroom door clicked open, the little girl perked up and lifted her head from (Y/n)'s tummy.

Eddie headed into the living room, changed into some black shorts and a tight-fitting white shirt he usually wore to bed. He looked over at the sofa, grinning down at his family.

When Winnie made grabbing hands towards him he sighed and scooped her up.

"I'm here, see? Daddy didn't disappear." He pecked her temple before he leaned over the sofa and kissed (Y/n). He ruffled Chris's hair before moving his hand to cradle (Y/n)'s chin. "Go to sleep." He murmured against her lips. If she didn't feel well she should sleep.

"It's still early," (Y/n) tried to keep her voice quiet because she knew Chris was enchanted in the movie.

Her eyes locked with Eddie's and she nudged her nose up into his as if to entice him to take another kiss, which he did, gladly. She couldn't sleep now and then go to bed later and sleep again. She felt like she could, but too much sleep might not help and she had barely done anything today. (Y/n) didn't want to be useless around the house.

"And you're drained, so rest."

Pulling back, Eddie let go of (Y/n)'s chin in favour of reaching down for her ankles which he carefully lifted and set them on the coffee table. So she was laid out in the way he normally was in the evening. Eddie then swiped the blanket from the armchair and held it out to Chris until he got the message and draped the blanket over himself and (Y/n).

He set Winnie down to her feet, but the smile on his face silently told her she could follow him. If she wanted to stick with him, she could gladly follow him around the house while he did some odd jobs.

The little girl trotted behind him like a faithful shadow, dipping in and out of each bedroom so Eddie could get the washing.

"Kitchen please." Eddie handed Winnie some of the washing from her room and pointed to the hallway while he tucked the wash basket under his arm so it rested on his hip. If she was following him around, she could help him too.

She had a skip in her step and started to trot when they headed down the hall and the sight made Eddie's lips quirk into a grin.

When he pointed to the washer, Winnie made a big effort of leaning and tucking everything neatly into the washer. And whatever Eddie held out to her, she gladly put in the washer for him.

Her fingers curled and her hands waved at her sides while she watched Eddie put the wash powder in and turn the machine on. Her feet tapped and stomped happily on the floor and she squealed when Eddie started to sing. He wasn't the best singer and he knew it, but Winnie seemed to love the sound of his voice.

He sung an old tune stuck in the back of his head while he put the pots away and Winnie happily wriggled beside him. He found it funny how, at her age, Chris would want to be playing games or colouring or doing something to occupy himself. But Winnie was most content when she was watching over her parents like this.

Drawing, playing games or with toys or watching tv didn't interest her like this did. Being with her parents at all times and helping them in the house was what she wanted to do.

A sudden bang caught Eddie off guard and he snapped his head to look out the kitchen window before his shoulders dropped and he sighed.

Fireworks.

His eyes immediately cast down to his daughter who was no longer squealing or happily stomping her feet. She looked frozen to the spot, arms out at her sides and eyes wide as she stared up at him in panic.

"S'okay girlie, all gone." His smile calmed her down and when he started to sing again, Winnie went back to shaking and stimming her hands.

Eddie hated this time of year.

He hated bonfire night and he wasn't a fan of Halloween. He loved dressing up with Chris, and they dressed Winnie in small, sweet outfits because scary ones frightened her. He liked taking Chris trick or treating, something Winnie didn't like to do.

But he hated the fireworks that came along with it and all the prank calls they got at work. The people messing about, kids being silly, throwing things, ending up hurting people. It was a mess at work and at home, it was simply unsettling for Winnie.

She didn't understand Halloween, the only thing she liked was the sweets that would suddenly appear in the house.

And fireworks frightened her. The loud noises were terrifying to her, as if she thought she was going to get shot. She would have so many meltdowns over bonfire night and the weekend before bonfire night because of the amount of loud bangs that sounded throughout the nights.

Eddie understood completely; when Chris was little he didn't used to like them and Winnie was autistic, she didn't understand and wasn't likely to understand anytime soon either. And Eddie himself had suffered many panic attacks on bonfire night when the noises made him think of his time in the army.

He went to put another plate in the cupboard but it almost smashed out of his hand when a round of fireworks went off.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

The scream Winnie let out was ungodly and the thump that sounded afterwards made Eddie snap his head to look over his shoulder in her direction. The four year old slammed down onto her bum on the floor like she had fainted.

She stuck her fingers in her ears and screeched as tears began to stream down her face and she started to gasp. Her head thrust back and forth, her jaw dropped like she was silently screaming, one of her new stims, and she kicked her heels against the floor so harshly she would bruise her feet.

"Okay, okay baby come to daddy." Eddie lifted her up and snuggled her down into his chest, but he was deflated to find that she didn't cling to him.

She screamed into his chest and smothered her face in his shirt, but she wouldn't take her fingers out of her ears. Usually she would loop her arms around his neck and cling to him. Her legs were tight around his torso but she started to shake against his chest.

"You're okay, I've got you. I've got you." His lips smothered her temple and he started to rock her up and down in one arm while he reached over the sink and shut the window.

He closed the blind and kicked the cupboard shut and swiftly headed into the lounge. It was going to be a long night if they were starting this early.

At least the neighbours didn't set any off. One neighbour was an elderly couple so they never bothered with Halloween or fireworks. And the other side knew Winnie was sensitive and either set off silent ones or went out to do fireworks.

When he headed into the lounge, Eddie silently pointed at the tv while he closed the curtains and Chris got the message. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the tv.

(Y/n) leaned her head back and inched a bit closer to Chris so she was in the middle of the sofa, leaving room for Eddie to sit down with them. As soon as he sat down, (Y/n) laid her head on his shoulder and draped her arm over to brush up and down Winnie's back.

Sinking down into the sofa, Eddie slouched down a bit and eased Winnie into his chest so she was almost laid down. Her head stayed tucked up into the middle of his chest, but she slowly stopped shaking and when Eddie kissed the top of her head, she gingerly pulled her fingers from her ears.

"All gone." (Y/n) whispered and leant across to kiss her temple before she snuggled further into Eddie's arm.

A comfortable silence fell over them while they tried to watch the movie. A few odd bangs sounded distantly and each one made Winnie shudder against Eddie, but he started humming to distract her.

Chris reached out for one of the smaller, stuffed teddies on the floor and he laid over (Y/n) to hand the toy to his sister. She seemed apprehensive, but he smiled triumphantly when Winnie snatched the toy and huddled it into her chest. She might not want to play, but it might give her some comfort.

After a while, Eddie leaned his cheek on top of (Y/n)'s head and he was sure she had fallen asleep beside him. Her head kept sliding down his shoulder until she was practically lying on his chest and her arms were loosely wrapped around his bicep which made him smile. He could see Chris laid out on the other end of the sofa with his head on (Y/n)'s bump.

A frightening commotion which sounded like a bomb exploding rattled through the air and Eddie groaned. Someone in the street was setting off fireworks now. Another firework fizzled in the air and sparked off into another explosion that sounded like bacon sizzling in a pan and it had Winnie screaming into Eddie's chest.

Her scream jolted (Y/n) awake and shook Chris who had been in a trance watching the movie.

"It's okay-"

Eddie locked eyes with (Y/n), brows raised when they both listened to what Winnie was babbling over and over like a mantra into Eddie's chest.

"Bad. Bad. Bad."

She was frightened.

Another continuous set of fireworks crackled in the air and Winnie screamed so loudly Eddie's ribs felt like they were vibrating and his body shuddered against her. He cupped the back of her neck when she started to scratch one hand down her cheek and dug the other hand into Eddie's chest as if she were pleading with him to do something.

Something akin to 'ow' blundered past Winnie's lips on a loop that soon meshed into a jumble of incoherent noises, but it showed how scared she was. It didn't matter how loud they turned the tv up, either the fireworks would frighten her or the volume would overload both her and Chris's senses.

"Baby, can you go and get the cover from our bed please?" (Y/n) whispered into Chris's hair and she pecked his temple when he shot up and scurried down the hall towards her and Eddie's room.

"Shh, little girl. It's alright, you're okay." Eddie cradled the back of her head and tightened his arms around her to try and stop her from sobbing and shaking in his arms.

He couldn't take her to bed because the tv would have to be loud in there too to block out the noise and Winnie wouldn't sleep if she could hear other noises to focus on. And a bath or a shower wasn't going to be loud enough either. Staying in here with everyone was going to be the best thing for her.

Eddie's brows furrowed when he watched Chris trot back into the room, heaving the large quilt from his parent's bed.

"Thank you."

(Y/n) grabbed the cover and sat forward so she could tuck it around Eddie, who watched curiously as (Y/n) covered him up. But a light went off in his mind when he watched her completely enclose the cover around Winnie so she was hidden away.

The cover and the loud volume might just block out the fireworks enough to stop scaring her. In the least, it would make all the other sounds fuzzy and distort them a little.

(Y/n) leaned her head back on Eddie's shoulder and tucked into his side while Chris fiddled with the cover so it was around her and him too, keeping them all cosy. Chris seemed to like this idea as he twisted around and nuzzled his cheek into the cover with his head on (Y/n)'s waist again.

"Don't let me fall asleep," She murmured softly in Eddie's ear, doing her best to keep her eyes open. While she moved her arm so it was draped around Eddie, allowing her to trace her hand up and down Winnie's back.

The cover seemed to make her feel safe as she stopped trembling and instead curled up smaller against Eddie, though both hands were now clutching his shirt tightly.

"Mi amor, if you fall asleep you know I'll carry you to bed."

It was as if Eddie could read her mind. He knew the only reason she was worried about sleeping on the sofa was the fact that she would find it very hard to wake up and go to bed when it was time. It would be tempting for (Y/n) to just lay here instead.

"What, all four of us?" She muttered into his neck, already half asleep while she tiredly moved one of Eddie's arms from Winnie so he could feel at least two of the babies kicking up a fuss.

She didn't want Eddie carrying her anywhere, not when she felt like the triplets weighed a ton. But the way he smiled and laughed into her hair made her stomach flutter with adrenaline. Part of Eddie's job was training to carry people out of emergency situations, lift heavy loads and move debris. (Y/n) and the triplets were no match for him.

"Yes, all of you, mi amor. Now get some sleep."

[chelseaknoo]

Hey! So, imagine it’s the 2000s, and Eminem has this huge crush on a super-famous pop singer. In an interview, the interviewer asks his opinion on her, and he openly admits that he finds her attractive, which gets everyone talking. Then, they end up collaborating on a song together, and the music video they make is super hot. Fans completely lose it because they can totally tell there’s something going on between them!

2000s Eminem x pop singer! Reader

Caution:sexual content <3

During an interview, Eminem was asked about the up-and-coming pop singer Y/N, and he didn’t hold back his admiration. “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music,” he said, a slight smile hinting at something more. For a while now, Eminem had found himself drawn to her—her beauty was undeniable, but it was her warm, genuine personality that truly captivated him.

Though he’s known for his tough, edgy persona, Eminem couldn’t help but soften when he spoke about her. Y/N was different from anyone he’d encountered in the industry. Her presence was refreshing, a mix of talent and kindness that seemed to come naturally to her. He’d been following her rise to fame, noticing the way her fans adored her and the way her music connected with people. Eminem couldn’t deny it—he was crushing on her, and the thought of a collaboration had even crossed his mind more than once. Little did he know, his candid words in the interview would spark rumors and excitement among fans who couldn’t wait to see what might happen between the rapper and the rising pop star.

When you found out about what Eminem had said about you during the interview, you were completely taken aback. At first, it didn’t seem real—it was hard to process that someone as big as him would openly talk about you like that. The words played over and over in your head: “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music.”

You were shocked, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you. It was flattering, sure, but also a little overwhelming. You’d always admired Eminem’s music, his talent, and his larger-than-life persona, but the idea that he had noticed you, let alone had a genuine crush, sent your heart racing.

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered. His words were unexpected, and the attention was something you weren’t quite used to, especially coming from a major artist like him. You thought about it all day, the weight of his comment sinking in. Was he just being polite, or was there something more behind his words? Either way, it definitely left you with more questions than answers.

A week later, you received a message from none other than Eminem himself. He reached out to ask if you’d be interested in collaborating on a song. The moment you read his message, your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't believe it—Eminem, the legendary rapper you had admired for so long, was asking to work with you.

Without hesitation, you excitedly agreed. You had no doubts, no second thoughts. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and the idea of working with him, especially after everything that had happened with the interview, sent a rush of excitement through you.

You immediately replied, expressing how thrilled you were at the prospect of collaborating with him. The thought of creating something together felt surreal, and you couldn’t wait to dive into the creative process. You knew this was going to be huge—not just for your career, but for you personally.

Our teams met to discuss the creative direction of the collaboration, and the conversation quickly took an intriguing turn. They proposed making the song sensual and centered around the complexities of a relationship—intense, passionate, and unapologetically raw. As they laid out the concept, I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks. I couldn’t help but blush at the idea.

The thought of creating something so intimate, especially with him, was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. It would be a bold step, a departure from anything I’d done before, and the prospect of exploring that kind of connection through music was electrifying. I glanced over at him as the conversation unfolded, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed unfazed—confident, even—his expression suggesting he was more than ready to dive into the challenge.

After finishing the recording sessions for the song, the next step was to film the highly-anticipated music video. The energy on set was electric, a mix of excitement and nerves hanging in the air. You sat in front of the mirror, makeup artists diligently working to perfect your look. Brushes moved with precision, adding the final touches of shimmer to your eyes and gloss to your lips. The anticipation built with every passing second, and you could feel your heart pounding just a bit faster.

You adjusted the robe draped around you, its fabric soft against your skin. Beneath it, you wore delicate, lacy black lingerie chosen specifically for the shoot—a bold move, but one that fit the sensual vibe of the song. It felt both empowering and a little nerve-wracking to know what was coming next.

One of the makeup artists stepped back, admiring her work. “You look stunning,” she said with a smile, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” you replied, managing a small smile in return. “I just hope I don’t trip over this robe or something,” you joked, trying to shake off the nerves.

The door to the dressing room opened, and he walked in. Eminem, in all his calm, cool confidence, took a quick glance around before his eyes landed on you. There was a spark of something in his gaze—approval, maybe even a hint of surprise. “You ready for this?” he asked, a playful edge to his voice.

You nodded, tightening the belt of the robe instinctively. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear. “It’s gonna be fire. Just do your thing.”

His words sent a jolt of confidence through you. “You too,” you replied, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before he turned and walked out. The weight of the moment sank in. This video was going to be unforgettable, and you were ready to give it everything you had.

You took a deep breath and stood in front of the mirror, taking one last glance at yourself in the lingerie before slowly sliding the robe off your shoulders. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but the heat of anticipation made you feel warm all over. With one final look at your reflection, you stepped toward the door, ready to face what was ahead.

As you opened the door and stepped out, you found Marshall already waiting for you. He was sitting on the bed, his shirt off, his toned chest and arms on full display. His tattoos, which you had noticed before but never fully admired, seemed to tell stories with their intricate designs, each one adding to his raw, unapologetic energy. The way the tattoos stretched over his muscles caught your attention for a moment, and you couldn't help but admire the way he looked.

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable at first, but as his eyes traveled over you, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You look incredible,” he said, his voice low and almost hushed.

You smiled, sitting down beside him on the soft bed, the sheets rustling under you as you settled into place. The room was charged with an electric tension, and the crew started setting up the cameras, ensuring everything was in place for the shoot. The anticipation in the room grew as you waited, a sense of nervous excitement bubbling up inside you.

Once everything was ready, the cameras began rolling. Without missing a beat, Marshall started rapping, his words flowing effortlessly as he moved closer to you. He didn’t need a microphone—the raw power of his voice was enough to fill the room, his lyrics sharp and intense. As he rapped, he reached out and pulled you closer, his hands confidently guiding your exposed body toward him. The camera captured every movement, every kiss, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His hands roamed, tracing the curves of your body as if the song was meant for this exact moment.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat rise between you. His lips moved with yours in perfect sync as the music played on, his touch both tender and commanding. His body pressed against yours, his rhythm matching the intensity of the song, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the moment. The cameras captured it all—every kiss, every touch, every second of undeniable chemistry.

The atmosphere in the room was palpable, the energy of the shoot merging with the passion of the music. As Marshall continued rapping, you couldn’t help but be swept up in the power of the moment, your body responding to his, and the song taking on a life of its own.

His hands moved lower, tracing the line of your body as the music echoed through the room. The entire world outside the set seemed to fade away as you both got lost in the moment, the only thing that mattered being the connection between you and the music.

You brung your soft manicured hands up to your soft breasts engulfed by a lacy bra and squeezed them to appear more sexier to the camera as Marshall flipped off the camera.

This would most definitely be the thumbnail for the video.

The director called "cut," signaling the end of the scene. You and Marshall both took a step back, the intensity of the moment slowly dissipating as the crew moved in to adjust equipment and set up for the next shot. You exchanged a quiet smile before heading to your designated room to relax for a bit.

After a few hours, you wrapped up your recording, feeling a mix of accomplishment and exhaustion. The excitement of the day was still buzzing in your veins, but now you were looking forward to some downtime. You changed out of your wardrobe, slipping into something more comfortable, and made your way outside to your car.

Just as you reached the door of your vehicle, you heard someone call your name from behind. You turned to see Marshall walking toward you, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Hey," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So, I was wondering... would you want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe go out... on a date?"

The question caught you off guard, but in the best possible way. His voice had a casual tone, but you could sense there was something genuine beneath it. You paused for a moment, taking in the sincerity of his expression, then smiled back at him.

"A date, huh?" you replied, teasing him slightly. "Are you asking me out, Marshall Mathers?"

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, we’ve spent all this time together on set, and I think you're pretty cool. It’d be nice to get to know you outside of all this craziness."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth of his words settling comfortably in your chest. It felt like a simple question, but in that moment, it carried a weight that made everything feel real.

"Alright," you said with a smile, feeling the excitement rise in your chest. "I’d like that."

Marshall grinned, clearly pleased with your answer. "Great," he said. "I’ll text you the details. We’ll figure something out."

As you got into your car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Something had shifted between you two, and this date felt like the beginning of something new—something that, at the very least, would be interesting to explore.

When the music video dropped, it immediately sent shockwaves through the entertainment world. The buzz was undeniable, and the media couldn't get enough of it. News outlets were abuzz with headlines discussing the video, focusing on the undeniable chemistry between you and Marshall. The press quickly latched onto the idea that there was more than just a professional collaboration between the two of you. Everyone seemed to think that what they saw on screen was more than just a performance.

Magazines, tabloids, and news articles were all over the story. Some claimed the chemistry between you two was off the charts, while others speculated about a potential romance, pointing to the way your bodies intertwined during the video and the flirtatious energy that seemed to linger between every take. The media was fascinated, and the public couldn't stop talking about it. Fans and critics alike were all over the speculation, analyzing every glance, every touch, and every word exchanged between you both on screen.

Interviews with both you and Marshall quickly followed. Journalists from all over lined up to ask about the video, the song, and, of course, the undeniable tension between the two of you. Everyone wanted to know if it was real—if what they saw in the video was an accurate reflection of what was going on behind the scenes. And while you both kept things light and playful, the questions kept coming, making it nearly impossible to escape the growing rumors.

The attention, both positive and negative, was overwhelming. The video had clearly left a mark, one that many believed was the beginning of something far deeper than just a professional relationship. Whether you were together or not, the world seemed to be entranced by the idea of the two of you.

And of course we decided to keep the people guessing <3

[wonderjanga]

Warfare

You see, Marvel’s mentioned the Wisdom of Solomon before. The JL never really thought much about it. As a result, the JL just thinks Marvel has all these… interesting ideas but just never says anything about them. Though, there are a couple times the ideas are actually voiced. (They don’t know Billy is just parroting whatever Solomon or occasionally another God with tell him)

Like the time Batman and Marvel got stranded on a planet that was stuck in the middle of war. They were promised

Rebel Leader: “Do either of you have any ideas to bring to the table?”

Batman: “No. Marvel?”

Marvel: “Huh? Oh uh… well I could magic a plague into the water near them. You said they’re using it for their water source, right? Then, when they’re weak, we can go around and take them out.” *sounds hesitant*

Batman: “Hmm… That could be a good idea, but what sort of plague are we talking about?”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “What.”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “Marvel, that’s fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “Well, if we’re quick, it we can get to them before they die.”

Batman: *stares for a bit, holding back a sigh* “We don’t even know if Cholera will affect their biology the same way it does humans.”

Rebel Leader: “What is this Cholera?”

Batman: “It’s a deadly waterborne disease.”

Rebel Leader: “I see… And you’re unsure whether it will work with our physiology… might I propose a different disease?”

So yes, biological warfare, that’s our first thing. Batman proceeded to spend a lot of time convincing the Rebel Leader not to nearly kill an entire group of people with their version of Cholera.

Then there was the time Bruce and Marvel were working together and got held up in a shootout at a lab.

Marvel: *looking at the various chemicals in the lab* “Gosh, I remember my first exposure to chlorine gas.” *getting nostalgic* (He’s from the 1940s in this one, guys)

Batman: “You’ve been exposed to chlorine gas?”

Marvel: “Yeah, and let me tell you, those dang Nazis were horrified when it didn’t work on me. Don’t worry though, we’re gonna be making mustard gas instead.”

Batman: “Captain, we are not doing that.”

Marvel: “Why? We have all the available ingredients.”

Batman: “Marvel.” *puts a hand on his shoulder* “Mustard gas can be fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “My bad.”

*more silence*

Batman: “Is this why you always let others plan?”

Marvel: “Are you gonna look at me weird if I say yes?”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: Yes, but it won’t be visible through my cowl)

This incident checks chemical warfare off the list. Bruce is now concerned as to why most of Marvel’s ideas are either nearly fatal or just fatal.

Then there was the time Marvel went undercover with Bruce Wayne, not Batman for whatever reason. They then got attacked by pirates while on a ship trying to gather information about some supervillain.

Bruce and Marvel: *taken cover under a table while the pirates fire cannon balls at them*

Bruce: “Any ideas?” *peaks over the cover only for a cannonball to whiz right past his head*

Marvel: “I think I have one. So here’s what I’m thinking. I take out their mast, steal all their oars, and then push them out to sea and let them drift wherever.

Bruce: “That’s… Intense. Wouldn’t they starve if you just let them drift?”

Marvel: “I guess. If they’re not saved, I mean.”

Bruce: *stares with the most deadpan face* “How about I come up with a plan instead?”

Marvel: “You got it boss.”

And last but not least, the physical warfare.

By the way, Billy doesn’t know Bruce is the Bat. No, no, no, he just thinks the guy is someone Batman wants him to work with. He was a little surprised to see the dude act all brooding like Mr. Batman when he had heard from others that he was a party boy. Oh well, not his business. Meanwhile, Bruce doesn’t know Marvel thinks he’s just interacting with a capable civilian.

That last part was inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s reblog of this post. Thanks for letting me write with your idea :)

[yanmuffins]

Hey there

Im actually gonna talk about your other series

I'm super curious for the yandere Batfam dynamic was they find our reader is a vampire, I kinda like the idea of reversing the typical vampire creepiness and instead of us, is the Batfam that really enjoy feeling the reader drinking their blood and each one figure out a way to convince reader.

For example let's say Cassandra manages to figure out which days your instincts are at the strongest so those days she always makes sure it's her turn to stay in the manor to keep guard and make sure you don't escape while the others are doing vigilante stuff

context.

oooooh vampire! reader ask!!! mild spoilers for future fic, gotham by night.

i'm honestly so excited to see where this story will go. this reader will not only have to deal with batfam issues, but also being introduced to a completely new world of vampires and deal with sire issues on top of daddy issues. she's having a great time (not)!

but tbh, i don't think reader would drink the batfam's blood. she would find the idea of feeding on her family extremely gross, and unnecessary, since there's other methods out there. it could be a last-resort thing, if she was starving and close to frenzy, but even then that would be something she would hate to do, as there is a risk of killing them accidentally.

and one of the main conflicts in this fic is yandere! platonic! batfam just not understanding (obviously, since they've never been exposed to it) the richness and intricacies of vampire culture, practices and social dynamics, leading to them to mishandle reader and her new condition as a vampire pretty badly. not only that, but batfam essentially kidnapping reader from her sire (who had also kidanpped her btw) messes up her self-discovery process as a vampire. oh, and a possible masquerade breach! disastrous.

but i can see the batfamily starving reader on purpose, to get her to drink their blood, saying it's safer for her to get used to drinking from her family so she doesn't feel tempted to attack innocent civilians. and she's yelling that that's not how any of this works, but they won't listen. yup, that's diabolical.

you see, this concept pretty much follows v*mpire t*e m*squ*rad* mechanics. and according to established lore, we have a variety of predator types: one of them being bagger, referring to vampires who prefer to consume blood through blood bags instead of live human bodies. this would be convenient for both reader and batfam, but mostly batfam since they could just arrange reader an endless supply of blood bags with ease.

we also have consensualists, who do not feed against their victim's free will (the lines of consent and free will might still be murky, lest they straight up admit they're a vampire looking for blood and won't you please spare some) and sirens, who seduce their victims! i'm not entirely sure which predator type vampire! reader will be, but i'm leaning heavily towards bagger, meaning she doesn't have a preference for biting necks. but who knows?

to be fair, it's a big adjusment for batfam. you were being weird before you got kidnapped (and embraced), and it takes a while and reader almost going into frenzy (aka vampiric reaction to situations of extreme stress, like starvation) for them to find out, holy shit, she's a fucking vampire now! that's what happened! and they can't just... let you go. the situation is complicated. the person who turned you is still out there, and you're unpredictable, and this wouldn't have happened if they just paid more attention to you! so let them keep you safe (captive) and provided for.

ALTERNATIVELY, deviating a bit from the original concept where reader is taken by her sire and then taken by the batfam straight back into captivity, we could have reader being so neglected and ignored in the family that they just don't notice she's been turned, and she gets time to go through a complete change in personality and confidence, and involve herself with the social and political webs of vampire society that wants to establish itself in gotham. it's not drastically different direction for this concept to go, because either way reader will be thrown in the world of darkness (ha), except here the kidnapping happens after she comes contact into it and in the paragraph above it happens before.

reader escapes them either way, cause she's a vampire ofc, and the batfam didn't have enough time and info to prepare and keep reader sufficiently trapped. they'll keep an eye on her, though.

either way, there's room for yandere madness, dark content, neglectful batfamily drama, sociopolitical vampire drama, vampire! reader being cunty, and all that in both ideas, which aren't that different, really.. i'm not sure! sorry for rambling. it's still a work in progress but i'm very excited for it.

[ahyperactivehero]

i asked on election night if anyone wanted a little drabble to help with the stress, and unfortunately it has taken me a little longer than i would like to get them out!

@det-agency: please write Edwin getting turned into an orb for the first time pre-canon and Charles freaking out i think itd be so fun

(fun fact, this is my first orb fic! i've wanted to write one for a minute, but this is the first that i've actually sat down and wrote out!)

Drabble 5 (Orb Fic)

London, 1991

Getting chased by a vengeful ghost was not exactly what Charles had planned for when they’d set off to speak to their client, but he supposed that’s what you get being a ghost detective.

Edwin sprinted ahead of him, his long legs easily giving him the speed that he needed to leave their client in the dust. 

“Who woulda thought our client was the guilty one?” Charles yelled out to Edwin, who glanced over his shoulder. 

“It is certainly a twist,” Edwin said. He suddenly veered off to the right, racing towards the bedroom mirror they had come through earlier. If they could get there, they could head back to their newly established office and regroup. They’d certainly need to think of a better plan now that their client had turned on them and absolutely wasted their original suspect.

Edwin reached the mirror, his hand outstretched as he concentrated on getting them back to the office. Charles turned around, his hands immediately finding comfort in his cricket bat. If that bastard even thought about getting close to them he’d smash him.

“Come on,” he heard Edwin mutter under his breath. “Find it, find it, find it.”

Mirror travel was something Charles had yet to master, but Edwin was aces at it. It would probably only take him a second before–

A choked, gasping sound came from behind him, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone stepping through a mirror. He spun around, worried for a moment that Edwin might have fallen through the mirror and been separated from him, when he felt his soul go cold.

Their client, Geoff Mann, stepped from the mirror. His hand was already through, and in his fist was an iron knife.

An iron knife covered in ghostly blood.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled, rushing forward just as Edwin staggered backwards.

His hands were on his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Charles felt panic like he never had before. Iron hurt ghosts, but could it kill them? Was stabbing enough to obliterate a ghost? Maybe not, but what about cutting their throat?

Edwin fell straight into his arms, and Charles would have dropped his cricket bat if it weren’t for the vengeful ghost of their client standing over them. Blood dripped off of the knife and pooled on the carpet and it seemed wrong that it wouldn’t actually stain it. Not that Charles wanted anything to be stained with his best friend’s blood, it just seemed wrong that it wouldn’t.

“Hold on,” he said in what he hoped was his most reassuring voice. Gently, and without looking away from Geoff, he slid Edwin to the floor. He ignored his hand dragging down Charles’s arm, begging him to stay– to not leave him alone.

This would only take a moment. Besides, he needed to take care of the threat before he tended to Edwin.

“You fucked up,” Charles said, twirling his bat. Geoff didn’t even have the decency to look the least bit frightened. 

“You’re gonna make me move on,” Geoff said. “And I ain’t doin’ it.”

They weren’t. That’s not what their Agency did. They couldn’t force someone to move on if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t even what Geoff had originally hired them for!

But none of that mattered now. Not when Edwin was behind him, gasping and potentially dying. 

(He wasn’t even sure what dying would mean for a ghost. Would he go back to Hell? Disappear?)

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. He swung his bat against his arm, almost enjoying the way it cracked and forced him to drop his knife.

Charles wasn’t a violent person, no matter how much he feared being like his father. But the satisfaction he got from seeing that man drop to his knees in pain after what he’d done to Edwin? Well, he might need to reflect on that.

The urge to keep going was strong– after all, what was to stop him from coming after them later? – but he forced himself to stop. 

“If anything happens to him,” Charles warned, holding out his bat against the other man’s head. “I’m comin’ back.”

Quicker than the other man could react, he bent down and picked up his knife and turned back to get Edwin. 

He laid there, air and blood gurgling as he tried to keep his wound closed. At some point his eyes had screwed shut, like that might help block out the pain. They sprang open at the first sign of Charles’s touch, that faint bit of panic he’d seen when something reminded him of Hell shooting across his face before flattening out into something more manageable.

“Let's go,” Charles said. He put his hands under his armpits, intending to haul Edwin up if he had to, but a flash of light overwhelmed his vision and Edwin disappeared.

“Edwin!” he yelled and looked from hand to hand as if he might have somehow been hiding there. 

A small orb, just a bit bigger than a cricket ball, floated there in front of him. There was no trace of Edwin, just the small, pulsing yellow orb.

“Edwin?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The orb bobbed for a moment, as if it were answering. The yellow seemed to glow brighter for a second before dimming until it was a faded, off-white color. 

Forget it. Charles had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t have time for this. He snatched Edwin up and booked it through the mirror,  no destination in mind– only intent on getting them as far away as possible.

It took several tries before he got back to the office, and by then his nonexistent heartbeat had slowed down to something far more bearable. Without even thinking he tossed his bag and bat to the floor and uncovered the ball of light he’d been keeping safe in his hands.

There was an unexpected feeling to it, not quite a weight but certainly a warmth. It reminded him of when he was alive and he’d stick his cold finger next to a heater or run them under warm water once they’d gone numb.

It was the first time he’d felt warmth since he died.

He held the orb closer to his face and chest for inspection. It was perfectly round, the edges of it reminding him of an impossible mix of glass and a cloud. It wasn’t solid, but he also couldn’t put his hand through it, even if he tried.

“Edwin?” he asked again. Could this really be Edwin? What had that ghost done to him?

The orb pulsed, yellow light coming back to it before fading again into that cool, white light.

So it really must be Edwin. 

He glanced over at Edwin’s slowly growing collection of books and wondered if there was something about this in one of them. The subject of orbs had never come up before, but then again, neither one of them had ever been as hurt as Edwin was before. 

Was this what happened when something hurt them? How badly did they need to be hurt in order for it to happen? 

“Hey,” Charles said as he ran his hand over the orb. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

There was another pulse. The orb seemed to hover above his hands for a moment before gravity seemed to take over it and it dropped back down. 

In a sheer panic, Charles caught it. Or not it, he supposed. Because this thing had to be Edwin. If it wasn’t that would mean that either Edwin was gone or he’d left him behind with their insane client. 

The idea that he might have done that nearly sent him into a tailspin. Should he double back and check? What if this was a trick and the real Edwin was somehow still there? Or what if there was something special about his knife that had turned Edwin into an orb?

Gently, he cradled Edwin to his chest as he turned to look for his bag. He’d picked up the knife, hadn’t he? Thankfully, it only took a few tries before he successfully pulled it from his bag. Ha, take that Edwin, he was getting better at using it.

“See, mate,” he said, his voice low and soft as he spoke over the orb. “I told you this bag was worth it. Already earnin’ its keep, hm?”

The handle of the knife was thankfully not iron coated. Charles hadn’t even thought about that earlier when he’d grabbed it. All he’d been thinking about was that Edwin was hurt, and he’d needed to disarm the guy.

Blood covered the blade, but aside from that there seemed to be nothing interesting about it at all. Not strange markings, no traces of magic that he could tell. It looked exactly like every other boring knife out there.

Except this one had hurt his friend.

The orb– Edwin, Charles supposed– pulsed again, the light from it peeking out between his fingers. Had Charles squeezed it by accident? He’d been so focused on the knife, so caught up in thoughts of their client hurting him that he hadn’t really…

Slowly but with more force than Charles anticipated, the orb pulled free from his hand. It bobbed around the room, floating here and there as if it were looking for something. It lingered above Edwin’s chair, the space where the other boy spent most of his time in the office. 

Yet there was nothing for it to do. It’s not like the orb had hands. It couldn’t hold a book or write or do anything that usually interested Edwin. 

As if it had realized this, it lazily floated back over to Charles. That yellow light seemed to be getting even stronger, calming Charles’s nerves just a bit. A strong light had to be a good sign, yeah? Surely that meant that Edwin was fine. 

Except what if he wasn’t fine? What if yellow was bad and he was trying to warn Charles? What if he needed help, and Charles couldn’t understand him? How was he meant to do anything if Edwin couldn’t talk to him anymore?

The orb bumped into his head, the softest, gentlest headbutt Charles had ever experienced. His thoughts slowed down as he lifted his hands up to cup the orb again.

“Well, mate,” Charles said. “What do you think we should do?” 

Edwin didn’t answer. Not that Charles thought he would.

“What if I read to you?” he asked. “I love it when you read to me. Helps me relax, yeah?”

Edwin seemed to warm up in his hands again. Charles took that as a good sign.

He strolled over to Edwin’s bookcase (our bookcase, Charles, the Edwin in his mind reminded him) and browsed their selection. Most of them were detective novels, but Edwin had recently started to collect more on magic and the supernatural.

No, he thought, should really stick to a classic.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? You love him,” he said, as if Charles didn’t also love him.

He grabbed one of their Sherlock Holmes books at random and made his way over to the couch. “Might as well get comfy, eh?” he asked and sprawled out.

For a moment, Charles was sure Edwin was going to float away. Maybe he hadn’t been as interested in reading to him as he’d thought. Instead, Edwin merely rolled down until he was resting on Charles’s chest, that warm, familiar feeling spreading all over him.

So Charles read to him. He read to him until he had finished one book, and then started on another that he could reach. His voice was a low rumble, the sound fading into the background as he split his attention between the words and Edwin. Time passed slowly and hazily, the sort of dream-like quality that only came when it didn’t really matter.

Eventually, when he thought he might go insane from reading so much, he talked. He told Edwin how he was sorry he hadn’t been fast enough to stop him– because really, Charles had been right there after all– and how he hoped that Edwin forgave him. He told him that when Edwin felt better, he would do anything he wanted. He’d even go see that play he’d been talking about that Charles couldn’t remember the name of if he wanted. And there was a show that Charles was interested in going to, but they could stand at the back where it was quieter and they were less likely to get stepped on if Edwin wanted to come.

He told him how much he missed him. How worried he was about him. How he knew that it had only been about a day since he’d gone into this form, but he didn’t think he’d missed anyone this much. Not his mum or dad, not his friends or teachers. No one.

Finally, he fell silent. He was sure that if he dug down deep enough there was more for him to say, but what was the point? Edwin was still stuck looking like the world’s brightest cricket ball, and he had just spilled about everything he had in him.

“I’m just worried,” Charles said. His arms wrapped around the orb so tightly it doubled as a self-hug. “Y’know I worry.”

Then again, maybe Edwin didn’t know. Charles loved to portray himself as this confident, friendly guy. Sure, he could be protective, but did Edwin know he was serious enough that he could worry?

Something shifted. The solid, golden color the orb had been since he’d started reading to him briefly changed. It flashed blue, a color that Charles normally loved but reminded him too much of Death in this instance, before it faded, and the orb was gone.

Before he could worry whether or not Death had actually come for them, he felt a solid weight pressing down on him. And there, in his lap, laid out across him, was Edwin. His feet were tucked up, allowing his long body to fit neatly onto the couch, his head cradled against Charles’s chest.

“Edwin?” he breathlessly asked.

Edwin shifted, his head tilting back just enough to look up at him. Charles had to loosen his death grip on him to allow even that. “Charles?”

Immediately, Charles hugged him closer. He smashed Edwin’s face into his chest and pressed his chin to the top of his head. “Don’t ever do that again, mate,” he said. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Edwin was frozen. Then, he thawed and relaxed himself into Charles’s hug. “I did not mean to worry you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Charles said without any heat to it. Finally, he let his arms slide away from Edwin and allowed himself to get his first real look at his friend.

The first thing he noticed was that he looked tired. Dark bags lined his eyes and blood still smeared his collar, although whatever wound had been made was gone. He seemed paler than normal as well, but Edwin was always so pale it was hard to tell. 

“Alright?” he asked, still looking for any sign that he wasn’t.

Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded stronger than before, and God if it didn’t sound like Heaven to Charles. The idea that he might never have heard his friend speak again hadn’t truly hit him until this moment. “I believe I am unharmed.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “You were stabbed. In the neck,” he said. Or close enough, anyways. “And then you turned into this glowing ball, and… well, I didn’t know what to do.”

Edwin flinched at the mention of his wound before soothing his expression into one of fondness. “Yes, I… seem to remember that,” he said. His hand came up to touch his throat, only to find no wound there. “It would seem I have healed.”

“Maybe that’s what that was?” he asked and made a gesture with his hand to show orb-sized Edwin. “Maybe that was like ‘ghost healing’?” 

Something between annoyance and acceptance flashed across Edwin’s face. “I believe you have it right,” Edwin said. “It would seem that would be the form ghosts take when they heal.”

Charles nodded. “Kinda brills, honestly. Like a turtle goin’ into their shell or something.”

Edwin squinted his eyes at the comparison. “I suppose,” he said. And then almost immediately collapsed when he tried to get up.

“Oi!” Charles said and wrapped his arms around him. “What’re you doing? You wanna be an orb again?” 

Edwin huffed as he settled back down. His face had washed out even more after his ill-advised attempt. “No, I do not,” he said. “But it hardly seems appropriate for me to just… lay all over you.”

Before he had died, Charles might have agreed. There was a certain amount of weirdness to it, he supposed, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Edwin to get up. In fact, he wanted Edwin to stay right where he was until he was strong enough to stand without passing out again.

Edwin rolled his eyes when he said this. “I did not pass out. Ghosts cannot do that,” he said. Yet he laid his head back down against Charles’s chest, his now ruffled hair tickling Charles’s chin. 

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said. Before Edwin could argue, he held a hand up and used it to gently bop him on the arm. “And don’t say ghosts can’t sleep. That’s basically what you were doing before.”

Edwin started to shake his head, but the motion quickly became him snuggling down against Charles. “I am merely resting my eyes.”

Charles grinned, a sudden wave of fondness he’d never felt for anyone else overtaking him. “Yeah, well rest your mouth too.”

Edwin tried to flip him off but failed. “Almost had it,” Charles teased.

“I’ll figure it out one day,” he said before fading back off to sleep. 

At least this time he stayed a ghost.