#and ive washed my hands so many times and its Still There

[themmmefatale]

cooking is fun and all until you experience the horrors

[irissuite]

🥭🎴🎸♟️🤺

[23victoria]

“P1 BABY!!”

lewis hamilton x wife!reader

wc: 1.2k

warnings: smut

authors note: HE FUCKING WONN!!! SO SO SO HAPPY FOR HIM!! IVE BEEN CRYING ALL DAY!! I LOVE HIM SO MICH HE DESERVES IT!! GOAT OF F1! ❤️

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y/nhamilton

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell, sza, georgerussell, mercedesamgf1, charlesleclerc, oscar piastri, and 4,444,444 others

P1 for my baby at Silverstone!!! I am beyond proud and amazed by this man everyday. His dedication, determination, grace, courage, and love for this sport and his fans is beautiful to see and experience! Thank you to the fans for all your support and love!! Seeing you guys out there today was beautiful! Such an emotional day for us all! I never gave up on him no matter how many times he gave up on himself, I believed in him and so did you. Today was proof that he is and will always be the Greatest Of All Time in F1! Lewis, I love you forever and always ❤️! Still We Rise!! 🙌🏾🫶🏾❤️🥹

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lewishamilton i love you so much my love 🫶🏾❤️

landonorris congrats to lewis!!

sebastianvettel goat! congrats lewis!! 🤍

hamazinglew so proud of him!!

username22 it’s been so long!!

username16 he was crying, i was crying, we all crode 🥹

username1 love you lewis!!

username9 lh44 forever!!

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You can hardly contain your excitement as you stand amidst the roaring crowd at Silverstone, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. The air vibrates with the sound of engines and the fervent cheers of fans, all eyes on the track. You’re right there in the thick of it, feeling every heartbeat, every surge of adrenaline as the race unfolds.

Lewis Hamilton, your hero, your partner, is in the lead. You clutch the edge of your seat, your breath hitching with every turn he takes. The final lap approaches, and the world seems to hold its breath. The finish line is in sight, and when Lewis crosses it, a wave of euphoria sweeps over the grandstands. He’s done it. He’s won!

Tears blur your vision as you leap to your feet, joining the chorus of ecstatic fans. The noise is deafening, but all you can think about is getting to him. You push through the crowd, your heart pounding in time with the chants of his name. When he steps out of the car, the expression on his face is pure joy.

You break into a run, the world around you a blur, and before you know it, you’re in his arms. He lifts you off your feet, holding you tight as both of you cry tears of happiness.

“I knew you could do it,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “You’re so talented, and this is just the beginning. There’s so much more to come.”

He kisses you deeply, and the world fades away until it’s just the two of you, lost in the moment. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I love you too,” you reply, feeling a surge of pride and love swell in your chest.

Lewis makes his way to the podium, and you watch him, your heart swelling with pride. The cheers of the crowd wash over you as he lifts the trophy, the culmination of all his hard work and dedication.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ☆ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• .

The evening finds you both at a club, the celebration in full swing. The music is loud, the lights are bright, and the energy is contagious. You dance and drink, savoring every moment. You’re surrounded by friends and fans, all celebrating Lewis’s incredible victory.

With a bottle of Almave in hand, you toast to the night, to the future, to love and success. The two of you dance like there’s no tomorrow, feeling the warmth and comfort of being together. The music fades into the background as you lose yourselves in the moment, simply enjoying being with one another

The celebration at the club has left you both exhilarated and slightly tipsy, the world a delightful blur of lights and music. Now, as you step into the quiet sanctity of your bedroom, the atmosphere shifts, becoming charged with a different kind of energy.

Lewis looks at you, his eyes dark with desire and affection. You smile, stepping closer to him, your fingers lightly grazing his arm. “Tonight is about you,” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with intent.

You begin with a slow, lingering kiss, your lips exploring his with a gentle but growing hunger. He responds in kind, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the anticipation building with every heartbeat.

You guide him to the bed, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath. You lift the fabric, exposing his chest, and he helps you by raising his arms, letting you pull the shirt over his head. You take a moment to admire him, his skin gleaming in the soft light.

You push him gently onto the bed, straddling him. Your hands explore his body, fingers tracing the lines of his abs, the contours of his chest. You kiss your way down his neck, savoring the taste of his skin. He moans softly, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer.

Your lips continue their journey downward, kissing, licking, teasing. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pause, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of love and lust.

Slowly, you undo his belt, the sound of the buckle hitting the floor loud in the quiet room. You slide his pants down, revealing the growing bulge in his boxers. You kiss along the line of his hip, teasing him, making him wait. His breath hitches, his hands clenching the sheets.

Finally, you remove his boxers, freeing his cock. You take him in your hand, stroking him gently, your eyes never leaving his. You lean down, your lips brushing against the tip, tasting him. His reaction is immediate, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips.

You take your time, teasing him with your mouth, your tongue, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Just when he thinks he can’t take any more, you stop, moving back up to kiss him deeply.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, his voice hoarse with need.

You smile, positioning yourself over him, guiding him inside you. The sensation is intense, both of you gasping as you begin to move together. The rhythm is slow at first, building gradually, each movement bringing you closer.

As the passion builds, he flips you over, positioning you on your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling you up so you're on your knees. You feel his fingers tangle in your hair, giving a gentle but firm tug as he thrusts into you from behind. The intensity of the angle makes you cry out in pleasure, the sensation overwhelming.

He continues to thrust in and out of you, the pace quickening, each movement more powerful than the last. You feel yourself tightening around him, the tension building as his name falls from your lips in a breathless moan. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back slightly, exposing the curve of your neck. He leans forward, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers words of love and desire.

Feeling the edge approaching, he slows down, pulling out and flipping you onto your back again. He positions himself between your legs, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder, deepening the angle. His eyes lock onto yours, the connection between you electric as he thrusts in and out of you.

The intensity is almost too much to bear, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You reach up, your hands gripping his arms, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each powerful thrust. The look in his eyes is one of pure adoration, mixed with a raw, primal desire that sends shivers down your spine.

“Lewis,” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. “I’m so close.”

He responds with a deep, passionate kiss, his thrusts becoming faster, driving you both to the brink. The tension inside you finally snaps, your body arching as you come, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Lewis follows moments later, his release spilling into you as he groans your name, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

You collapse into each other, spent but utterly content. Your bodies are still tangled together, the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you both. You lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading away, leaving just the two of you, basking in the warmth of your love and the triumph of the day.

✿ .° • everything taglist • °. ✿ : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164

✿ .° • lewis taglist • °. ✿ : @yoncesgroove @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[gatorbites-imagines]

Heyy!! I love your blog and writing sm!!! I was wonderomg if you'd write somethjng with top/dom reader where the reader gets godly aftercare as well.. we need to normalize giving doms aftercare!! and your writing is my greatest comfort, finally someone writes for other than petite fem readers <333

Nanami Kento x male reader

Headcanons

You never specified which character you wanted me to write for, so I just picked one I felt would give amazing aftercare. Also cuz I don’t think many people realize I write for jjk.

Sorry ive been gone for a bit, but to no one’s surprise, classes are exhausting.

There are different kinds of aftercare, so it all really depends on what kind of dynamic you and Nanami have, and what you are in need of after. Nanami being as aware and loving as he is, would have an easy time figuring out what you need.

There might be times where all you need afterwards if to be held or to hold him, to know that he’s there and that Nanami still loves you and that he liked it very much. He is also the kind of person to have set up the different snacks or drinks you could need afterwards.

Knowing Nanami, he would probably even have some kind of small fridge to keep the drinks in, if it’s a cold drink you need to help center yourself after a rougher scene. If it’s a hot drink you need, he would make sure you were alright before going to get it.

Nanami is an efficient man, so it wouldn’t take long before he’s back again, your favorite mug in one hand, and the latest book he has been reading. Sometimes its enough to just sit together as he reads and you sip on whatever drink it is you need, and other times you need to just be held. Luckily for you, Nanami is a big guy, so that can also be done with no issue.

If its been a rougher scene and you need more than just some cuddles and a snack, Nanami would also be very on top of that. There is no way he would let the love of his life feel inadequate or gross about yourself.

There might be times where you think you are a horrible person because of the scenes you two do, or because of how rough you were, which could result in you pulling away or even having dom drop. But Nanami won’t let you sink too far, always pulling you back out of that dark pit before it gets to swallow you whole.

If you needed to cry, there would be no judgement from your lover, and if you just need to be alone, he would let you do that too. But hes gonna be setting up a nice shower or bath for when you are feeling better again.

Nanami has also always been a very honest guy, and believes strongly in communication in a relationship. So if what you needed was verbal reassurance, or to know how he felt, what you did right and what you did wrong, he would give it to you.

Communication wouldn’t just be for you though, since he himself also enjoys talking it over, to make sure you guys are both on the same wavelength and enjoyed it an equal amount. Sometimes talking about it in a more strategic manner could help center you both, and stop any spiraling thoughts or feelings.

It also wouldn’t be beneath Nanami to want to give you a rubdown if you were feeling a bit sore and exhausted. Sometimes its as much for him as it is for you, since it gives him a sense of peace to know that you are there, and that you are comfortable.

He probably has a whole routine he goes through if you are feeling too drained to move, or if you are feeling under the weather. Like wiping you both down before you get into the bath together, where Nanami would lovingly wash your hair and then his own. This is also where he would make sure you both are fine physically, just in case.

Nanami would get out of the bath first, letting you just vege out for a bit, as he goes to clean up the bedroom and get some new sheets and pillows on the bed, and getting out some clean sleep wear for you both.

You may have been the dom/top, but that doesn’t stop Nanami from taking care of you, as its something he loves to do on any day of the week, and if you need it after you guys have spent the night together you won’t hear any complaints.

After getting everything ready, Nanami would go back to help you out of the water, dry you off, and get you into the clothes you are comfortable in, before you two shuffle back to your room. And of course, he’s put the good sheets on the bed.

You’ll get a nice soft blush from him if you compliment him and thank him for all his hard work. He loves taking care of you the most, but that doesn’t mean Nanami doesn’t enjoy being praised and loved on by you too.

All in all, Nanami would know multiple ways to do aftercare, and is perspective enough to figure out what you need before you do. He would also never judge you for any kind of care you might need, as making you comfortable and happy always makes his heart flutter.

[jjkamochoso]

Pt. 2 of Imagine… Soshiro Hoshina Finding You on the Brink of Death

Angst, Fluff

Soshiro Hoshina x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of hospital setting/devices

You can find the all angst ridden part 1 here!

One week.

That was how long it had been since Soshiro had seen your alluring (e/c) eyes, heard your infectious laugh, blushed at your gentlest smile reserved just for him. The past 7 days of you in a coma after almost becoming a kaiju meal had been devastating for him and the rest of your teammates. You had many visitors over the hours you lied completely still on your hospital bed, but you weren’t the only unmoving person in your room. Soshiro had rarely moved an inch from your side, only getting up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t remove himself from his seat next to your fragile body in case you woke up; he couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone in such a vulnerable state anyway.

“They’re under the best care here, Hoshina. Go get some rest,” Captain Ashiro had told him on day 3, when Soshiro was sporting dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He respectfully refused, and Mina knew better than to fight with him right now—he was as stubborn as he was talented with his swords. Every time the nurses came in to check your vitals, they looked upon him and his sad state of being with sorrow, feeling awful to see the man in such despair. They had taken it upon themselves to deliver meals for him since they all knew he wasn’t leaving to eat. Even if most of the time the tray sat untouched, they took it as a win when a pudding or fruit cup disappeared.

Day 5 was the hardest for Soshiro. By that point, he was delirious from staying up practically all night in case you needed something. His typed reports stopped making sense, his brain nowhere near as sharp as usual due to the fog of grief that had settled in his mind. The steady beeps of your life support machine haunted his every waking moment, a perfect symphony of the anguish he couldn’t escape. Thankfully, Kafka had heard about his vice captain’s condition and visited that night, offering to take over Soshiro’s watch in case you woke up. Soshiro was extremely reluctant at first, but he knew that you and Hibino were close; he also trusted the kind hearted man enough to know he’d be there for you in case something happened. With strong hesitation, Soshiro left your sight for the first time in 96 hours, heading to the shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t wash away the feelings of guilt he harbored over your injuries.

If only I was faster, stronger… I could’ve been there sooner. Stopped the kaiju from ever sinking its disgusting teeth into you. What kind of vice captain am I? What kind of… person am I? How could I ever expect them to love me back if I can’t succeed in my one job of protecting them?

He let his tears fall freely, mixing in with the water from the shower head.

Day 7 was the point where Soshiro was just… there. He barely felt anything anymore, whether it was exhaustion, anguish, or anything else. He sat next to you like normal, gazing at your chest as it sank and rose with shallow breaths, but his eyes were glazed over in a manner reminiscent of a man without hope. The doctors didn’t have an estimated time for you to wake up. With injuries as extensive as yours, there was no telling when your body would be ready to start running on its own again. Soshiro didn’t know how to process that news; he liked seeing tangible results, and the fact that you had been hooked up to all these damn machines for so long and nothing had changed? It was pure torture to him. He found himself inching closer to you, if that were even possible, and he took hold of your hand with the softest of touches.

“I miss ya, y/n,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips. He was careful to not disrupt the IV as he laid a gentle kiss on your cold skin, savoring the sensation of doing what had wanted to do since he first met you all those years ago.

“Remember the promise we made to each other when we were young and dumb? Now we’re old and dumb,” he chuckled humorlessly, “and you still have to keep up your end of the bargain. You have to survive. I can’t lose you.”

He took in a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t lose you because I’m in love with you.”

It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on him—he finally garnered the courage to admit he had fallen in love, but the object of his affections wasn’t able to hear it. He let his head hang in misery as he kept your hand close to his face, eventually placing it against his cheek. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that you would wake up. If you died… he wouldn’t know how to move on from such a devastating blow. He knew this macabre scenario had a high probability of happening in this career field you two chose, but he always had faith in his and your abilities to stay alive. To say that faith had been shaken was the understatement of the century.

“Y/n, please. I can’t do this alone. I need ya back with me. You gotta keep fighting.”

Soshiro went to place your hand back on the bed when he swore he felt your fingers move against his own. His eyes widened in surprise as his heart started slamming against his rib cage. Was that real or just his imagination?

It happened again.

And your eyes opened.

He slammed on the call button, informing the nurses of your awakening before turning his attention back to you.

“So-soshiro,” you tried to say, but your throat couldn’t form any words.

“Shh, don’t say anything, darling, I’m right here. Always have been, always will be.”

A grin swirled with anxiety and relief was present on his lips as he looked at you.

After a few hours of tests, doctors checking up on you, and small moments to collect your thoughts, you were finally able to form coherent sentences.

“You sat here the whole time? Now I feel bad,” you said, a small frown gracing your features.

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t want you to be alone, that’s all,” Soshiro told you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. “Did you… happen to hear anything I was saying before you woke up?”

“What, like how we’re old and dumb and that you’re in love with me?” you said, trying your best not to laugh at his shocked expression.

“Huh? You actually did hear me? I thought that only happened in movies!” he whined, his cheeks tinged with red.

“No reason to be embarrassed, Soshiro. I didn’t know how to tell you but I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a very long time.”

Soshiro was looking upon you like you had descended directly from the heavens, his eyes gleaming with unbridled joy as his fingertips danced over your arm, tracing shapes in an intimate, comforting manner.

“I‘ve been so worried about ya, sweetheart, but now that you’re back with me, it’s like I can breathe again.”

You relished in the calm quiet of the room, basking in Soshiro’s loving presence. He was exactly the driving force behind you willing your body to wake up. You could never leave him to walk this world alone.

“I also felt you kissing my hand,” you said after a long bout of silence. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Guess all I had to do was give ya true love’s kiss to wake up?” he joked, his little fangs peeking out of his lazy grin.

“I’m looking forward to my real kiss when I get out of the hospital,” you replied, attempting to wink at him.

He leaned his face over yours, his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. “If you want, I can give you a preview of it right now.”

You felt your pulse quicken and apparently so did the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to; the machine started beeping, alerting that your numbers were abnormal.

Soshiro kissed your forehead before sitting down again, smirking. “Do I make ya nervous?”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Watch it Hoshina, or I’ll have you admitted into the bed next to me.”

Soshiro burst out in his trademark laugh, grabbing at his stomach and wiping away the tears forming in his eyes. You could be given all the medicine known to man but nothing could make you feel better than the promise of being loved by the easily amused violet haired man who will never leave your side.

[nebbyy]

King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot. 

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy. 

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down. 

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze. 

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life. 

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him. 

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

[icallhimjoey]

What would you think would be Joe's reaction when you guys are having an argument and you, right off the bat, list all of your insecurities and say its the perfect excuse for him to break it off with you (I mean if-- dare to dream-- I was in a relationship with him, I would spend every waking day thinking there's someone way better for him)

ew gross, so yes, absolutely, i had to write this (also ive been getting accusations of my readers being too confident, so, i tried my best to make us a little more insecure for this one) (hope you enjoy!) Wordcount: 2.3K

---

What's Best For Me

You noticed immediately that his hands had stopped reaching out. No more touches. That's how you knew it was actually serious.

Joe knew exactly how to hurt you the most, and it wasn't by being quiet, by ignoring your words, by refusing to talk... It wasn't the lack of kisses when he'd walk in, or the fact that he had just gone for a shower and locked the actual door (when was the last time you'd locked any doors in this house? Had you ever?).

It was the hand that didn't reach out. The fingers that didn't play.

His fingertips that didn't caress the sliver of skin that your top would expose when you'd reach for something up high in the kitchen.

His hand that didn't curl around your neck, just to hold onto it whilst you watched TV on the sofa together.

Even the open palm that didn't find your arm or your shoulder when you made a comment that would make him laugh.

Joe skillfully moved around you in the bathroom that morning, without a touch. Not even a bump of a hip or a rub of a shoulder. Nothing.

Joe kept his hands to himself, and he had done since he'd gotten home the day before. It pulled and stretched something inside you that wasn't meant to stretch. You could feel it pull tight when he'd walk in, and snap back harshly when he'd walk out. It almost made you hold your breath in his presence, sighing deeply with frustration when you'd be left alone again.

And logically, you understood.

There was a lot going on.

Professionally and privately, there were many balls up in the air and Joe had only just learnt how to juggle and it was all tense. Scary and new. And then, just to add onto everything, Joe'd been advised to really actually stop smoking for real this time because people were asking what brand of cigarettes he smoked, and fucking hell, if there was one thing Joe didn't want to be, it was a bad influence.

"Joe?"

"What?"

You wondered if him being annoyed and irritated could actually mean something sweet.

Like, maybe it was safe enough to be short and snappy with you because Joe knew you'd still be there for him after.

Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn't really asked Joe much about his feelings. His thoughts. The second he grew a little more distant and buried himself in his mind, you'd... kind of done the same. And you reasoned that Joe would come to you once he was ready. But, what if he wouldn't?

"Does this need washing?"

You held up one of Joe's shirts that had been discarded on the one chair in your bedroom.

"No, I..." Joe sighed, closed his eyes in sheer frustration. At least, that's how you read it. "That doesn't fit me anymore,"

You looked at the shirt. It didn't look like Joe didn't fit it anymore, but you weren't going to test him on his word.

"Do you want to get rid of it?"

"No, just - just leave it, I'll get to it later,"

"Joe, I'm trying to make the bedroom look less untidy,"

Maybe that had been the problem. You weren't insanely organised and would let mess build until you'd have a moment of clarity and would want to deep clean the entire place within 4 minutes. Maybe that was what had gotten under Joe's skin, and why he hadn't leant over you to press a kiss onto your forehead yesterday, when you'd been napping on the sofa when he'd walked in.

Joe probably thought you'd been lazy and had left the place too messy.

"One shirt won't make a difference, just leave it on the chair. I need to go through my wardrobe later and it'll just get worse then anyway,"

All right. Fine.

You placed the shirt back where you found it and thought to yourself, maybe that's it. I'm a pushover.

Joe really only had to grumpily say one thing for you to comply. So weak, it was kind of disgusting.

And you didn't really communicate much, ever, did you? Because you didn't know how to express clear thoughts and feelings, so you'd let Joe swim in the dark for ages which, God, must be really fucking annoying.

And you looked around and saw that Joe's shirt was really all that Joe contributed to the mess in your bedroom - the rest of it was all you. Old make-up wipes and cotton buds caked with mascara laid on the side, and there was clothing all over.

You were messy, and closed-off, and an easy pushover. Wow. What a deal Joe got, Jesus Christ.

Catching sight of yourself in the mirror only made things worse.

That was the person Joe was with?

Was he sure?

Of course he wasn't. Had you not been paying attention? You didn't blame him. Look at you.

Best to keep busy. Actually tidy the place. Give Joe one less reason to be mad. Or worse, disappointed.

You flung every piece of clothing from the floor onto the bed where you started sloppily folding and categorising - grouping what needed to be washed, and what you knew had gone straight from the wardrobe to the carpet when you hadn't been able to decide on what to wear earlier.

Fuck.

This was one of those moments where the fix was so easy, and so readily available as well. You just needed Joe to place a warm palm onto your shoulder, or his fingers to squeeze the back of your neck. It would ground you enough, give you something to focus on and calm you right back down. Words wouldn't even be needed at all.

But you weren't getting any of those touches, because Joe was keeping those touches to himself, and as a result, you found yourself holding back a monster sob in the back of your throat that was growing more desperate to escape by the second.

"Hey, I'm going to..." Joe walked in, but stopped.

And you froze, because you knew, one wrong move, and that sob would get out. But you also couldn't hold your breath forever, and Joe saw how tensed you were just from a glance at your back.

"Oh, Jesus, if the shirt is such a problem," Joe started, and it could have been half a joke, but you weren't sure, and it definitely didn't help.

You swallowed thickly with your back towards Joe still, and hoped Joe wouldn't mention any of the insecurities that were swirling around in your brain. Those didn't need to be set in stone right now.

"N-no, it's fine," oh man, you hated how that came out all shaky as you quickly reached for a pair of your joggers and a hoodie that you balled up into your arms. "Maybe, I think, I'll go and stay with my sister for a few ni-"

"Hey,"

A soft, warm palm curled fingers around one of your biceps from behind and god fucking damn it, it pulled a wrecked noise from you. Embarrassing.

"I don't– that was a joke," Joe tried, and you could hear a breathy laugh escape him as you quickly brushed away the evidence of tears as if Joe couldn't see you make the actual motions right in front of him before you turned around.

"I know," you smiled, tried to save yourself of whatever this situation was becoming, and tried to sound all chipper as you said, "She, my sister, she asked and, wanted the company, so–"

"No she didn't," Joe scanned your whole being and frowned. He knew you were lying. "What is happening right now?"

"Nothing, I'm just..." you were pathetic. Couldn't even make eye-contact with your boyfriend. "I'm sorry, I'll just, I will get all of my shit out of here and get out of your hair for a minute, I think," you stopped and breathed deeply. Joe tried to find your eyes but you kept them trained at your feet like lasers.

"I think that's what's best, f-for now,"

You tried to step around him, but Joe wouldn't let you and reached with two hands that grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Best?" he started. "Best for who?"

That was when you looked up, and were met with two eyes that looked... a little confused, almost patronisingly so, because you saw that little smile dance behind that exaggerated pout. Like Joe hadn't been avoidant and short-tempered with you.

Oh cool. So you were also delusional and would jump to conclusions. How fun for you.

"It's okay if you don't want me here for a little bit, I don't–"

"Who said... because of a shirt?"

"You locked the bathroom door," you pointed and it made Joe turn his head to where the bathroom door was before turning back to you. Worry etched his forehead deeper now.

"Babe, you're speaking to me in riddles,"

And so you decided that you'd just let him know that you knew.

You knew that he hadn't kissed you when he walked in the day before because obviously you'd let the place slowly turn into a pigsty. You were a lazy piece of shit, you were well aware, but you know, Joe could've just said.

And Joe'd been distant because you hadn't really been there for him, had you? Not emotionally, because, you were awkward and weren't good at communicating when it came to feelings, and Joe was very clearly all up in his feelings, all the negative kinds, and you weren't emotionally mature enough to level with him.

You understood he didn't like you for it. Obviously, you wouldn't like you for it either.

But then he showered with the door locked and he'd never done that before, and he hadn't touched you in over 30 hours - not that you'd been counting, but you had. You had totally been counting, you told him.

And it was different now, because of course you'd gone longer than thirty hours without touching before, but not like this. Not when you were around each other and you could see his hands from the corner of your eye as he fiddled with a loose string on his jeans.

And listen. You could easily go without his kisses for a bit. You didn't mind if you didn't have sex for a while. Hugs even, if Joe didn't want to hug you, that was okay. You would manage. But a simple hand that didn't reach to squeeze your thigh, and didn't cup your face...

"Wait,"

Joe tried to stop your rambling, but there were tears now and you kept trying to fold the pieces of clothing in your arms further in on themselves, and listen, Joe, if you wanted to break up, you'd get it.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop. Stop! Look at me,"

At last. Eye-contact. Joe placed his two large palms on the sides of your face, moving your hair backwards a bit as he did.

"What are you on about?"

You just looked at him, eyes all wet, nose all drippy, but so very pleased that you could feel the pressure of his fingertips on your skin.

"Best for me? You think you fucking off to spend some time away from me is what's best for me?"

You kind of did, but, Joe clearly disagreed and it carefully made you question your entire train of thought, even if only for just a second before Joe pulled you in and hugged you tightly. He pressed your face into his chest and held it there in the crook of his elbow.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I've been–"

Joe sighed deeply, and you heard it rumble in his chest. Joe squeezed your side in his hug and it made you twist his T-shirt into your fists as you hugged him back.

"Everything's just... it's all happening at once, and, I can't just go for a quick smoke, and it's all I keep thinking about, I know it's awful, but..." Joe exhaled through a laugh. "I've just been in my head too much, and now I don't fit that stupid fucking shirt anymore because I gained weight, and–"

You squeezed tighter, and loved how there was more to squeeze now, so you were quick to say, "Stop, I love it," all muffled into his T-shirt.

"I know you do, but my wardrobe's not fit for it, is it?"

You pulled back a little, and looked up at him.

"So, we'll go shopping," you offered as a solution.

Joe ducked down for a kiss, pecking you lightly a few times before you said, "Or, for a run," and it made Joe chuckle as he tried to get more kisses out of you before he tightened his arms and hugged again. He nudged and rubbed his head by the side of yours like a cat would and squeezed his fingers into wherever he was touching you.

You had to try your absolute best to keep yourself together. To not melt into a puddle and sink into the carpet. That would only create more mess you'd have to then clean.

"I'm sorry," you said first, but then Joe quickly followed, "No I'm sorry,"

For a minute, you just stood in your messy bedroom and hugged, focussed on each other, focussed on Joe's hands and when you sighed deeply without it hitching in your throat, Joe hummed contently.

"This is helping," he then said, and you let your hands slide down his back to squeeze is bum. "Oh, that helps more, do that again," And it had you giggling, before Joe mused, "What's best for me is you, you idiot."

And you thought that Joe was wrong, but, he was allowed to be wrong. Joe could be wrong forever if it meant that his hands would be on you and you'd get to feel his warmth.

What was best for you was him. Not the other way around. But who were you to tell Joe? He could believe whatever he wanted, and hey, maybe one day, you'd believe it too.

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @afashionablesufferer @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[demvalhaken]

I will eat your house

HOLY SHIT I HAVENT POSTED IN LIKE 4 DAYS, SORYY GUYS IVE BEEN FOCUSED ON SCHOOL, I HAVE TO GET A VIOLIN PLAYING VIDEO IN BY FRIDAY AND I CANT EVEN PLAY THAT WELL DUDES!!! PRAY FOR ME GUYS, I CANT EVEN GET MY HOMEWORK DONE, I NEED TO STOP PROCRASTINATING!!!

Anyways Queen Bloodlust is a very large black widow cus her immortality causes her to never stop aging/growing… She used to be Divine’s height

Oh yeah if you didn’t read the older post about Bloodlust which is also buried in the termite post. Divine (Guy at the bottom right) is her great-great-great-fucking too many great grandson, he’s king of the spiders, they do not care if its a king or a queen, they are desperate

I’m like the hugest nerd ever, I watched an in depth video about cannibalism and then I proceeded to eat all of that information so I can babble to my friends that don’t even listen to me… I wish I could talk to people rather than somehow ruining my relationship with everyone, it’s giving Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives. There’s also like 100 Tyler, The Creator songs in my playlist, there’s a 50% chance after every song that it’s Tyler. It’s crazy how good I am at being lonely, like bro, why can’t I keep friends with me without doing something wrong… at least my teachers are nice to me :D

Wtf am I on, please don’t give me coffee, It brings the locked up depression out of my brain. I actually don’t think the depression left from Covid… I think it’s just been dormant… GUYS THIS MIGHT BE A HUNCH BUT I THINK IM NOT OKAY!!! Sorry if I go off track in literally every single post, my brain wanders too much. MY HANDS ARE SO FUCKING DRY, THEY BURN, THEY HURT, AND THEY ARE BLEEDING :( I’m still gonna wash my hands 40 times a day, no one can stop me

STOP YAPPING BRO THATS TWO PARAGRAPHS GET TO THE LORE

Queen Bloodlust misses her home because after a battle/war, they had to move, this was during the reign of Bloodlust’s mother, her mom died in the fight… poor Bloodlust, forced to live eternally and watch everyone around her perish slowly

All lore previously stated is subject to change as I’m always rethinking lore but it does stay fairly consistent and rarely changed unless its boring and bothering me

Okay love you guys, sorry for yapping, also be a menace to society, just don’t eat uranium

Edit:

Hehe reference, this was during the drawing, I got bored

Edit 2: Why are my parents always mad at me for washing myself constantly, like bitch what? You can’t just say “stop” and expect that one word to work, I’m just trying to keep some goddamn cleanliness! It’s like they want me to be covered in grime, dirt, spilled drinks, and grossness! Then they get to be homophobic and racist without any consequences when that’s literally worse than being clean 24/7 and tired. At least I actually like black people, we literally all have the same insides, stfu parents… ALSO THEY SAY THAT OFFENSIVE WORD, LIKE BRO WE ARE VAMPIRES YOU CANT BE SAYING THAT

[tremendum]

twin suns ; striding behind you

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

part four of the Twin Suns series  ;  prologue  ;  part i ; part ii ; part iii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, allusions to past abuse, fear, descriptions of reader's injuries (there are a lot of them), dehydration and hunger (mention of eating), temporary blindness still, mean!Mando but also soft!Mando???, insecure reader (scars, etc), allusions to past assault and past SA(nondescript), brief mentions of trauma, slightly possessive themes, partial nudity, hints of a size kink. reader hates men <3.

synopsis:  “'aren't you used to danger, bounty hunter?' you spit, indignance sprouting from the rotting seed of your fear. his back is turned, but you still hear him. 'not the kind of danger that you are.'"

word count: 6.7k! 

notes: im back from the graveyard to post this next part! my Din brainrot is returning and ive been finding time between my two jobs to write more :) pls lmk if you like this installation! yay things are kind of picking up now wahoo

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

every step forward draws a heated exhale from your marred lips.

the harsh desert winds carry whispers of sand across the vast expanse of Tatooine as the hunter leads you towards the distant silhouette of Boba Fett's palace; it stands menacing as you squint against the faintness of your sight.

your throat aches, your head pounds - each step, a creaking of your aching, dehydrated bones. the dunes you don't have to see to understand - they stretch endlessly, a canvas of muted browns and grays beneath the suns that reflect rays sharper than needles. 

'the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'

you grit your teeth, silently agreeing with the strange Rodian who had beckoned you towards the Diamyo's palace. it feels like your body is failing you under the intense heat; how the Mandalorian can stand it in so many layers is beyond you. but in your bitter moment of self-pity, you lose sight of the mounds of uneven terrain that billow below your boots, the heat beating down on your head so hard your eyes almost shut unwillingly as your feet meet resistance.

without warning, you find yourself falling forward - a billow of pain shoots through your wrist as your palms meet the abrasive sand.

your head pounds, dehydration and hunger taking its ravaging toll on you as you land. a soft gasp escapes your lips as the ground kisses you harshly, unforgivingly; a strike of panic over you as your twisted, marred hands are once again slammed against the weight of your body joined by the Hunter's binders. 

you're delirious - fear grips you in a way nothing ever has in your dehydrated state. a screaming ache in your throat and the throbbing in your skull coaxes your lips into the next sentence, your voice hoarse and scratchy. "if I could just have some water, please-" 

the footsteps in front of you halt in an almost menacing manner - wind echoes dauntingly in your ears as you brace for the expected harshness of a beskar-laden hand, your body tensing and ready for the impact of his hand.

all of the hunters reach their limit with you - he'd made it this far, without laying his hands on you; but they all do, at one point or another. you can only hope it doesn't go further.

his voice from days ago echo in your mind. there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you.

"s-sorry." you stutter, pulling yourself to your knees and holding your marred hands out to protect your face should he lash out.

you yourself are surprised by the very real fear that is dousing your twisted spine in a wash of ice - but the Mandalorian is already furious by the interruption of returning you for bounty twice; one more step out of line like this and he may just kill you himself. 

you really are delirious. you think, perhaps, you've been too outlandish in your capture. he's not the kind that will break by your snide comments or sly ploys for escape. perhaps submission - you grit your teeth at the mere thought, like a wild stallion bucking in fear of a stable - is the sole way for you to survive.

to escape. 

there's a pause in the air, a moment of suspended anticipation - one in which you shield your face from him further for fear. yet the expected rebuke, the cold demand for resilience, does not materialize, and instead you bathe in a hot, heavy silence that sparks just enough fight in you to try again. 

you slump back on your haunches, eyes shutting as you swallow through sandpaper. "I need water. just a sip, sir, please-" 

"-stop." he orders suddenly, voice surprisingly strained and harsh. your eyes open and you're met with a burning glare, his armor deflecting the immediate rays as he stands over you and observes - a weak being, cuffed and on her knees to beg for water. 

your heart thunders wildly as he pulls a moleskin pouch from the depths of his cape and holds it out for you. "-and call me Mando." he orders, voice still strange. nodding, your hands shoot up to grab at it, your throat singing and dust catching in the crooks of your eyes as you let out a sigh of thanks, a slight whimper that almost loses itself to the commotion of your shaking fingertips. 

the pouch falls to the sand between your knees as you let out a breath of disbelief - in your weakness, you'd fumbled it.  "I'm sorry, I-" 

"-it's okay." he says quickly, a gloved hand raising the pouch from the dust to hold up to your lips. the uncomfortableness of his voice is forgotten instantly as the liquid breaches your open lips.

the water is - by contrast to everything else around you - so pure and clean that you almost start to cry. 

it trickles into your dry mouth and you greedily suck it down your esophagus, hands rising to cup the back of the pack and tilt it slightly, wary not to squeeze and take the whole of its contents. 

the breath you take after several gulps of water is like waking up in a meadow of fresh fruits, flowers, a cold pond at your fingertips. you let out a shaky laugh, swallowing another sip offered to you by your captor. "thanks." you say, resigning to the realization that the only way he reacted was when you were desperate - on the verge of collapsing. 

disdain coils in you.

slowly, you feel strong gloved hands encircle your shoulders, guiding you back to a standing position. the Mandalorian's touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the ruthless reputation that preceded him - a stark contrast to the experience of the last days in captivity.

you're once again left with the bitter confusion of a rug being pulled from beneath you as the hunter pulls a few pieces of jerky from his utility belt, holding them out tersely. 

your hands dart out to grab them quick as the lizards that skitter into their hideaways when your bootsteps near. you stay like that, eating the jerky like a rabid animal and taking a few sips of water that the Hunter offers you intermittently, avoiding the unyielding armor that can't mask the underlying patience in the Mandalorian's actions. 

a few minutes of terse silence and your stomach less nauseated, the Mandalorian starts suddenly, making you jump back in habit. he doesn't strike you; instead, he removes the thick cowl off his own neck and reaches towards you.

he must see your confusion, apprehension - because he stops, sighing. "you need to cover these wounds up. the exposed sun is not good for them. we will get them mended at the palace." he explains, voice evenly as he starts to lay the thick fabric over your conjoined wrists, wrapping so your skin is no longer exposed. 

you don't know what to say - but he gives you no time to think as he turns and starts off towards the palace in the distance once again. you follow him in shock, blinking down at the faint outlines of your arms, mimicking his stride though in much shorter steps.

as you trudge behind him, protected from direct sunlight through his bulking, massive frame, you grin bitterly - you've become the man's own shadow this time, striding behind him in the light of the afternoon.

the rest of the trek is plagued with silence. you'd expected cruelty, a reinforcement of a status as a captive - but instead, there was a curious patience, an unexpected kindness that left you questioning the man who strides in front of you, helmet occasionally craning to his right to check on the floating pod containing the child that floats by his hip.

he should be furious. you're nothing more than a burden -  the sudden moment of patience a shock from the cold exterior that has you staring in disbelief at your boots. what had changed? the answer eludes you as you follow him, disoriented in more ways than one. The Mandalorian's actions, or lack thereof, became a puzzle; you can't see the expression on his face, but the absence of anger resonates through the silence between you.

until he decides to slow his pace, turning his helmet to the right. "it wasn't my intention to starve you." he says, voice stoic and almost awkward. "I often forget that others do not eat when they are concealed." 

he looks away. "if it happens again, remind me." 

you swallow, lifting your head. an odd request. you'd seen glimpses of this bizarre kindness within him - gently stroking the child's ear, bringing you in to his ship after the wreckage and ensuring you stayed upright and didn't let the blood swell in your brain. letting you rest in his cot. 

most of these things, means to your end. 

perhaps it's this moment that gives you the clarity to vie for an ounce of freedom. 

"uncuff me." you say, voice sounding much less meek now that life has been breathed back into your sore lungs. if he has any emotions, your blindness renders you too incapacitated to notice them. he doesn't stop his stride, but he does turn his head. 

"no." he says it as if you're stupid.

you sigh, straining to push your shorter legs faster in order to catch up to him and the floating pod. you're not fully discouraged, despite his demeanor.  "you know I'm too weak to do anything." you insist. "it'll do you good to uncuff me before we see the Diamyo." you warn, straightening your spine as he turns slightly, pace slowing until you're just a step behind him, still pushing to keep up. 

"is that so?" he asks, sounding completely uninterested. your innards churn at his tone, your tongue running over your teeth before you nod. "I show no risk anymore. he'll find me if you don't find me first." and it's the honest truth.

silence for a moment.

"you're danger." he utters, as if the two words explain it all. you sneer at him behind his back. "aren't you used to danger, bounty hunter?" you spit, the indignance growing once again, sprouting from the rotting seed of your weakened fear only minutes ago. 

his back is turned, but you still hear it. "not the kind of danger that you are." 

you stare at the faint shadow of him, unsure of what to say. it's silent, the shifting sands beneath your feet echoing the enigma of your chains, the impending danger that awaits you once the Hunter has returned you for the bounty.

now on slightly more steady legs, you can't help but wonder what kind of man lurks behind the unyielding armor—a question that remains unanswered as the walls of the palace rise through the dune sea. 

you reach the impending building as the suns cast your shadow and the Mandalorian's far behind you.

your footsteps echo through the halls of the palace, your body cooling slowly. The Mandalorian pushes past the droids who tried to guide you; he makes turns and walks down the stairs with too much confidence.

with an inkling of trepidation in your heart, you feel as though he's been here before - it does not bode well for you.

as you stumble after him, the burns upon your skin ache slightly and you fight to see with the dim lighting. 

but soon, you're walking into a great space, the air of which you can feel upon your beaten shoulders as you let your arms, still swathed by the Hunter's cloak, fall to clasp against your restraints. 

there's a large platform of slabbed cement before you in the faint light that leaks through cracks of the shades on the opposite of the throne room. 

two figures shrouded in the darkness of your blind vision watch you and your captor enter. the one on the throne is bulky - bulkier than you remember the cloaked figure of Boba Fett to be, though as your gaze flickers to the more feminine figure perched on the arm of the throne, you know this is not him either. 

your footsteps fall silent in front of them, and soon a droid is announcing the Diamyo of Mos Espa, Boba Fett. 

you blink heavily - as if this would wipe the mugginess of your vision as the figure sits forward slightly and your heart drops.

the man in front of you, Boba Fett - fully clad in beskar armor and a helmet so similar to your captor's that you nearly consider turning and running. 

you try to mask your shock. Fett's Mandalorian? confusion and fear shock up your spine. 

panic strikes heavy in your heart as you and the Hunter stand completely silent and still, your heart thrashing frantically. Boba Fett - in Mandalorian armor... confusion must lace your features, because hands faintly rise up from the shadow of the Daimyo, and a moment later he removes his helmet with a soft hiss. 

you suck in a breath as the scarred, familiar face comes into view just barely under the lighting and you're almost certain that his eyes land on you. 

"it's been a while." he says. 

his voice is the same as you remember, and the fear stuck in your throat quells only slightly at his greeting. 

"yes." you agree, jumping in shock when the low, deep voice of the Hunter speaks at the same time as you - "it has." 

bewildered, you shoot a sideways glance to the Mandalorian beside you.

your inkling was correct, Mando must know Boba Fett too.

you swallow shakily, knowing how terribly this seals your fate - of course they know each other. apparently, Boba Fett is a Mandalorian now - for all you know, they could have been raised together. 

but the Hunter's helmet has shot a similarly shocked glance towards you and for a brief moment, you stare into the t-visor of your captor. 

in a bout of fear and anger you turn, meeting the gaze of the man who had once been your savior. from what you can make out, the years had carved lines on his face more than when you'd last seen him, and you faintly wonder how different you look to him. 

you had been, after all, just a child back then. 

you speak again, a mixture of nerves and trepidation in your voice. "sir. I didn't think I'd see you again. even when I came on-planet."

Boba Fett's head inclined slightly, a nod that spoke of the gravity of the situation. "times change. I wouldn't have summoned you here if it weren't necessary."

you're sure your eyes held for a moment, the unspoken understanding passing between you. it had been a long time. 

the Mandalorian crosses his arms from beside you. "what business do you have with us?" the hunter speaks up, clearly tired of the stiff small talk. "do you want the puck?" 

this had been your fear, too. Fett could have easily summoned you to the palace to buy your bounty from the Mandalorian; he has good enough reason to buy you to his custody.

yet at the Hunter's words, you swear you see a twinge of confusion from the two: Fett shifts, as does the figure to his side - a silhouette which, with the grace of her helmet sitting below them in a ray of bright light, you finally recognize as the sharpshooter Fennec Shand. you'd heard of her in town during your time on the run. 

"I have favors to call in." he says simply. your heart pounds twice as heavy at the mention of the favors- yes, he does. he is owed a lifetime of favors from you.

but the hunter is not so swayed. 

"call them in later. I have problems to attend to." he sounds impatient, voice laced with the strain of a time crunch.

Boba stares at him, leaning elbows on his thickly armored thighs. "you and your lady friend here," he nods towards you sardonically, "are in a bind, am I correct?"

you gape in offense at his casual tone, addressing you as anything other than a captive - irritation floods your face but is soon replaced with a strike of fear fluttering down your spine, worried of the Hunter's reaction to such vocabulary. 

"I don't play games with my bounties." his voice sounds equally irritated as you feel. it's final - deep as it exits his helmet. your stomach flips. 

you almost snap back - that's a lie, Mando. you and I both know it - but, for fear of speaking out of turn, and for fear of the man before you, you stay silent.

"bounty?" the silhouette sits forward and a plaited length of dark hair swings into your faint vision.

the room is suddenly plagued with a pregnant silence that you don't dare break, your mind churning.

did they not know of the situation you've found yourself in?

"she has a bounty on her head." the hunter says finally, as if surprised that they were not privy to this information. you shift on your feet, your head still pounding, eyes sore from straining to see in such dim light. your whole body aches.

"she may be a bit worse for wear, but she doesn't look like a prisoner to me." Shand retorts, nodding to your figure. 

at the woman's words, you huff a bitter laugh. worse for wear - you'd be surprised if you have more bones intact than dislocated right now - you're blind, you have a nasty hydraulic burn on your cheek..

you shake the cowl off your arms, revealing the cuffs which bound you as the fabric drops to a heap at your boots. you barely glance down at them before back up as Fett lets out a low hum. both heads upon the throne shift to the man beside you. 

"you have nerve, Mando, bringing a bounty into my palace," Boba Fett remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence. to your shock, Mando inclines his helmeted head in a nod. "she's more trouble than she's worth." you instinctively shoot Mando a withering look but before you can defend yourself, he continues. "when you summoned us, I assumed it was to pay her bounty."

Fennec Shand - ever observant - leans forward slightly, her sharp eyes finding yours somehow through the mist. she seems more interested in you than in the talk of the Daimyo's business.

"last we heard of you, you were supposedly walking free. stirring trouble." she tilts her head, revealing her eyes in a panel of light. the insinuation makes you chuckle bitterly. defiantly, you stare back. "then your people in town got it wrong. I was never free. I've been a captive since I set foot on this planet, even before him." 

Fennec raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Boba that even you don't miss. "our messenger mentioned he saw her just a few days ago with your speeder," Fennec remarks, her voice carrying a hint of skepticism as she focuses on Mando this time. "that doesn't sound like a well retained bounty."

you stifle a laugh at that, craning your head away from Mando to conceal your smirk as a feeling of triumph fleetingly passes over your body. you recall the anger that'd seeped through the Mandalorian when you'd tricked him, taken his speeder - then, found the child... 

"ma'am, to be fair, it took him a long time to find me. I can be very slippery when I want to be." you say coyly, highly aware of the cold stare from beside you. 

"-after all, the line between lawmen and the outlawed can be deceiving." you send a pointed look towards the wall of beskar on your side.

a sharp silence through the room; tension thick in the air as a strike of fear gloats among your abdomen. what kind of pendulum swing is your attitude on recently? 

"Mando." Boba addresses the man, causing the aforementioned to nod, shifting his weight. the throbbing of your head is gradually increasing once again and you find yourself in desperate need of a sip of water, and maybe a few hours of rest. 

"I didn't expect to have to cash in on the favors owed to me, but times have changed." he shrugs, "I hear the Crest's seen better days. I can help with the ship. in return, clean slate. functional vessel. and no more pirates."

in a swift moment of realization, your eyes widen. you aren't the only one with favors owed to Boba - this was about you and Mando, separately. he truly had no idea you were his bounty.

your surprise is short lived as he continues speaking, the pirates echoing in your mind. your eyes flicker at the mention and you can't help but shoot a glance sidelong at your captor, once again unable to read his helmet. uncertainty swirls in your gut; the Maracavanians are more than just one ship, and you know they will likely stop for very little to find you.

you are, after all, very valuable to them. the looming threat of their presence haunts you, bearing weight on your tired shoulders. your head pounds. 

"-in return," Boba Fett continued, "I need your skills - both of you. when I sent for you, I was not aware of the bounty on your head, nor the hand that held the tracker. there's a settlement on the edge of the Outer Rim. they've found some trouble with some smugglers calling themselves the Ivory Cartel; they're pushing the spice trade back into the area, and the Marshall needs help bringing them back in line."

Din's helmet tilted slightly. "I don't do charity."

Boba Fett chuckles, the sound reverberating in the room as you shift on your feet. "we've been through this song and dance before, haven't we?"

the Mandalorian crosses his arms, but says nothing.

Boba continues, "I hear you're intimately familiar with the area, Mando. Freetown."

the irony of the settlement name is not lost on you, and you can't help the scoff you let out as you cross your arms. you hear the short exhale that escapes the helmet the same time as you, but cannot decipher what it means. 

"Marshall Vanth mentioned you know each other." silence spurs him on, "only a few days, then you can turn her in. I'll ensure you have safe passage - no one coming after you. we'll consider it a debt paid in full."

you expected this; for as long as you've known the man before you on the throne, you wouldn't exactly say he is your biggest ally; in fact, part of him would surely love to see you rot in a cell. and you can't blame him. 

yet this seems like some sort of mercy - for him to not just take your bounty off of Mando's hands and immediately turn you in to the several other vying parties. indeed, that would benefit him well, and it'd likely satisfy the Mandalorian. they'd be rich beyond what they could imagine if they turned you in to the Maracavanya. 

the thought itself makes you feel ill. 

fear of your fate should you fall into the captivity of the Maracavanians grips you, far more deadly than when you will be taken by Mando to whoever casted your puck.

this fear, gripping your skull and breathing its evil thoughts into your mind, drives you to step forward slightly. "and what guarantee do we have that you'll uphold your end of the deal?"

the visor next to you stares in surprise at your words and you hold your gaze forward, steadfast. to an outsider, you imagine it is odd for a bounty to agree to be turned in after such desperation to escape; though knowing Fett as you once did - and after what you did back then - what the Macaravanya would do to you if you were their captive... you shiver, fear gripping your throat. 

your life is owed to the man before you, no matter what your past says. and if your life is to end soon - and it very well may depending on who has cast your bounty - you'd like to have paid most of your debts out by the end.  

Boba Fett's gaze shifts to you through the dim of your vision. "my word is my bond. you of all people should do well to remember this."

your face burns, chin dropping to your chest. the Mandalorian remains silent for a moment, contemplating the proposition - after all, you're his captive, and you'll have to go with whatever he decides. the weight of the favors owed hang in the air, memories of a young girl stranded on a desolate planet with a pack wrapped around her middle, her brother stumbling behind her, men in all grey following with whooping sounds as they stumbled over tumbleweeds to get away. a cloaked figure and blinding pain-

finally, the Hunter nods, speaking and pulling you from your thoughts. "fine. we do the job, our debts are settled."

Boba Fett inclined his head, acknowledging the agreement. "you'll leave in the morning."

you send a meek nod to him, feeling once again faint, as though the strenuous walk has caught up to the rest of your body, which is still reeling from the water and jerky after so long without it. 

you're escorted, after a brief hesitance by your captor, away from the group; with a grumble of irritation from the armored giant and a rough few pokes on his vambrace by gloved fingers, your bound wrists fell free, the skin marred and blistering.

fear flares up in your stomach as a droid brings you down several twisted hallways and staircases. what are they speaking of without you?

were they talking about you? 

surely there isn't much the Mandalorian doesn't know about you, depending on how much of your information was on your bounty profile, but Fett knows many things about you others don't. a darkness coils through your veins, lingering in the back of your mind; a steady reminder to trust no one. no friends but tumbleweeds. 

perhaps you had overestimated the reach of Tatooine's rumor mill. or, perhaps, you really were that good at hiding. and the Hunter was that good at hunting. 

the thought doesn't make you feel any better. 

you enter a room where the droid gestures to the large glass in the center of the room; your eyes widen, taking in the large bacta tank, inviting and horrifying the same. 

on the other side of the room, a refresher awaits, and the droid instructs you to use what you need and it will provide you the bacta process to ensure you have a restful healing.

you stare, shocked, between the droid and the tank; things like these cost an unimaginable amount of credits. you bite your lip.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you start to flush, "I don't have enough credits, I-" 

"nonsense," the droid speaks, its voice oddly comforting, maternal. "Master Fett has requested our guests are healed and take as much time as necessary. you will need your strength and health." 

you blink, stomach flipping with nerves. "okay," you whisper, padding slowly across towards the fresher and sealing yourself inside. 

your heart pounds, stress pulsing through you. it takes you forty-five seconds to even bring your eyes up to your reflection, your nails digging hard into your dusty, pained palms. 

it's horrible. truly. 

faintly, you wonder if it's just the residual blindness that makes you look so awful. maybe the shadows under your eyes aren't as prevalent in full vision - or the cuts and bruises that show evidence of the crash landing on your skin. 

to be fair, you look still like yourself - same eyes, same skin, same scarf concealing most of your hair, save the sticky tendrils which glued themselves to your forehead and mouth on your trek. but your face; it's gaunt, absent of the life it used to have. your eyes look empty, your features splintered by a broken nose which holds a crusted bloody split across the center. 

your cheekbone similarly has a cut that's swelled one eye socket, a bruise blossoming and singing of broken vessels of blood within your eye. your hands, as they rise to touch your aching face, are mangled and horrifying. dry, caked with dirt in the splits over your palm, your knuckles are sticking out in an unnatural pattern. the hydraulic burn you'd sustained on your cheek is raw and angry still, exposure to the suns making it rough and bloodied. 

fuck, you will need this bacta is you're to help pay off your debt. you can't help the inkling of curiosity as to what it is that the Mandalorian owes Fett for - he doesn't seem the type to run off for secondary missions when he has his bounties. especially, you think with a smirk, bounties as irritating and conniving as you've been. 

it is extremely odd, this new situation. 

you're sure this has not once happened to the Mandalorian before, judging by his reaction: obligated to work alongside one of his bounties - who has willingly agreed - in order to earn ship repair to turn her in. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, bewildered by the complexity of the situation; you're overcome once again with the urge to run, run, run. 

run.

you snap your eyes open, staring into the mirror again. 

your body screams of exhaustion, lack of sleep, hunger, pain. a surge of sadness floods over you at the realization that you've looked like this far before crossing paths with the Mandalorian.

this cycle is nothing new. it may be the oldest thing in the book.

in fact, considering how the last few stints went with other hunters went - horrifyingly, though you always ended up the one holding the smoldering blaster - the Mandalorian has been uncharacteristically considerate. 

so unimbued by your teasing. irritated constantly, serious - but admirably capable. dangerous. your eyes again find the ugly scar that cuts jaggedly across your cheek, towards your jaw. it was an injury done to you just to do so, by the last hunter who tried to take you. he'd done worse afterwards; all the injuries will last with you forever.

cruelty for the sake of it. 

despite who he is, you can't find it in yourself to believe your current captor would ever do such a thing. 

imposing, intimidating, gruff - yes, but he never threatened you more than empty words; even though you know how easily he could snap your arm (or neck). he didn't seem to want to inflict pain.

you think of his little green companion, with its kind eyes and soft babbles. the way he runs his gloved fingers over the wiry hair atop its head, soothing its ears.  

then, when he'd left you alone on his ship; sure, it was wrecked and you were in the middle of nowhere, but he'd still left you. given you privacy. 

you glare at the ground - no. 

the memory of his hand slamming against the carbonite freezer echoes in your mind, your words - "you're a bad man." you whisper mirthlessly. "I don't deserve this."

no man is kind. no bounty hunter is fair. 

with a growl of irritation, you slide the door open, peering out into the room before you. it's quiet, the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains of the open stone windows, flickering over the tank in the center. a set of towels your size sit next to the tank. the droid is gently preparing tubes and a small breathing mechanism as the bacta moves in the glass. 

the liquid, viscous and beckoning you like a mirage in the dead heat of the plains outside. 

you haven't been in water in months - years, maybe. sonic showers got the job done, removed dirt and grime and oil, but you haven't felt really clean in so long it almost brings tears to your eyes. before you can think again, your voice cracks out, shy and meek. 

"I'm ready." 

when you wake up, the suns are nearly setting. 

your body glows a hue of orange from the dying light, dripping with the liquid you'd just emerged from. the droid towels you off and you note the sweet, small markings alongside her collar, small paintings of flowers.

it's because of this that you realize with a sharp inhale - "I can see!" you gasp, flexing your fingers instinctively and feeling a wash of freedom when no shooting pain or stiffness prevents the action. 

you feel as though you've been reborn. 

the droid pulls a chest band over your flush, healthy skin. nothing but pinking scars and a few light colored bruises. "how do you feel, ma'am?" she asks you. you smile at her just as she hands you a pair of underwear, folded tunic, and trousers. "I feel wonderful. thank you." you respond, tugging on the underwear. 

you stare down at the dark gray color of your tunic, tilting your head- but before you can ask, the droid assures you your own clothes are being cleansed and repaired for you to have back. 

you nod, feeling naked still without any concealment of your hair or face - it seems, after so long on the run, you've forgotten that the items were not sewn to your skin, a part of you. 

the droid leaves you to collect yourself, telling you it will prepare you supper to eat in the palace hall. slowly, you let your joints stretch, taking in a deep, long breath for the first time in ages without feeling the stabbing pain of broken ribs.

gone are the dizzy spells, the fogginess that had plagued you since hitting your head. 

with a small laugh of disbelief, you pull the tunic over your head with no pain - your hair drips down your spine as you comb through it, padding with a sudden shock of clear vision towards the mirror.

closing yourself halfway into the fresher, you stare at your reflection; a healthy glow on your cheeks, clean, a hint of a smile. you nearly tear up, feeling fresh, free from physical pain. there are no blisters or bruises from the binders. 

with a smile, you take a step out of the bathroom in search of the trousers you'd left, discarded on table you'd woken from. you let yourself hum a short tune, something from your childhood that your brother had loved. 

but a hulking figure across the room makes you stop short.

your eyes widen as a rush of shock floods through you. 

to his credit, the Mandalorian looks just as caught off guard as you feel, if his body language is anything to tell. 

he stands, alarmed, with one hand holding the trousers you'd left, one holding a removed blaster and his lasso. with a quick glance over to the tank, there is larger preparations, a large microfiber towel, much larger than the one used for you, folded next to it.

oh. 

a beat passes. 

then another. you start to feel warm, cheeks flaring in heat as your gaze flickers from the visor, cold and staring, down to the trousers in his hand. you are suddenly aware of your exposed skin.

"um," you say brilliantly. 

but before you can say anything else equally as riveting, the droid rolls into the room and nearly shrieks. "oh, ma'am, I'm terribly sorry- thought you'd already gone downstairs-" 

you swallow so thickly you're surprised you don't choke, the warm breeze in the dying evening sunlight sending cascades of goosebumps over your exposed legs. you ignore the rolling heat that tumbles down your body as the helmet moves ever so slightly down your frame. excitement sends the sensation even deeper - but you shake the thoughts away. that's an emotion you'll deal with probably never.

the Mandalorian snaps alive, taking two lumbering strides towards you, holding the trousers to you stiffly. "I assume these are yours." his voice sounds almost pained.

you swallow dryly, nodding, "y-yes." you squeak, feeling hot under his stare. 

"-so sorry, sir, I apologize-" the droid was still panicking - you think it odd until you get a feeling Mandalorians wouldn't like even droids to see them without helmet. let alone, their annoying bounties who now have to work with them against a cartel in some forgettable dust town.

you wonder if the same goes for armor.

but he waves the droid off, "I can take it from here, thank you." his voice is terse; disdain leaking through the baritone.

you awkwardly take the moment to slide the trousers over your legs, bending quickly to save at least a bit of dignity as you do the clasps and zipper, eyes avoiding the tall statue before you. 

the droid, still wailing apologies, wheels from the chamber, bathing the two of you in a strikingly thick air as you stare down at your boots. you watch as his own boots shift their weight just a few steps from you. 

"you look..." he seems to lose his words as you look up at him, stomach flipping. "-healthy." his fingers twitch by his sides. you feel shockingly flustered as you clear your throat, "I need to take better care of myself." you joke, the words falling flat and sounding more pathetic than humorous in delivery, "just glad I can recognize myself again. well- I can see, too, which is even better." your voice squeaks as you trail off, butting off your anxious ramble.

he doesn't respond to that, but he does clear his own throat. "have you eaten?" he asks, voice strained. you clear your head, "no- no, that's where I was about to go..." you trail off, cheeks aflame as you look up at the helmet. he makes a noncommittal noise, turning away. "well, if you don't mind-" 

you shake your head, "not at all." you say quickly, taking great strides towards the exit, not turning back as you scramble away. 

the Mandalorian doesn't look at you the rest of the evening. 

you can't tell if it's out of embarrassment, shame, or anger at the prospect of having to work with you; no matter, you're relieved at the absence of that piercing, emotionless stare. 

you eat much too fast, due to the crawling hunger in your stomach, and have to later fight to keep it down; though the rest of the night is spent relaying plans for transportation and communication with Fett and Shand, you standing awkwardly in a corner and being referenced as the bounty by your captor. 

you wonder if he can feel the glare you shoot at the back of his helmet. 

by morning, you feel more refreshed than you have in years, despite your captivity. the more you think of it, and the more that clock ticks in the back of your mind, the more willing you are to stay on-planet, to waste time. 

perhaps you could miss the trial all together, if nobody finds you first. you let yourself wonder, as you stand to the side and observe Mando strapping supplies to the back of the speeder, what would happen if you missed the trial. 

surely, you'd still be wanted. an outlaw is an outlaw, no matter the date on the galactic calendar. 

but would it be safer for you? depending on the verdict. there are plenty on both sides who would pay heavily to see your body buried in the Wasteland, no doubt. 

"hey." Mando's voice is terse and vexed. your eyes snap up to meet the helmet, which glints harshly under the morning suns. "let's go." he orders, gesturing behind him where a space remains for you.

you think back to that first night; your desperate attempt at escape, feigning sleep and then sprinting off into the dark desert. 

you slide onto the back, leaving as much space as possible between you and the Hunter, his jetpack hard against your chest. you opt to hold it instead of his torso as he kicks up the speeder, the child tucked into the bag at his hip. 

"did you get enough to eat?" he asks, voice louder over the noise of the speeder. you swallow, unease leaking into you at the tone of his voice - it's alarmingly like the tone he used when he'd fed you back in the desert. like he was making sure you wouldn't have to nearly pass out again for him to remember to feed you. 

it makes you wonder how often he eats or drinks himself.

it makes you wonder why you even care.

you nod, "I did." 

he sends you a terse nod in response and as he starts to speed off, the wind whips over your scarf. you tie it under your jaw, the long bandana secured. heat finds you like an old, unwanted friend and you already feel tired; you rest your hot cheek against the metal of the beskar jetpack, hoping he cannot feel it. you're instantly cooled down, relief flooding through you. 

the speeder hums beneath you, kicking up plumes of sand - your eyes, alight with the fresh relief of unfiltered sight, scan the horizon, taking in the harsh beauty of Tatooine's desolate expanse. rocky outcrops jutting from the sandy dunes, casting short shadows in the midday suns. the sky above is painted with hues of blue, a stark contrast to the unforgiving landscape below. 

you steal another glance at the Mandalorian's back. thankfully, he has resumed his tense, stoic silence behind his helmet, his focus fixed on the path ahead. there's a quiet determination, a silent strength - the same one that had initially inclined you to play such luring games with your Hunter in the first place. 

a determination that makes you want to do it again, despite everything.

you think of how naive you were just days ago - had you ever really expected to get away from him? or, the whole time, have you just been waiting for him to finally get to you?

the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

hours pass on the speeder with intermittent stops to stretch your legs or sip water. the baby insists on babbling to you any chance he gets - an endearing sight, as he waddles over the mounds of sand to climb up onto your boot.

the gentle smile that graces your lips after asking permission silently from the Hunter to hold the little goblin.

the child's endless eyes stare up at you from the bag at the hunter's side when you're back on the speeder, and you supply him with a finger to hold on to.

you can't shake the whirlwind of confusion swirling within you - what had started as a fateful capture in the wake of your euphoric game had morphed into a nightmare capture, which has now evolved into a reluctant alliance - a ceasefire of sorts forged by circumstances beyond your control.

whatever Mando had for Boba to cash in on must have been just as serious as what he'd done for you - or, rather, what you'd done to him. regret and guilt snake through your veins, black and greedy and painful.

you stare down in regret, trying to map out a way to escape the clutches of the man before you as the lines between captor and collaborator blur in the shifting sands of fate.

you had been running for so long - elusive and cunning, the closest to free you'd been in years - until you got too egotistical. all those weeks ago, why did you have to taunt him so? 

happy hunting, Mando. 

you're a fool. a fated, heartless fool with too large an ego. 

as the speeder surges onward, you lean back, letting the rush of the wind and the rhythmic hum of the engine drown your thoughts. the heat bears down on you. 

in the distance, a bundle of buildings emerge, wavy through heat - at first, you thought it a mirage. 

Freetown.  

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[bunnyreaper]

Oh sorry but imagine the men with a disabled kid! I myself am disabled so im using my own disabilities as example here but you can put any disability u want)

Johnny having a daughter with Gastroparisis. Its rare and he doesn't know what it is but he heads on it and studies it,during this time he is uncharacteristicly quiet as he read book after book,study after study. He learns recipies that are easier to digest and even changes his whole diet so his baby isn't the only one eating soups or blander things when her symptoms are begining to act up. He will hold her hair back when she throws up and hold her in his arms when she has to get an iv and tubes to help her get nutrition because she hasn't been able to eat or drink anything.

Ghost with a kid with Chronic fatigue,often times she spends weeks in bed,unable to move much because she just doesn't have the energy. He will carry her from her bed to the couch,change her sheets and clean up her room. He will help her bathe and wash her hair,he will brush and braid her hair to help prevent matting. He makes sure she is still included and keeps Liquid Iv and her favorite foods on hand.

Gaz with a kid with hEDS. Her joints dislocate and partially dislocate and she is often in pain and has many other chronic illnesses stack up on her at once due to the nature of hEDS. He often has to advocate for her because many doctors don't know what it is. He has multiple binders on her health and disease. If her school refuses to work with her needs,he sues and homeschools her. He often buys stability and body braces to help keep her joints where they need to be.

Price with a kid who has POTS. He has many a salty food on him at all times and got her a dog to help alert him to her pots acting up. If she faints,he will catch her or will ensure to keep her in a safe,recovery position.

This made me smile bcs it made me think of my boyfriend. Him and his dad both have OCD, and his dad often tries to offer him support and love when it comes to this thing and it's very wholesome!!

we love a good dad, and a dad who is ready and willing to cater to all of his child's needs ❤️

[squimp]

ok sorry i have a love hate rant. working in the studio 17 million hours in a row means ive been listening to 17 million hours in a row of taz ethersea so i have ti talk about it i just have to. I have opinions. feel free to ignore this post. also im knly at episode 29 out of 44 so theres that to consider but i wont spoil anything

Ok so. my favorite thing ever is worldbuilding and also the ocean. Thus in many ways this is the awesomest campaign ever and I love it to bits like seriouslyyy the whole concept and the setup episodes were so cool and made me want to try the worldbuilding game and run an ocean themed campaign it's just sick as hell

Character wise... obviously amber is goated #1 because justin is funny as fuck and i also love zoox hes actually awesome and my special boy. i want to draw him because even just the concept of a brinar is so fucking sick dude i love it.

But like. im sorry. I just cannot stand devo. He just irritates the shit out of me. I dont usually mind travis but I cant stand a million hours of him doing a french accent. Whenever amber tells him to stop talking i can physically feel the relief wash over me. Increasingly often i will literally skip forward through the times when devo is talking everyones ear off (usually about himself or his tragic backstory or whatever the fuck) and what I find hilarious is that doing this doesnt impact at all my understanding of the situation at hand. Because he talks for years to say something that could have been a 5 word email.

On the other hand I do like that he is named devo and i also like that hes a prettyboy with the strength and constitution of a mcdonalds napkin.

overall i think i love the campaign itself and the other characters enough that i do still really think its worth it to give it a listen and i intend to see it through to the end but it would also be really cool if devo had a piano fall on him and crush him to death so no one has to see or hear him ever again.

sorry for being a hater but its my god given right

[welcometoteyvat]

@apologems here, some shenhe & baizhu for you [random character pairs asks] thanks for your patience because this is really late and enjoy <3

———

The light fragrance of qingxin emanates from the little brown pills in Shenhe's palm. It will not change how the pills taste, though, so she downs them all at once.

… They're not as bitter as she expected. The taste is like… like regret softened with honey, a tinge of sweetness lingering in her throat. Something indescribable dislodges itself from Shenhe’s chest, escapes in a barely perceptible sigh. When she looks back up, two pairs of eyes—gold, crimson—human, snake—are gazing intently at her.

“Swallowed it without even a sip of water! You must have taken a lot of bitter medicine before.” The snake draped around the doctor’s neck speaks in a sing-song voice, blinking owlishly up at her. Shenhe stares back at it—and although she is not good at reading humans, and snakes even less, she thinks it seems a bit surprised that she hasn’t yet looked away. When it lowers its head a moment later, suddenly timid, Shenhe feels an inexplicable bubble of satisfaction pressing against the bindings of her red ropes.

The corners of Baizhu’s serpent eyes turn down unhappily, and he frowns a little. “Changsheng. Manners.” And then, to her, in a gentler voice, "Here. Take this dried goji and haw; it’ll wash out any of the remaining bitterness.” He takes out a burlap satchel from one of the many little cabinets behind the front desk, and places it carefully in her still outstretched hands.

“Thank you… Mr. Baizhu— Doctor.” She can’t quite remember what the person before her had said before leaving, but… any parting phrase should suffice, right? None of the other adepti chide Master when she leaves their gatherings without any goodbyes, after all.

“No need; this is simply part of my job.” Shenhe must have said the right thing, because Baizhu is smiling graciously, waving away her thanks. Shenhe follows the crescent-moon curve of his pale lips all the way to the premature crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and wonders if the years have been unkind to him. As she studies Baizhu’s amber irises and vertical pupils, her thoughts wander to the tomes of adeptal transformation arts squirreled away in a corner of her master’s abode. She wonders how long it has taken him to reach this form, for it almost rivals her master’s in its beauty.

“Ah—on another note, I don’t recall filling a prescription for you in Bubu Pharmacy before? Is it your first time coming here?” Baizhu peers at her carefully over his oval glasses, eyes like yellow jade and Hulao amber. Shenhe holds his eye contact, and then—slowly, slowly, like the boiling of medicine and the flow of ages past, Baizhu’s gaze becomes something… vaster, something… boundless—and suddenly, Shenhe’s falling, rushing past the sights and sounds of Liyue as experienced by generation after generation of disciples and masters and masters and disciples and the ever-present white snake wound around their necks. And then, just as suddenly she is back in the pharmacy, and Baizhu’s eyes are simply circular drops of molten gold, and he has a concerned expression on his face.

“Shenhe, are you alright? Apologies if my question was too prying; I was merely curious.”

“No. I have never been here.”

“Well, in that case, welcome to Bubu Pharmacy. May your coming days be full of good health.”

———

A/N: these two are an absolutely slept on character pair thanks for opening my eyes. sorry that nothing consequential happens in this fic i wanted to squeeze in something about not listening to fate and baizhu looking up her name for connections to the adepti etc. but that didn't happen and ive been stuck on it for 2 weeks so i threw in the towel and said to myself that i'll put it in a more-inspired sequel. sorry if this is again confusing. if there's only 1 take home message you get from this I hope it's that baizhu is A SICKLY ASS MAN (please take care of yourself)

and ofc, if ooc let me know, i heart feedback etc etc. open call for shenhe and baizhu likers to give me their theses on either character because i need to Understand them and study them under a microscope

crossposted to ao3 too ig

[jovenshires]

💙Smoshblr December Asks Day 18💛

What are your top 3 fave clothes, that you currently own? (can be faves for any reason, like comfort, smth you love to wear on special occasions, etc. 🤗)

Bonus: What are your top 3 fave accessories? (like jewelry, belts, bags, etc. 👜)

oh my god....... this is so hard bc i am a Fashion Girlie. but i digress. have some gpoys as well to showcase the Fits bc i am Proud of Them

the first is this cropped sweatshirt that says practice safe hex. i love her. SO much. i study witchcraft (one day ill practice. one day.) and i think this shirt is so funny and the and when fall hits? im a menace this is all i wear. (bonus shoutout to the patterned jeans in that pic bc they'd probably be my fourth pick for this list i LOVE those jeans.)

second is this brown corduroy skirt!! this is a more recent addition to my closet (i think i got it like last year?) and i wear it all the time. it is sitting on my bed to be put away from the wash rn. it's so cute and simple and goes with so many different things. ive got this outfit i really like to do with it (but no pics of the full thing unfortch) i call my shaggy fit where i wear this with like a lil green tank top sweater combo and its SUCH a cute winter/fall fit. (also this picture peeps one of my weeb tattoos so enjoy xx)

third and finally i cannot believe this is the best picture i have of this stupid thing (censored the face and an identifying landmark in the background LKNFKNSFLKNR) BUT this lil plaid overshirt? i have had that thing since i was literally... 13. so like 12 years and i STILL wear it ALLLLLL of the time. showing my arms makes me Uncomfy so this thing is a lifesaver. and i also wear a lot of plain black clothing so if smth needs a lil spice? ya just throw this bad boy on. plain black dress? plaid overshirt. lil romper? plaid overshirt. plain t-shirt? plaid overshirt. she's everything to me.

OH BOY OH BOY okay so two of these are like. staples to my wardrobe and the other one is. just for fun!

so the first one - my best friend handmade this for my birthday. this is my very own clown collar!!!!!! katie lore drop incoming - i am obsessed with clowns. i have a clown collection and a clown tattoo. so of course when she went to knit me smth she made me this!! i have not had the occasion to wear it but. im manifesting it soon (i will say she gave me this While i was dressed as a clown)

the second picture is of my class rings. (don't worry they've been heavily censored i'm not doxxing myself <3) the lighting is terrible and they also. don't leave my hands so the gems are grody as hell but the gems are blue zircon (my brother and mother's birthstone) and amethyst. im not even like. very proud of being an alumni from my schools but they remind me how hard i fought and all i learned to be where i am today and honestly. i love a ring! i love a ring moment and i wish i wore more so. class rings stick around.

and FINALLY. oh Boy oh Boy. i can talk about this thing for hours. this is my backpack. it is Covered in pins and keychains (spot all my special interests in there....... so many things....) and i take it Everywhere with me. this is actually the Third iteration of this backpack - i had a black backpack that all these pins were on (it broke tragically), then his white backpack had different pins, and now we've moved the black backpack pins onto the white backpack. im a bag enthusiast and a pin collector (i have so many pins....... so many) so i have multiple bags with pins all over them but. these pins are my faves.

ANYWAY. sorry ab being so extra but i love all these things soooo yeah <3<3<3

[cryptic-science]

LONG VENT POST. BE WARNED.

i need help. i need help cleaning my room. i do. and ive been so fucking afraid to admit that but i fucking need someone to hold my hand and be gentle with me through the process.

but no, i cant. i cant ask for help, especially not from the person i want help from the most. i cant ask because im not a little kid anymore. i cant have someone hold my hand through everything. thats not how life fucking works. im almost 19. im an adult. i should have the fucking responsibility to keep my bedroom clean.

when was the last time it was actually properly clean ? it must have been what, like, 2018 ? 2019 ? fuck. Fuck. four ? five ? fucking years. almost six, really. jesus christ.

even if she did say yes, even if i could ask her in the first place...you know she wouldnt be gentle. you know she would yell and get annoyed and force you to get rid of things you arent ready to. and youd feel trapped, and scared, and oh so fucking ashamed and guilty. and youd cry and cry and cry and cry. youd sob and youd beg, just like the little girl you are.

she doesnt ask much of you. she never has. you know this. everyone knows this. you never really had to do chores as a kid. not properly anyway. right now, all she wants you to do is get a job and clean your room.

why is this still so hard for you ?she got you what you needed right ? she got you the anti-depressants. she got you the adhd meds. she got you the autism diagnosis. so why are you still like this ? the meds are working, arent they ? why are you still Wrong ? what else could you possibly fucking need ??

all you do is take. and take. and take. you are so fucking selfish. why arent you fixed yet ? why cant you get off your ass and clean your fucking room ? why cant you get off your ass and get a fucking job ? why do you still lack the motivation ?

you are lazy. you are lazy. you are lazy.

how can you live like this ? there is garbage piled next to your bed. there are molding cups on your dresser. there are both carpet and larder beetles squirming through your things.

you have too much shit. you get too attached. maybe you are a hoarder.

you are disgusting. you are filthy.

your hygiene doesnt help either. you changed today but when was the last time those clothes were washed ? when was the last time you showered ? when was the last time you brushed your teeth ? you are vile. you are filth.

she yells because she loves you. she yells because she loves you. she yells because she loves you.

shes been through so fucking much. you know this. everyone knows this. you could have had it so much worse.

she is not the villain. she is human. you realized she was human a long time ago. shes doing her best with what she knows.

would it be easier if you moved out ? you are too scared to do that. maybe, itd be easier to clean your room, though. she doesnt want you to leave either. you know that despite the times shes threatened to kick you out. shes too scared for you to go too. you cant live with her forever. you know this. she does to. shes said that phrase to you many times. you are too scared to leave. you cant handle change. its safe here. youve been here for so long. its familiar. its close to most of the important places you need to go. it took you such a long time to be able to memorize the paths in order to get to them. you cant drive. everything is perfect here. its safe. its safe. its safe.

the pear tree was cut down. it was planted long before you ever lived there. part of you thinks that maybe its a sign. you arent too sure for what, though.

you are trying not to cry. you dont want to cry. especially not right now.

she says she doesnt think you are a disappointment, but how can that be true when all youve done, your whole entire life, is dissapoint her ? you have failed at every expectation and want she had, and still has, for you.

you were born this strange and rotten thing.

but she still loves you.

and you love her too.

you need a job. you should be using this time to look for a job. you are scared. you need to stop putting it off. you need to stop lying whenever she asks if youve been looking. youve applied to a few places but, you only got hired once. and you quit after a day and a half. it was Too Much for you. you were scared and your body hurt and the job was too fast-paced and it was all so fucking overwhelming. so you ran from it. you gave up.

because you are a coward.

you can count on one hand the amount of interviews youve actually gotten.

why is this so hard for you ? why must there be so fucking much wrong with you ?

just do something, please. anything. any job you can get your hands on. you need it.

why arent you doing it ? why ??

you want to be better. you want so fucking badly to be better, in so fucking many ways.

you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better. you wish you were better.

i want to learn how to be better.

i dont know how to be better.

i dont know where to start.

i dont know.

help.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

mmh thing because of dad poll

this is such a nearly 5 am post lol

hhh i feel a little odd about my relationship with my parents sometimes because yknow its ... strsnge

ive reflected on it a lot since i was a lot younger as well and its very complicated but like .. ive known for a good long while that im far more emotionally mature and diplomatic than them both lmao

like ... i love them both and ive not got a truly negative relationship with either of them but sometimes its a little hard not to feel exasperated with their antics. i know WHY theyre like this, they both have a lot of trauma and baggage, but i feel like they dealt with it in a less than productive way for various reasons .. and ive tried to help them multiple times as well but at this point ive washed my hands of the matter because it just doesnt work , id much rather see them happier but you cant help people who dont want to help themselves

i dont wanna go into huge amounts of depth or air out their nonsense, but it explains a lot lol ... one being a csa survivor who had kids very young but doesnt actually like young children much at all, and still has problems with stubbornness and accountability/consequences and anger/patience .. and the other losing his mother very young, working in a new industry through connections very young (but thoroughly enjoying it) only to be shat out the other end with no recourse or way forward, losing his brother to a family drama related murder (yes really), and falling into alcoholism very much like his mother and other lost industry friends (he doesnt have many friends at all now), then having a minor stroke and losing memories words and personality traits, while also not wanting to bother people with his own feelings ?? plus neither set of grandparents was exactly perfect .... its a c c c combo ... both of them are sort of shut-ins especially my dad and i suspect if we lived further away from my maternal family my mum wouldnt do much either

and the bickering drives me nuts lol moving out was the best thing i did for my own wellbeing its VERY hard not to snap back at them sometimes like IM the parent

im not bitter either about how they definitely contributed to my anxiety disorder, they acknowledge it as well so its not a Big Issue and even though its shit i feel like its made me a more considerate person than i could have been. im generally not .. bitter its not really the right word ,, nor is sour either ? but at least on my end i feel a little melancholy about it all

id very much like to help but theres only so much attention i have to give on encouraging people who usually dont want to hear it when im dealing with my own shit

idk its .. strange

but like just fucking go to therapy jfskdjskdj jesus

anyway

yeah

[watery-melon-baller]

3, 7, and 40 for weekend and belos'

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

ooooh theres so many i would never touch. the first one that comes to mind is accidental pregnancy which like. i dont even write romance much. also hate student/teacher. uhh nonromance id go with. uh. i cannot think of anything rn lmao

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

ooooh id have to go with a snippet from a shera fic i did a while back. torn between two but ill go with the shorter one just because. not sure what counts as a snippet oops.

"Adora rolls her eyes, but stands up to join them. As she runs over, she knows that she’ll trip over her dress several times, and their clothes will all be covered in grass stains that will take forever to wash out. But Adora is here, in a future where there is no war to fight, where they can laugh freely and love and she doesn't feel selfish anymore for wanting a happy ending."

bad at explaining myself but like. its the potential of a happy ending, of not everything being perfect but it good, and thats worth living for. its a whole metaphor about feminity and wartime and accepting yourself. that its okay to be safe now, its okay to be soft and vulnerable and to start healing. apologies for being incoherent

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

ohohohohhohho you know whats funny. i actually did have an alternate ending planned where hunter just. slept through the rebelllion and just woke up after it was over and was like "what the fuck." anyways i sat down and wrote this in a night (ive been saving the ask until it was finished so thats why im answering it late sorry!) so enjoy 2k words of that under the cut. apologies for typos i tried my best to read this over lmao. you can also read this on ao3 now yipee

Hunter stared at his clock, and scowled. Shit. He had 20 minutes until the coven head meeting!

He stood up, quickly scrambling for his notes.  He wanted to try and get there early, so he could figure out somewhat of a plan.

Flapjack lifted their head up, disrupted from their slumber. What is boy doing?

His foot slipped on a piece of paper, and he barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his desk. “I have a meeting! I need to go talk to the other coven heads, and-”

Have time! Should rest!

He scowled. “Flapjack, I don’t have time to rest! I need to prepare my notes! I still haven’t figure out what I’m going to say to Terra, or Adrian, or how to deal with the recent riots-”

Nap time! Boy too tired to think!

“You always say it’s nap time.”

Because boy is always tired!

He sighed, flopping back on his bed and letting the stack of papers in his arms scatter onto the floor. Flapjack did have a bit of a point. He had been staying up later and later, getting less sleep in favor of trying to take care of… well, everything.

He could get ready in ten minutes. It wouldn’t take long to teleport. Just closing his eyes for a few minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. And he wouldn’t actually fall asleep. He would just lay here!

“Just ten minutes. Then I have to go.”

Flapjack chirped. Nap! Nap!

“Not a nap, Flap,” He mumbled. “M just resting my eyes.”

He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep.

___

He woke up to the smell of smoke.

He shot up out of bed, head swiveling as he took stock of the room. Everything seemed to be in order, except-

“FLAPJACK!”

The bird had at some point moved inside his shirt. They peeked their head out, looking adorable as always, but Hunter wasn’t fooled.

He glared at them. “I said ten minutes.”

Boy needed nap!

He pointed at the window. “IT’S DARK OUTSIDE NOW! IT’S NIGHTTIME!”

Not that late. Sun just set. More like evening!

He dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Flapjack. I missed the coven head meeting. The one thing I cannot, under any circumstances, miss.”

Flapjack did not look even remotely apologetic.

Hunter sighed, standing up and brushing back his hair. The smell of smoke was still lingering in the air, and he poked his head out the window, following the smell.

Ah. That might be a problem.

The area of the castle where Terra and Adrian had been fighting the other day looked even worse than before, mainly because it was on fire. Several scouts were running around in a panic, and if he listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of screaming.

Flapjack had moved to sit on his desk, and he slowly turned to glare at them. “Flapjack.”

They chirped.

“This is why we don’t skip coven head meetings! Look at what happened while I was asleep. The castle is on fire!” He sighed. 

Could be worse!

He flung his arms out, staring the bird down in frustration. “How could this be worse?!”

The Titan must have thought that was funny, because at that moment his door was slammed open with a war cry.

“GOLDEN GUARD!”

Something (someone?) charged through his door, and he screeched, barely avoiding their tackle. Whoever it was slammed into his wall, sending feathers flying everywhere. Why there were feathers, he didn’t know. Maybe they were because of the large wings that were almost smacking him in the face. 

Flapjack screeched, dive bombing the intruder, and Hunter quickly scrambled back, grabbing a heavy textbook detailing the criminal justice system and hurling it at their face. They shouted in pain, falling back onto the floor, and Hunter decided that was his cue to go.

He skidded out into the hallway, his slippers barely staying on his feet, while Flapjack circled nervously around his head. Behind him, he could hear the sound of the mystery attacker getting up, and he risked a glimpse behind him as Flapjack transformed into a staff.

“Golden Guard, kid, wait a second-”

Their voice sounded somewhat familiar, but he was too busy grabbing his staff. The last thing he saw before teleporting away into a haze of golden light was what looked to be some kind of harpy woman, heading straight for him.

He bounced across the castle, not having much of a destination in mind besides something that was away from the harpy lady. He materialized in a small room with dim lighting, and as he leaned against the brick walls he realized he was in the break room.

There were technically several break rooms scattered around the castle, but those were all empty storage closets scouts had converted into a break room in their free time with their own money. (Hunter may or may not have contributed to them with money from the castle treasury). This, however, was the official break room, the one all the coven heads used, and the one that the Emperor made somewhat of an attempt to maintain.

He hadn’t been here in a couple weeks, with the whole “accidentally killed my Uncle and now running the government from my bedroom” issue. Not much had changed since the last time he was here. The table was still stained, one of the chairs still had a wobbly leg, the sink was still dripping water because no one knew how to fix the leak, there were still a few spare coven cloaks lying in a pile on the floor, and the fridge still had several post-its about labeling your food properly and not letting it sit in the fridge for months and stink up the room.

The bulletin board, however, had a few changes. The ‘days since Kikimora tried to assassinate someone’ board had been reduced back to zero (last time he saw it it was at 11, which was a new record), and there were several notes stating that due to being understaffed, everyone would be getting extra shifts. Which was weird, because Hunter thought he was in charge of scheduling guard shifts, but he had handed off so many of his duties to Kikimora and random coven captains that he wasn’t sure anymore. Also, why had no one told him they were understaffed?

Someone had also brought in cookies, and there were still a few left. Yay! He grabbed one from the box, biting into it. 

“Want a piece? Its chocolate cricket flavor.” He broke off a small chunk, offering it to the palisman, who began gleefully pecking it. He finished eating the rest of the cookie, wandering over to the sink.

He smacked the faucet, hoping that maybe this time it would stop the leaking, but it did nothing. Like it did every time. He sighed, and turned towards the clawfee machine, turning it on. Next to the sink was a small collection of drying dishes, one of which included a mug that said ‘world’s best nephew’ in hot pink script.

“Hey Flapjack, I found my favorite mug!” He picked it up, thankfully finding it clean. He had been searching for that mug for weeks! Although, it seemed a bit inaccurate, with the whole ‘killed my uncle’ and ‘being a grimwalker of his brother’ thing. Nope, that was a problem for another time.

He shrugged, watching as the clawfee pot came to a boil. Flapjack was hopping around the table, pecking the various crumbs that had been left behind. Hunter should probably be stopping them, but he figured if Flapjack had survived this long with such little self preservation, they would probably be fine.

Probably.

He poured the clawfee into his mug, and moved to sit down in a chair. The good chair, not the one with the wobbly leg that made you rock back and forth every time you moved the slightest inch. 

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared vacantly at the wall. “So,” he said calmly. “I think there might be a rebellion going on right now.”

Flapjack chirped anxiously. Hunter stared at the bird. “You know, this is why we don’t skip coven head meetings.”

He sipped on his clawfee, savoring the bitter taste. Oh, sweet caffeine, how he missed it. Having energy was fantastic.

“I should probably go out there and deal with that.”

Or don’t! Don’t risk yourself!

“Flapjack, I don’t think that's an option.”

Run away to woods! Can hunt for worms!

“I can’t eat worms! You can hunt all you want, I’ll forage for berries.”

Good plan!

Hunter groaned. “Terrible plan.” It wasn't like he had any ideas. He had been slowly preparing a runaway bag, but he had hoped he would have a few more weeks before he had to use it. This was his punishment for procrastinating. 

He stood up, taking a long swig of the coffee. “Okay, my stuff is in my room. Let’s see if we can try to sneak back there, and if anyone is still alive.” He looked down at himself, grimacing at his lack of armor. He was still in his PJS! 

Hesitantly, he lifted one of the coven scout cloaks from the pile on the floor, checking it over. There didn’t appear to be any visible stains, so he shrugged, putting it on.

Flapjack chirped, and fluttered on top of his head. Hunter sighed, but said nothing, pulling up his hood to cover the bird. He opened the door and hesitantly peeked his head out. There didn’t seem to be anyone, so he stepped out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind him.

Picking a random direction, he began walking, the only sound being his bunny slippers slapping against the tile. He nervously clutched his cloak, suddenly beginning to regret every decision he had ever made that had led him to this situation.

He rounded a corner to see a hallway that looked very much destroyed. A section of the ceiling had collapsed, and plants and abomination goo was everywhere. Several coven scouts were lying unconscious on the floor.

Hunter bit his lip, and with a start realized he was still holding his mug. There was still a little bit of clawfee in it, so he could throw it at someone and run if he needed to. The perfect weapon. What a plan.

He froze at the sound of footsteps, frantically looking for a place to hide. He slid behind a pile of rubble, hoping that he would just be mistaken for an unconscious scout.

The sound of footsteps grew closer, and then stopped. “I could have sworn I heard something over here,” a familiar voice muttered. Oh shit.

Hunter involuntarily flinched, shifting the rubble he was hiding behind with his movement.

“Over there!” Oh, he recognized that voice too, although it was only marginally better than the first one. Maybe if he stayed very very still, they wouldn’t notice him?

He yelped as abomination goo wrapped around his legs, dragging him out into the open and pinning his arms to his side. He scowled at the awkward angle his arm was held at, the clawfee slowly dripping out of his mug and onto the floor.

Darius crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow at Hunter. “Ah, Little prince. You’re looking… unwell.”

Hunter, very maturely, stuck out his tongue, something that only caused Darius’s scowl to deepen.

Behind Darius, Luz cheerfully waved at him. “Hi Hunter! You kind of caught us at a bad time.” She turned down the hallway, cupping a hand to her mouth. “HEY GUYS, WE FOUND HUNTER! OVER HERE!” 

Darius winced at her yelling, rubbing his ears. Hunter wished he could do the same, because wow Luz could shout loud.

The two of them turned back to face him and he grimaced. “Uh, hi?” He said awkwardly. Maybe they would be nice and just kill him right away. Luz could probably convince them not to hurt Flapjack.

Luz shoved her hands in her pockets, grinning casually. “Hunter, my man! I’ve been looking for you! Sorry about the whole, uh, overthrowing the government thing.”

‘It’s fine,” He said, even though it was very much not fine. “It was already falling apart anyways.”

Darius stepped towards him, frowning. “About that, actually. We have quite a few questions to ask you, Golden Guard.”

Luz’s grin became just a bit more shaky. “Not bad questions! Just, uh, questions. It’ll be great!” She did not sound convinced of her own words. “It’s fine.”

Hunter sighed. He should have just stayed in bed. This was all Flapjack’s fault. He was never trusting that adorable little bird again, no matter how cute they were.