#anyone of any creed could

[deerydear]

the other day, I was sitting at a bar downtown, heard some guy critiqueing something on TV as "problematic".... the way that you can tell that their opinions are something they read on the computer-screen with the assumption of "lots of people agreeing with them", their voices go up in a higher pitch. They sound like they think they're imparting some "secret knowledge", but if it's something I know for a fact is not true....

it's funny.

tl;dr: the Smug is spreading

the idea of the internet connecting people and allowing the flow of information and knowledge in an unprecedented way was a great dream but the reality of being exposed to thousands of random peoples opinions at any time in the economic and social organization of social media has just made increasingly cynical because the majority of people seem to just have a vague “peasant easily convinced of fascism” mentality. this is why twitter is an op

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 2

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: Swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4,564

It has been one month since Din left you as a sobbing mess on Sorgan. One month since he'd had anything resembling a good night's sleep, haunted every time he closes his eyes by the image of your devastated face and shaking frame. Please Din, please don't this! echoing on a loop in his mind. He did what needed to be done, so why can't he seem to move on? He has regained his creed, by the grace of the Living Waters, you're safe, you have friends and a new place to start over. That knowledge should be enough to to ease his conscience, so why can't he let you go?

Why does he suffer every day with crushing guilt and endless longing to see you, touch you, laugh with you? Of course he's not the only one suffering. Grogu cried for three days straight when Din told him you wouldn't be coming back. Even now Grogu seems forlorn. He's quieter than usual, not showing much interest in his toys, not constantly harassing the poor froggy's in his pond. Din tried everything he could think of to distract him, but it was futile. Grogu misses you, and in truth, so does Din. Work has been slow for the past couple of weeks, meaning once Din has dropped Grogu off at school, he's had nothing but time to ruminate on the events that led to this.

Had he been too harsh? Maybe, but although he's consumed by guilt - and a part of him wants to run to you, forgive you and hold you - he still can't see how he'll ever be able to trust you again, trust you to make difficult decisions when necessary. His heart and his mind are being pulled in two different directions. He can't take this anymore. He needs to clear his head. Getting up from the settee, he places his helmet on his head before walking out of the door to visit the one non Mandalorian friend he has on Nevarro.

The evening sun drenches Sorgan in a warm, golden hue, rays of sunlight gleaming off the krill ponds, shadows of huts and trees elongating as the sun slowly begins it's decent beyond the horizon. The evening had always been your favourite time of day on any planet. Taking time to relax and unwind after a long day was always something you'd look forward to, but not anymore. The evening heralds the approaching night, and night time is when the tears come. When the loneliness and sorrow become too much to bare and manifest in unbridled anguish and weeping. Omera has been a liferaft in a tumultuous ocean for you, allowing you to cry until you'd exhausted yourself and always ready to offer advice and support as your poured your aching heart out.

You honestly don't know what you would've done without her this past month. You'd told her everything the day Din left you in pieces and a part of you worried that she'd be disappointed in you too, but she showed nothing but understanding, adding that in a situation like that, anyone would do the same. Some nights were easier than other's to endure. Night's when your toilworn body had no choice but to succumb to sleep after spreading yourself too thin. More work meant less time to think and a greater chance of sleeping through the night.

Tonight wasn't one of those nights. The harvest had been collected and the krills had been salted and stored away, which meant for the past two days there had been a lot less work to occupy your mind. Tonight is the village festival, a chance for the community to come together and celebrate the rewards of everyone's hard work. As the orange and pink sky turned to dusk, bonfires were lit throughout the village, a signal of the beginning of the festivities. Banners and streamers hung between huts, log seats and blankets placed around each bonfire, the aromas of different delicacy's wafted from the stalls, reaching every corner of the village and the cool night air came alive with cheerful music.

Children laughed and played, people danced, friends gathered around the fires, enjoying Spotchka, everyone immersed in the exuberant atmosphere. It's moments like this that somewhat lightened your spirits, even if it is temporary. Omera sat beside you by the fire, handing you a cup of Spotchka. "Thanks," you smiled at your friend. "So, how are you enjoying your first harvest festival?" You look at Omera with a soft gaze. "It's great. I love seeing how everyone comes together. It's..." you sigh, "It's a rare thing these days."

And that's true, considering the larger, more metropolitan worlds you've visited seem to have lost all sense of community, everyone too caught up in their own lives, rushing from A to B without a second thought for their neighbours. "It is?" Omera seemed surprised by your answer, but of course she'd never left Sorgan, so this life is all she's known. "Yeah, a lot of people in the galaxy these days tend to keep to themselves, look out for number one." Omera grimaced at the thought of that kind of existence. "I'd hate to live like that." "Yeah, you're lucky here. This place is..." you look around at the heartwarming scene in front of you, one of camaraderie, belonging. "This place is special."

Omera placed a hand on your shoulder. "You mean we're lucky here. This is your home too now." Tears well up in your eyes but you blink them back and look at your feet. While you deeply appreciate what the village has done for you, this could never truly be home. Home is inside the hearts of the two people you love the most in this whole universe. A home you'll never see again. "Mama, Y/N!" Winta comes bounding over to you both, a huge grin lighting up her face. "I made these for you." She placed two little daisy crowns on both your heads.

"Thank you, sweetie. It's beautiful," Omera gushed and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Aww, thank you," you smiled softly. You've grown very fond of Winta over the past month, her happy disposition reminding you so much of Grogu. "I'll wear this proudly all night." With a giggle she turned and ran back to her friends. You watch her laughing and skipping with some of the other kids, and you feel your heart warm at the sight. Your mood quickly shifts, though, when your attention is caught by a toddler (no older than two) running into the waiting arms of his mum and dad.

Watching the sweet embrace, the joy and love so openly displayed sends a wave of pain straight through your heart. So many times Grogu had ran to you and Din like that, like you were both the centre of his universe. If you'd known that life would end, you would have held onto them both and never let go. The familiar numbness you'd been battling over the past month returns, sinking deep into your stomach. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you place your cup down and stand up. "You okay?" Omera asks. "Yeah I... I just need to clear my head. I'll be right back," you try to say casually, hoping Omera didn't notice the slight quaver in your voice.

The outskirts of the village is a little quieter, a little less overwhelming. Finding a boulder you slump down onto it, dipping your face into your hands. You inhale deeply then look up at the cosmos, wondering what Din and Grogu are doing this very moment. Are they well? Do they miss you as much as you do them? You're one hundred percent certain that Grogu misses you, but Din? Well, you can't be too sure anymore. You can't be sure of anything anymore when it comes to Din. He'd told you time and again that he loved you, but if that were true, why did he leave you instead of talking to you, instead of giving you a chance to make amends?

Maybe you'd been foolish this whole time. Maybe you loved -love- him more than he's ever loved you. Of course these thoughts had been swirling around your brain, relentlessly hounding you since that day, and you're still no closer to clarification, except for one harsh truth; that you're expendable, meaningless and not worthy of love, if the one person you'd trusted the most could just turn his back on you. A pained sob breaks free as you bury your face in your hands. In all your years nothing had ever hurt as much as this! Will this feeling lesson over time, granting you the opportunity to to learn to live with it, or will you have to face this bleak void for the rest of your life?

So lost are you in your all consuming spiral that you don't notice the screams at first. It's only when the unmistakable echos of blaster fire ring out that you leap to your feet like a startled Porg. Your immediate thoughts are for your friends. "Omera! Winta!" you scream as you run into the village. It's absolute chaos! Red streaks fly through the air, people screaming in panic as the attackers gain the upper hand. Some women run to nearby huts with their children while other's are being rounded up. The men are fighting back, but without any firearms they stand no chance. 'Winta, Omera! Where are you?!" You push through the throng of panicking people, desperately to catch sight of them amidst the mayhem. It's no use. In the dark and the rush of bodies you can't see them anywhere. "Win- arrrgh!" You hit the ground hard, a white hot burn tearing across your lower back and side. You push yourself up, gasping at the pain and, knowing there's nothing more you can do, you run.

Stumbling through the dark woods with only the moonlight to guide you, your mind tries to make sense of what just happened. Your lungs burn as you push through the woodland. You don't know where you're gong but you keep moving, until your legs can't take it anymore. A sharp pang jolts through your knees as you land on them, sweating and gasping for air. Dizziness and nausea sweep over you like a wave and you dig your fingers into the damp soil to ground yourself. As your breathing becomes less frantic, your head clears, and thats when you feel a warm wetness running down your thigh, soaking your trousers and making them stick to you.

You reach a hand around to where the pain radiates from and when you pull away, you squint at the dark, thick liquid staining your hand. The moonlight isn't bright enough to give you a clear view so you bring your hand to your nose, praying your suspicions are wrong. Your sense of smell is instantly overwhelmed by a strong metallic scent. Blood! "Fuck!" you groan quietly. I've been shot! You begin to tremble as you realise just how dire your situation has become. The sudden sounds of snapping and rustling has you jerking your head in it's direction. Voices follow the noises, telling each other to scour the woodland for any escapees. With a silent groan you force yourself to your feet and keep running.

For the past couple of days, Din has been in mental torture. His visit to Karga hadn't gone the way he'd planned. All he'd wanted was a new bounty to keep his mind off you, but instead he'd been given some harsh truths. And the more he thinks about the conversation, the more he realises what a grievous mistake he has made, his mind constantly replaying the moment he'd had some sense knocked into him.

"Mando!" Greef Karga exclaimed enthusiastically while rising from his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Din clasped his friends' arm and sat down opposite him. "I'm looking for more work." "Straight to the point as usual," Karga chuckled. "I've got a few bounty pucks, but to be honest the reward is so low it probably wouldn't even cover fuel." Din sighed and sat back in the chair. "Anyway, what's the rush? Your last two jobs paid handsomely. Why not take some time off and relax?" "I don't need to relax," Din replied, curtly, his shoulders stiffening with tension. Karga raised an eyebrow at Din's clipped response. "So, uh... how's the little one doing?"

Just the mention of Grogu helped to relax Din's tense posture. "He's good," Din answered, with a hint of affection in his voice. "He's been making new friends at school." Karga smiled at that, then clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him, focusing entirely on the black T of Din's helmet. "And how are you?" Din shrugged, "I'm fine." Karga just kept his gaze, fixing Din with a questioning look. "What?" Din asked awkwardly. "You're not doing yourself any favours by bottling everything up, you know." Din shifted uncomfortably, fists clenching as Karga continued. "Sooner or later it'll all catch up with you and -" "I said I'm fine," Din snapped.

"No you're not fine, Mando! You haven't been 'fine' since you left Y/N on Sorgan. You think I haven't noticed how distracted you've been lately?" Karga sighed and lowered his tone. "The only time you seem okay is when you're around the kid, but even then, I can't help but suspect it's a front. Just go to her. You obviously miss her. Din shook his head and let out long exhale. "Of course I miss her, but it's not that simple. "Why?" Karga asked, clearly confused, "You've redeemed yourself. You have your creed-" "It's not about the creed," Din interrupted in frustration, "It's about trust. I trusted her completely."

"Mando-" karga began but Din continued, "She went against my wishes and disrespected the creed and myself, even if it was to save my life. It was a ... selfish thing she did." Karga's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Selfish?!" "Yes! She said she couldn't lose me. She only thought about how she would feel, so yes, she was selfish." Karga pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head as he did so. "Mando, you're my friend so I'm going to be blunt. That's Bantha shit!!" Din jerked back at Karga's sudden outburst. "She saved your life, knowing that doing so could end with you hating her. She knew what she was risking by removing your helmet, and it wasn't just losing you, but Grogu too. She sacrificed everything so you could live, even if she could no longer be a part of your lives. That is the most selfless thing I've ever heard of."

Din is speechless. He'd been so consumed by, what he'd seen as a betrayal, that he hadn't stopped to consider what it would have really meant for you to let him die. You loved him so much that you'd risked losing everything, just for him. The sudden clarity made his stomach churn and chest tighten under the weight of such a revelation. What the hell had he done?! "I... I never thought of it like that," Din faltered as regret swept through him. "Maybe it's not too late. I'm sure you'll do the right thing," Karga smiled sincerely. Din stood quickly; he needed to get out of there, needed space to think clearly. "Thank you," Din nodded at his friend and rushed outside.

For two days Din had been obsessing over how he can fix everything, but what could he say to excuse his behaviour? Would you forgive him? He couldn't blame you if you wouldn't. He doesn't deserve it. He feels sick to his stomach knowing the pain he's put both you and Grogu through. He has to see you, even if you won't forgive him, he needs you to know how sorry he is and how much he still loves you. Din is brought out of his thoughts by the blinking of his holoprojector, a quick press of the button revealing Greef Karga's hazy image. "Mando," Karga began, "I've just received communication from Captain Carson Teva. He has a proposition for you. I need to discuss this with you in person. Can you come to the office ASAP? It's important."

Din frowned as Karga's image disappeared. He could tell from his voice that something was very wrong. Din slipped his helmet on and made his way to the office. Upon arrival, Din was met with a very somber looking Karga. This can't be good, Din surmised internally. "Thank you for coming in, Mando," Greef said, stretching out an arm for Din to sit. "You said you have work for me from Captain Teva?" Din asked as he took a seat. "Yes... uh, he's had confirmed reports that an organisation of Spice runners have taken control of a planet in a nearby system. There have also been reports of fatalities and enslavement of the local people. As the Planet is part of the Outer Rim Territories," -Din bristled at that, hoping Karga isn't going to say what he thinks he's going to say- "It's not exactly a top priority for the over stretched republic officers. That's why Captain Teva has requested the help of allies nearby. He'll pay 30,000 Galactic Credits."

"Okay..." Din replied, hesitantly, a knot forming in his stomach. Greef closed his eyes and sighed. "Mando..." he looked back up. "It happened on Sorgan. Din's heart dropped to his stomach as the words he didn't want to hear washed over him. He could barely breathe, fear and disbelief choking his airways. The room began to spin and Din had to grip the edge of the desk to steady himself. "When did this happen?" Din pressed, trying to calm his racing mind. "Two days ago, Nevarro time." Din's jaw dropped under his helmet. "Two days!" All this time you'd needed him and he knew nothing of it.

Maker knows what could have become of you in the past two days, that's if you're still- no! He can't even entertain that possibility. You're alive! You're alive and he'll come for you. "Tell Captain Teva I'm on my way!" Din spun around, ready to high tail it out of there, but then stopped abruptly. In his panic he'd completely forgotten about Grogu. Karga raised a hand, already knowing what Din was about to say. "Go. Find her. I'll get the kid from school and he can stay with me until you return." "Thank you," Din replied and ran out of the room.

You're cold, so bloody cold. The icy chill seems to be coming from inside your very bones, your entire body trembling uncontrollably, while a constant layer of sweat coats your skin. The only respite you get is when you lose consciousness. At this point, though, you're not sure what's real and what's not, how often you've woken and how often you've been dreaming becoming harder to distinguish between. After managing to stop the bleeding with a strip of your shirt, you forced yourself onwards until you came across a small cave, finally collapsing in an exhausted heap.

Time has now become meaningless. Maybe you've been here for minutes, maybe hours; there's no way to know. What you do know, even in your delirious state, is that you're in serious trouble, and if you don't get help soon... well, it's game over. Dying alone on a freezing cave floor wasn't how you ever envisioned yourself going out. Every breath is becoming difficult and every slight movement sends a burning jolt through your abdomen. Slowly, you slip back into the calm.

The fight didn't last long, if it could even be called that. Along with Captain Teva and his men and several other mercenaries, Din wasted no time in obliterating every one of those low life drug runners and freeing the villagers from bondage. Families and friends cried happy tears as they embraced each other, others crying over the loss of a loved one, and an abundance of gratitude and praise was offered up to the liberators. It was a moment of immense joy and relief. However, Din felt none of it as he scanned the crowd. Where the hell are you? he asked himself again and again. With every passing minute Din's composure threatened to shatter.

"Have you seen Y/N anywhere?!" he asked repeatedly as more and more villagers approached him to thank him, every one of them confirming they hadn't seen you. Worry and frustration began to boil within until Din felt like he was going to explode. "Mando!" a sweet little voice cried out, catching Din's attention and pulling him from his imminent spiral. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a head of dark hair nuzzled into his stomach. "Winta." Din gasped in relief, returning her embrace. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Winta looked up with a big grin. "I'm okay. You saved us, thank you!"

Din crouched down to Winta's level, gently holding on to her arms. "Where's your mother? Where's Y/N?" he asked, trying to remain calm. "Mama's over there," winta pointed behind her to where Omera was quickly walking through the crowd towards him. "Mando..." Omera smiled, relief swimming in her brown eyes. "What are you doing here?" "I heard what happened and I had to come. Where is she?" Omera's face dropped at Din's question, taking his heart along with it. "Omera?..." Din hesitated, almost afraid to ask again but he needed to know. "Where's Y/N?"

"I don't know," Omera shook her head while tucking Winta into her side. "I haven't seen her since the attack." Din's chest seized, Omera's confirmation that you weren't there making his stomach swirl with dread. "I can't be sure, it was dark, but I think I saw her run into the woods." A glimmer of hope! "Which way?" Omera pointed to the tree line behind him, tears building in her eyes. "Please bring her back, Mando," she sniffled. "I will," Din declared with determination, placing a reassuring hand on Omera's shoulder. "I promise!" Then Din turned, sprinting towards the forrest as fast as his legs could carry him.

It didn't take Din long to spot the tell tale signs of disturbance once he'd entered the forrest. Broken branches on bushes, flattened vegetation, and most importantly, footprints. Several different tracks criss crossed the damp soil, some human, some not. Most of the human prints where too big to be you, so Din could easily rule them out, along with the non human tracks. The tracks that caught his attention, though, were sporadic, indicating that whoever they belonged to was in a hurry, but also Physically impaired as the trail was often interrupted by signs of dragging, which could only mean the tracks' owner had stumbled multiple times in their haste to keep moving.

Din swallowed down his rising anxiety at the thought of you being injured, scared and alone. Now's not the time to fall apart. Keep it together, for her! Fortifying himself, Din pushed forward, certain he's on the right path. He engaged the heat signature function in his helmet. It would be useless to track your footsteps now, the heat in them long gone, but if you're in the vicinity, he would easily spot your body heat. Din moved in stealthy silence as he would while tracking quarries, acutely aware of his surroundings. Only this time the stakes were much higher.

Your life is in his hands now. He can't fail you; he wont! He follows the tracks for several more minutes, analysing every minute detail. Rounding the corner of a bush Din stops dead, his muscles freezing as he stares at the ground. There in a patch of dried blood is the beaded bracelet Grogu had made for you in school. He'd recognise it anywhere. His legs turn to jelly and he drops to his knees. Hand trembling he picks it up. Bile rises up his throat at the sight of your blood. It suddenly becomes all too real. This confirms it; you're hurt. You needed him and he wasn't there. Pocketing the bracelet, Din rises to his full height. "Y/N?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his body turning in every direction. "Y/N! Where are you?!"

He's met with nothing but the sounds of the forrest and his echoing, modulated voice. "If you can hear me, call out, please!" The last word came out as a desperate plea. Nothing. A thorough scan of the area reveals no body heat signature but you have to be close. The tracks keep going and so does Din. The more he presses on, the more blood he discovers littering the trail. So determined he'd been about finding you, that he'd didn't stop to think about what condition he'd find you in. Would you even be alive? Din shakes the abhorrent thought from his mind.

You're alive. Surely he'd have felt it in his gut if you weren't. Din has become a man possessed, his only mission now is to find you, hold you in his arms and never let any harm befall you ever again. He stalks on, following the tracks for another quarter of a mile until the trail brings him to the mouth of a small cave. This has to be it! With renewed hope, Din charges into the cave, calling your name into the chilled air.

A series of violent shivers jerk you awake, and with consciousness comes the torturous pain spreading along your side. A trickle of sunlight filters down from a hole in the cave ceiling, bathing part of the area in a warm yellow glow. You groan as everything begins to spin in your vision, shutting your eyes in an attempt to ease the nausea trying to climb up you throat. It's hopeless; you know that now. With every waking moment a little more of your strength ebbs away. Your mind wonders to Din and Grogu. Even if you never physically see them again, at least you'll die seeing them in your memories.

A wistful smile tugs at your mouth as you imagine the antics your precious boy is probably up to at this moment, but your smile slowly drops, sadness settling deep within as the image of Din -both with and without his helmet- comes to the forefront of your mind. You'll die now, without the chance to tell him one last time how much he means to you, and that even though he broke your heart, you forgive him. You hadn't even realised until now that your face is wet, tears running down the temples of your head and into your hairline behind your ears.

"Y/N? !Y/N?! Cyar'ika are you in here?!" Din's frantic voice cuts through your silent despair. It sounds strange, almost as if he's under water. So close, yet so far away. How cruel of your mind to play tricks on you now. You hear the call of your name again, closer and clearer this time. In your disorientation, you turn your head in the direction of the voice. The last thing you see before darkness swallows you again is the gleam of sunlight reflecting off a fast moving mass of silver and black.

Part 3

[blackflash9]

A subtle storytelling moment highlighted in the final Assassin's Creed Reflections comic and in Rogue, after the Kenway saga, is how Shay's and Connor's memories impact Otso Berg as a person. Shay's story and shift in perspective radicalize Otso, leading him to further dehumanize both himself and the Assassins, viewing them as identities that could never find common ground.

In the Reflections comic, Otso learns from Connor—not because of any duty or allegiance to the Assassins, but because of Connor's inherent goodwill as a man. Connor's love for the things and people he cherishes awakens Otso's own humanity, helping him recognize the humanity in his enemies whom he hated.

Legacy Transcript [ACIII] Achilles Davenport: "Your unwavering tenacity and honesty have burdened you with responsibility far greater than any one man should bear. But you, if anyone are capable. You have given an old man hope that all is not lost and for that I thank you." Desmond Miles: "I think spending all this time in Connor's memories has made me anxious. Mean his story is so painful in so many ways. Still, he never lost hope, even when his faith in others eroded." Even over 200 years after his death, Connor still inspired hope and change in those in life who need it.

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part five.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

only fluff from here on out who cheered!

summary: you and spencer spend a night together, and talk about making your relationship 'official'.

word count: 2030

a/n: this project has been such a labor of love (and obsession). this is the penultimate part, the finale will be posted on fri 9/27

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Spence POV

You had both decided that watching some movies in bed and eating your favorite takeout was the best way to end this tumultuous, heavy day. Spencer knew you were tired, and he fully anticipated you falling asleep mid-movie. It didn’t happen often, you always tried your best to stay awake or would communicate that you were ready to head to bed.

All the times you had had movie marathons together, you stayed the night. Spencer would always wake up in the morning, his arm wrapped around you and your leg over his. You both tended to gravitate towards each other in the middle of the night, no matter how far apart on the bed you were before bed. He cherished it more than he’d care to admit, and he was hoping for a repeat tonight. He put on an extra long movie knowing you would get bored and fall asleep.

While it was sneaky, he supposed he was allowed to do that now. The emotions were out and in the open, and while you both still needed to discuss what that entailed and where your relationship was going to go, or how it would change, he was selfish at heart. And with the lack of physical touch in these past few weeks, he was begging for an excuse to touch you.

“Y/N?” He nudged you softly, hoping you wouldn’t stir.

You didn’t. 

He turned the TV off, and hit the bedside lamp too. He checked to make sure your phone was plugged in before plugging in his own phone on his side of the bed. While it wasn’t technically ‘his side’ by any means, he was sure you hadn’t had anyone else in your bed. Minus maybe Angela. And it might as well be his side anyway, considering he had had his own charger plugged in on that side for months, and it hadn’t been moved. He also had a backup pair of glasses here, and half your dresser was filled with his clothes. Though mainly that was because you stole so many of his shirts. 

Once he had calmed you down from his intrusion, he had noticed you were already in one of his shirts. An old, tattered Creed shirt he had retired once he bought a new one. You stole it almost immediately. He smiled to himself, finally letting himself relax.

He knew the morning would entail a long and emotional conversation, but for now he was going to give into his selfish ways, and hold you tight to him while you slept. Hopefully you wouldn’t mind if he was still here in the morning.

He set an alarm for 10am, kissed the top of your head, featherlight, and drifted off to sleep himself.

//

Reader POV

You woke up naturally, no alarm blaring or construction starting. You took your time fully opening your eyes, the sunlight hitting your face a little too hard for your liking. You hadn’t closed the curtains last night before bed, something you’re usually pretty good about. Hmm. A noise to your left startled you slightly. That’s when you took note of your extremities. You were wrapped up in Spencer’s legs, the covers haphazardly thrown across the two of you. The noise was simply him shuffling, but you had fallen asleep so suddenly last night you hadn’t realized he had stayed.

But, the realization made you quite happy. Your heart started to pick up its pace again, and you willed it into normalcy. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it. But how could you ask your heart to act normal when you weren’t sure what normal was anymore? Everything was changing. And that was fucking scary. Change is hard, change is painful, but it’s happening. Constantly. Besides, this was good change, right? The kind you had wanted for so long now? Why harp on the fact that it’s change and not harp on the fact that you were finally going to be with your soulmate? You decided to just enjoy this moment, instead of letting it fester deep inside and drive you crazy. 

Spencer’s curls had gotten all messy in his sleep. You knew that happened, you had stayed the night with him more times than anyone else in your life. This wasn’t the first time you had woken up together, your limbs woven tighter than you thought possible, drool drying on the corner of one or both of your mouths because you both slept better when you slept next to each other. You almost always woke up first, and you were thankful for that. It gave you time to stare at Spencer openly. Sometimes you pretended to be asleep when he started waking, so you could hear him whisper sweet things to you while you ‘slept’.

You hadn’t been able to look at him like this in so long, and you took advantage of it. You pushed his brown curls out of his eyes, your touch as light as you could manage, not wanting to wake him prematurely. But Spencer lay dormant, hands under his head as he faced you. His chest was rising and falling in a slow rhythm, clearly at peace. Trailing your finger along his shoulder, then torso and hips, you ran the length of his body. Then you brought your eyes back up to his face, hoping the sun was hitting him just right and giving him that beautiful morning glow. And it was, but his green eyes were shining down at you now. “Hi,” he whispered. His face was lit up, a toothy smile and glittering eyes, the sun draping over him and painting him in gorgeous gold.

His hand reached for yours, a Midas touch. A warmth unmatched blossomed in your chest, spreading and filling every atom of your existence. You felt like liquid gold, and your eyes filled with tears, unprompted. You gave in and let them spill over. Spencer pulled you close, tears spilling from his eyes as well. At least you both knew they were happy tears this time.

You lay in his arms for some time. No words, no more tears, just the sound of both of your hearts beating in tune. The moment was ruined by Spencer’s alarm. 

“Jesus, sorry, I forgot to turn that off.” Spencer rolled over, hitting the ‘stop’ button. He grabbed your hand again, “I was a little distracted.”

“Whatever by?” You cocked your head, feigning innocence.

Spencer leaned in close, and the air was ripped from your lungs. “By my partner. If you’ll have me, anyway?”

He glanced to your lips, and you had to force your lungs to start working again. “Only if you’ll have me, too.” You closed the minimal distance between your lips, doing your best to remain calm.

It was soft, chaste, and everything you had been fantasizing about for six goddamn years. It didn’t last too long, it wasn’t too hot and heavy right off the bat. It was Spencer. And it was perfect. Of course it was.

You pulled back, noting Spencer’s blown pupils. “I probably should have asked before I did that. Sorry.” 

“Consent is important but I promise I am not complaining, Peach.” He leaned in again, smiling. “You can do it again, if you want.”

How wonderful it was to be able to laugh while kissing someone. This couldn’t be considered a make-out session by any means, it was much too silly. That’s to be expected of you and Spencer, though, isn’t it?

He kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you. It wasn’t always the right angle, what with the amount of laughing and smiling you were both doing, but it was still perfect to you. You let Spencer’s hands wander over you, and he kept asking if it was okay when he reached a new area. Your arms, your torso, your legs. He didn’t come too high up your thigh, and he never reached around to your ass. Ever the gentleman, Spencer Agnew was.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass, baby, really,” Spencer breathed, his lips on your neck. You shuddered at the new nickname, wanting to hear it again. “We could have been doing this for years, huh?” You could only nod in response. He pulled back, putting a minute amount of space between you. Far enough that you weren’t touching all over, but close enough that he was still very much in your bubble. You loved it. Especially because he knew exactly what you wanted, often without you needing to voice it.

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he started, “And I’m pissed we lost so much time, really, and I can’t apologize enough for making you wait.” He laced your fingers together, rubbing circles into your hand, just like you did for him yesterday. “But I also don’t want to rush this. We might have been in love with each other for years, at least I have, but this is still a new relationship, you know?” 

You started tearing up again, but only because you were enamored with Spencer’s thoughtfulness and vulnerability. “Good tears,” you laughed, reassuring him. “Thank you, for being so honest with me. I feel the same way, actually.” He kissed the back of your hand, nodding for you to continue. “This,” you gestured between the two of you, “is still us, still our friendship. But the relationship aspect is new, and we should treat it as such, right?”

Spencer nodded, enthusiastic that you were on the same page. “Exactly! I don’t want us to, like, jump right into it just because of the history we have. I want to take you on dates, and buy you flowers, and get to know you all over again. I don’t care how many times you’ve told me about your favorite movie – tell me about it again. Show me your favorite albums again, your favorite TV shows and stand-up specials. I want to discover you all over again.”

The tears were falling in droves at this point, and you were really wondering how you wound up so lucky. “Fucking hell, Spence. Are you trying to kill me?” You wiped your tears on your shirt, laughing. “You’re so fucking perfect. Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I love you, babe. Do you want to get some breakfast?”

“Or I could make us breakfast?”

“Fuck yes.”

//

After breakfast you both decided it was time to have the dreaded conversation. ‘Dreaded’ because you both would rather be lazily making out right now and watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, but instead you had to talk about ‘feelings’ and ‘labels’ and ‘hard and soft launches’. God, dating nowadays was so stupid. Especially when you’re dating your best friend of eight years and you’re both entirely unsure where your limits were because for years there were none. None that were spoken anyway.

Spencer wanted to go public immediately, because, according to him “anyone who doesn’t want to show you off is fucking insane”, but you thought it might be better to wait a little while. You don’t have to pull the long con like Court and Shayne, but just having the office and your friends knowing would be good enough until you both settled into this.

“Then we could maybe be annoying and drop little hints on IG or in videos, see who all catches on,” You offered, knowing his mischievous side would absolutely love that.

“So many fans already ship us anyway, it might be fun to drive them a little crazy with it.” Spencer laughed, bright and full of love, and you just could not believe you finally had Spencer to yourself.

Realistically, you had for a few years now, but now it’s real.

The conversation wasn’t as long as you had expected, luckily you were both on the same page about nearly everything. Soulmatism is just like that, you supposed. After about thirty-or-so minutes, you both had worked it all out and decided another lazy day in bed was in order.

You could get used to how easy it was to love Spencer, and how he made you feel even easier to love.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

taglist: @lokidokieokie @chaoticlizzzzzz @babble28 @starstriker027 @langaslefthairstrand @vc55bughead @kneelforloki @cosmichahn @lisiliely

[high-mackrels-musings]

Shatterpoint: A Mace Windu Musical Concept Chapter 1: Guide Us

A fun fact about me besides my love of Star Wars is that I love musicals. I have no musical talent whatsoever, but I still like the idea of writing musicals. And in the last few days I’ve had a rather silly idea of taking Revenge of the Sith and framing it as a musical, that idea eventually morphed into a musical set during the Clone Wars, but from the perspective of Mace Windu.

Mace is an often misunderstood character, especially from people who never read legends. And I thought this would be a fun idea for me to just have some fun with this. So, I got to writing an opening song for this, though as I said I’m not a songwriter by any means, but if anyone really wants me to continue let me know.

Link to song.

Chapter 2: A Leader

Chapter 3: A Daughter

Guide Us

[The musical begins, the sounds of blaster fire, vague battlefield orders heard, sounds of struggle as smoke fills the screen, intercut with lights of lightsabers and blasters. Three young padawans followed by clones enter. The padawans desperate and feeling overwhelmed sing].

Padawan #1 Come on my Jedi Can’t you see? We must hold the line For if we fall, the people die.

Padawan #2 There’s too many We’re surrounded

Padawan #3 There’s too many of them.

Padawan #1 Hold the line!

Padawan #2: We need another plan.

[Clones Fall and a Jedi does as well. A chorus begins to be heard humming. This chorus of Jedi will frequently return, they’ll act as a sort of Greek Chorus]

Jedi Chorus: So many fall So many die The young and brightest of our order In the name of peace and a republic That does not care.

Padawan #3

Retreat! We must retreat

Jedi Chorus: Untrained for war Untrained for this Meant for peace, but what is peace? Have we lost our way.

[A clone Commander appears, he runs to the eldest of the padawans.]

Clone Commander: The droids have broken our lines, Commander, what are your orders?

[The Padawan hesitates, and the clone grows more desperate.]

Clone Commander: What are your orders?!

[Suddenly a commanding voice sounds out.]

Mace Windu: Hold the line, Commander. Hold the line! (To the Padawans) Young ones, courage now—this is not the time to falter.

[The smoke clears slightly as Mace Windu strides into view, his purple lightsaber igniting with a resolute hum.]

Jedi Chorus: Master Windu, champion of the Jedi… Master Windu, where justice and courage lie… Master Windu, the shield against despair, Master Windu, a light in shadows’ lair.

Mace Windu:

Listen, young ones, the storm is here, But a Jedi stands, we do not fear. The galaxy turns in endless strife, Yet we are the shield, the blade of life.

Feel the Force, let it guide, Hold to the light, don’t run, don’t hide. Even in darkness, hope will rise, For the Jedi endure where chaos dies.

[The Padawans, emboldened by Mace’s presence, sing with renewed strength, echoing his confidence.]

Eldest Padawan: Come on, let’s do this!

Other Padawans: Master Windu, we follow— For the Republic, we fight, fight, fight!

Mace Windu (Inner Monologue): Meant to be a leader, meant to be a warrior, But they don’t see my doubts—my barrier. Could have ended this war before it began, Had my sword at the ready, but I had doubt… I’m just a man.

We must fight, change our role, But all of this war—it takes its toll. I see them fall, I see them die, My brothers, my sisters—hear their cry.

Jedi Chorus: Master Windu, guide us, lead us… Master Windu, hear us, teach us… Master Windu, show us what a Jedi can be, Master Windu, the strength of us is he.

[Mace Windu fights back, uses his lightsaber to lead and destroy battle droids as he gives orders the music grows quiet signifying that we are listening to his inner thoughts.]

Mace Windu: Jedi, follow my lead The republic will not fall, this is our creed Fight for the light, fight not for peace We fight for justice, this war will cease.

Padawans and Clones (chorus): Hold the line, hold the light, In the shadow of war, we fight, fight, fight! For justice, for hope, for the galaxy’s flame, We’ll endure, we’ll prevail, we’ll honor the name!

Master Windu, guide us, lead us… Master Windu, hear us, teach us… Master Windu, show us what a Jedi can be, Master Windu, the strength of us is he.

[The scene ends with Mace Windu standing strong, his purple lightsaber cutting through the haze, the battlefield momentarily stilled as the music fades into silence. The Jedi Chorus lingers as if carried on the wind.]

[urfavoritedcwhore]

school project(smut)

summary: coryo is your boyfriend and your working on a school project

warnings: it’s smut so yeah be warned

you hated grouping up with coryo for any academy project. i mean sure he was smart, in fact he was probably the smartest student at the academy. what you hated is his lack of concentration when it came to working with you.

“can we go to your house to help with the project?”, he said smiling. you looked at him and rolled your eyes, “coryo you know i love you but we need to get this project done i can work on it alone”. he looked at you and smirked, “so what your just gonna finish the whole thing by yourself?”, he said slightly nudging you with his arm. “yes if i want it done i’ll do it you won’t be of any help sitting there bothering and distracting me while i work. i won’t be able to get anything done.” you said nudging him back playfully. only for a slight moment he looked mad. the kind of mad he gets when he thinks someone is disrespecting him, but quickly smiled again and simply said, “i’m coming over it’s OUR project”. you knew arguing with him would get you nowhere where so you simply said, “okay fine we’re going straight after school to my house to work on it.”, and left his side to go to your next class.

after the final bell rung and it was time to go home you made your way out of the academy doors to your car where coryo stood waiting for you. “toss me the keys i’m driving today.”, coryo said with a straight face. it was fairly common for him to drive your car when you two were going somewhere, you were exhausted from school and ready to get home so you tossed him the keys and got it the passenger side of the car. the whole way home coryo didn’t say a word, he drove fast and silent. when you finally arrived home you opened your door and before you could even take two steps towards your house coryo flung you over his shoulders and began to walk inside. “hey what are you doing?? put me down i can wal-”, “shut the fuck up and stop moving.”, croyo spat at you through clenched teeth before you could finish your sentence. you were confused. why was he so mad? why was he carrying you? he had been like once before when he thought he saw you flirting with festus creed, but you hadn’t talked to another man all day. you had barley even spoken to anyone except him all day. you silently thought of things that you could’ve done to make him upset as he opened the door to your house and started walking upstairs to your room, but you couldn’t come up with anything.

you heard a loud slam when he shut the door of your room behind the two of you. he threw you onto the bed and looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “what? what did i do?”, you said genuinely curious. “take off your pants.”, he responded. he looked angry, furious actually, so you did as you were told and took them off. he sat on the bed next to you and began to pull out the project you were supposed to work on and began to start on it. “what are you doing?”, you said, looking at the work he laid out in front of him. “i’m gonna work on our project, the question you should ask is, what are you going to be doing.”, he said smugly with a slightly calmer look on his face. you were so confused that you humored him, “okay..what am I going to be doing?”. he didn’t look up from the project, “you’re going to be riding my thigh as i work.”, he calmly said with a straight face. you’re face flushed, completely taken aback from his words. “what are you talking abou-”, he interrupted you, “can you not fucking hear? get on my thigh and ride it.”, he said still focusing on the work in front of him. he pulled you onto his thigh before you could protest and slightly gave it a quick shake. to be perfectly honest you were already a bit wet from when he demanded you take off your pants but this made you soaked. you looked at his still confused be began to slowly move back and forth between you legs on his thigh. “now, while i work on our project your gonna stay right there riding, and getting yourself off. i won’t be distracted while having a whiny stupid slut on me because i can actually focus on things when i need to.”, he said scribbling something down on the assignment. you finally understood. he was offended by what you had said earlier , and now he was going to show you how easily he can ignore distractions, a way of taking his anger out for calling him a distraction while also proving to you that he’s superior at keeping his concentration. you fought the urge to tell him you were just playing around with him and not trying to offend him, you knew he wouldn’t listen. you simply had to do what he said, there was no getting out of it. “okay coryo”, you said, still slowly moving your hips back and forth. he paid no attention to you and just continued working. you took this as an opportunity to try your hardest to prove to him that he’s not as good as concentrating as his ego caused him to think. you began moving faster on him legs letting a moan escape your lips. “mmm coryo this feels so nice”, you said dramatically grabbing his shoulder to help move yourself. nothing. he was unbothered as he pulled out a textbook to help him work. you started to lean forward, still grinding on his leg, to whimper in his ear. “i know baby it feels so good to be a pathetic little whore on daddy’s thigh, doesn’t it?”, he said nonchalantly not breaking eye contact with the text book. you were automatically done trying to get him to break, not able to think about anything else but how good his leg felt as you rubbed your clit on it. his words turned you on too much, you didn’t want to try to mess with him anymore you just wanted to focus on how good this felt, and it felt so good. you continued at your pacing moaning and softly murmuring his name. “mmm coryo” would escap your lips every few seconds. you could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm, “fu-fuck coryo gonna-”, “no. you don’t get to cum yet. i have one more paragraph to write, then you can cum.”. you whined but knew if you didn’t listen he would make cumming a privilege, not a right, (which he had done before when you hadn’t listened to him) for at least the next month. so you didn’t. you focused your mind on different things in your room while you continued grinding to occupy your thoughts on anything but how nice it felt. you continued to whine without even realizing until he spoke, “whining isn’t gonna get you anywhere but begging just might.”. immediately you began to beg.

“please coryo please let me cum i’ve been good i haven’t stopped moving and ive been doing exactly what you said to do.” you said now unable to focus on anything else but his words. he chuckled, “i suppose you have been rather good at following directions, but im just not sure exactly how bad you want it.”. you took a deep breath and your words came out with you exhale, “want…it…so bad coryo, im mmmmm so sorry…for being…disrespectful…earlier mmm.”. he thought about this for a moment then said, “okay project is done.”, putting down his pencil but still not looking up to focus on you, “cum on my thigh you whiny whore.”. and with that the butterfly’s in your stomach dropped and turned into a wave in your panties, cumming with a small gasp all over coryos school pants. he finally looked up at you rubbing too fingers over your panties on your sensitive cunt. “ohh look at that” he held his fingers up to show you the slick on his fingers, “you must really like being a thigh slut, huh baby?”. you nodded your head, out of breath and fell to his chest where he wrapped an arm around you. he let out a small chuckle, “see it’s not hard to get something done with a distraction bothering you.”.

YALL ROCKIN WITH IT⁉️

lol anyways give me requests this was so fun to write

[gatorlovebot]

this is a continuation of this king!simon blurb. read more of my king!simon blurbs here.

in the days following simon’s failed assisination there were changes made to the royal court. simon’s secretary, would never see the light of day again, his execution date set just a few weeks away. simon had demanded that it wait until he was well enough to go in to town to watch it for himself. you knew you would be expected to accompany him, but you didn’t know if you could stomach the spectacle. but all it took was you thinking of simon’s weak plead for help that day and any sympathy you had for the secretary and the position he had landed himself in were gone.

it had just been you and simon for the past few days. rare appearances from the doctor just to check on simon, make sure his healing was going as it should have been. he would grumble at every knock on the door disturbing the peace between the two of you, making you get out of his bed. you opened the door for the kitchen staff to bring in trays of delicious food for the two of you, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

it almost felt like you were in your own little bubble with your king. not to say it usually didn’t feel like that, stealing knowing glances in public, passing each other notes during boring meetings, spending almost every waking moment together. but now you were spending every moment together, crawling into bed with him late at night under the guise of someone needing to be in the room to make sure the king didn’t suffer some serious medical complication during the night with no one around to witness. but no complications or emergencies ever occurred, just you listening to his loud snores and counting his breaths as you lie against his chest.

the bubble, of course, has to pop at some point. i mean, he’s the king, and the kingdom needs its king back at some point.

after about a week there’s another knock on the door. simon made sure to tell his guards not to let anyone inside his chambers without going through you first. it’s not a designated meal time, so you expect to see the doctor, but you’re surprised to see an unfamiliar face standing next to one of simon’s most trusted advisors. all the advisor does is give you a polite, tight lipped smile as he walks past you into the room. his companion gives you a nod before following.

you’re used to it, being treated this way by the men that are closer to simon in creed than you are. you know that in your heart no one will ever be closer to simon than you, but there’s also a nasty little bitterness that tugs at you when simon’s men treat you like shit. you’re safe in your position with simon, not having to worry about losing your duty as his handmaiden since he’s assured you there’s no one else who could ever replace you, but you’ve also never felt comfortable standing up for yourself in the face of simon’s royal court. they are men who believe themselves to be higher than you, yet they understand your closeness to the king so they talk about you behind your back and more importantly behind simon’s back.

you will yourself to shut the door and turn back into the room, knowing simon’s mood will be soured with the unexpected intrusion. you had left him at his writing desk when you fetched the door, there were a few documents that had piled up in his absence that he was finally going through, nothing of great importance he had reassured you, but he had to get around to reading them at some point.

“your highness, it’s so good to see you looking better. we’ve greatly missed you these past few days.” his advisor greets.

“oh, i bet you’ve all just been twiddling your thumbs waiting around for me to resume my duties.” simon remarks, making himself chuckle. you politely try to stifle your laugh as you take a seat on the edge of simon’s bed.

“well, actually,” the advisor starts, “i’ve been working on finding you a new secretary, one that won’t try and kill you.” the advisor gives somewhat of a forced chuckle but the attempted joke falls flat. simon just gives him unamused eyes and an expectant look to continue.

“right, well, i found one and i just wanted to introduce you to him before he starts to take control of your affairs.” the advisor explains quickly, sensing simon’s impatience with the whole ordeal.

you had to admit that simon could be difficult. never really with you, but with other members of the staff and even with his royal court. the men that were closest to him he still kept at a distance, only half listening to their advice most of the time. simon was a man that knew what he wanted, knew how to rule his kingdom.

“it is an absolute privilege to work under you, your highness.” you do your very best to stifle your giggles as the new secretary bows to a very unimpressed looking simon. the advisor cuts his eyes to you and you can’t help but straighten under his scrutiny, but just for a moment until you remind yourself that you don’t answer to him.

“what a great show,” simon comments, voice dripping with disinterest. you’re shocked that he hasn’t ordered them to leave yet. “well, i hope you’re proficient in letter writing and note taking. and that you know how to keep your mouth shut until spoken too. that wasn’t the last secretary’s strong suit, was it?” the question is directed at you, more of an inside joke than anything. you can’t even count how many times you simon had shared knowing looks of boredom everytime the last secretary opened up his mouth.

you just smile, “not at all, your highness.”

the new secretary gives you a long look, one that lasts too long for your liking, seemingly trying to assess you. he’s snapped back into reality after a moment when simon clears his throat roughly, “yes, your highness, i am proficient in grammar and spelling and am ready to handle all duties assigned to me.”

you’ve seen this before, many times. new young blood trying to suck up to the king and it’s always so comical to you because at the end of the day simon does not care. simon doesn’t care about the little shit his court does or how they do it, as long as it gets done. he’s well aware that it takes more than just a king to rule a kingdom, but he doesn’t find it to be particularly important to be close to or even fond of any of his court members, except for you.

“well, the most important thing is that you need to get along with my handmaiden.” all eyes cut to you and you can’t help but feel a little unease, knowing that neither men probably understand or care about your role to the king. they probably just see you as nothing more than a woman in his bed. “she accompanies me wherever i go so she needs to always be aware of my appointments and affairs.”

“ahh, aren’t you a lucky king,” the secretary remarks with a glint in his eye that makes your stomach turn, “having a pretty young lady to follow you around wherever you go.”

simon suddenly stands from his chair, walking the short distance until he’s towering over the new secretary. “if that’s all that you think of her then you can pack your shit up now and leave.”

“no, no, your highness,” the secretary quickly attempts to back pedal. you can’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction as he squirms like a cornered prey animal. simon is imposing and using his size advantage to strike fear into the man, you feel a flash of heat in your gut that you try not to think about. “i simply misunderstood, my apologies. i’m so pleased to be able to a serve under the both of you.”

under the both of you

almost like king and queen, you think, before physically shaking your head to try and rid the ludacris thoughts away. you weren’t queen and you never would be with the way simon’s men were trying to set him up with any and every available female royal on the planet.

simon just gives the secretary a hard look before cutting his eyes back to his advisor. “well, seems like we’re done here. you two get to work.”

you watch as they both thank simon for his time and scurry out of the room. he walks back and takes a seat at his desk, picking up one of the documents and going back to reading.

it’s almost comical, unintentionally, the way he scares someone shitless and then just goes back to doing something mundane. you can’t help but just look at him, wondering for the nth time how you got to be so close to this man.

“you’re staring,” he comments, not even looking up from the paper in his hand.

“i think you scared him.” you remark, feeling the need to acknowledge simon’s anger at the secretary’s words. he’s always been protective of you, holding you close to him in public, always having you stand next to him at his throne, speaking highly of you to anyone that will listen. lately he’s been more sharp with his men about you. it wages a war inside of you, part of you feeling the shame that his men desperately want you to feel, the other part of you feeling smug about having the king in your back pocket.

“good,” simon retorts, “i’ll make him wet himself the next time he says another cross word about you.”

“simon!” you shriek, “how crass of you.”

all he does is get up from his chair and walk over to the bed, pulling you down into his arms to try and suppress your giggles.

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you.��I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

@pigeonmama @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an @titlee78

I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[maybe-im-dark]

The gift

The sterile lights of the makeshift operating room buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glare over the chaos within. Logan lay on the table, his breathing heavy, his teeth gritted as pain shot through his body. His arm had been blown clean off during the mission—a grenade blast that would have killed anyone else. But not him. Not Logan. The arm was back now, reattached with the help of his healing factor, the sinews and muscles knitting themselves together before their eyes.

But Stryker wasn’t satisfied.

“We can’t afford to take chances,” Stryker said, his voice cold and clinical. He gestured to the medical team bustling around. “He needs a transfusion. I want his blood levels replenished immediately.”

“Where’s the supply?” one of the medics asked, already hooking up the equipment.

Stryker’s expression darkened. “We don’t have any of Logan’s blood on hand. Use Creed’s.”

The room went still for a moment. Even the machines seemed to hesitate. Logan’s hazel eyes shot open, narrowing dangerously as he turned his head toward Stryker.

“You’re not serious,” Logan growled, his voice low and rough. “His blood? Are you insane?”

Stryker’s icy gaze met Logan’s without a flicker of hesitation. “You share the same blood type, Logan. It’s efficient.”

Victor Creed stepped forward from where he had been leaning casually against the wall, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the table. A twisted grin spread across his face as he eyed Logan with an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker.

“Well, well,” Victor drawled, his voice like gravel. “Guess this makes us even more like family, huh, Jimmy?”

Logan snarled, but he was too weak to fight back. His healing factor was working overtime, and the blood loss was taking its toll. He could barely move, let alone stop what was about to happen.

Victor rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm to the medics. “Go on. Take what you need.”

The transfusion began with a mechanical hum, the blood from Victor’s veins flowing through the tubing and into Logan’s body. At first, Logan just felt cold. Then it hit.

It was like fire coursing through him, an inferno that started in his arm and spread outward, consuming him from the inside. His back arched off the table, a guttural scream ripping from his throat as his hands clawed at the restraints holding him down.

“Hold him still!” one of the medics shouted, panic creeping into their voice.

Victor watched with unblinking eyes, his grin growing wider. He stepped closer, his massive hand gripping the edge of the table as he loomed over his younger brother.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Victor said softly, his tone almost gentle. “That’s me, Jimmy. That’s my blood burning through your veins. Pure, untamed. Wild. This is my gift to you.”

He placed a kiss on Logan’s forehead.

Logan writhed, his mind a haze of pain and fury. It felt like every fiber of his being was being rewritten, reshaped. His claws popped out involuntarily, scraping against the metal of the table as his vision blurred.

Victor leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. “You feel it, don’t you? That’s what it’s like to be me. To let go of all that bullshit holding you back. You fight it now, but one day, you won’t.”

Logan’s head snapped toward Victor, his hazel eyes glowing faintly, wild and unfocused.

“I’m…not…you,” he rasped, every word a struggle.

Victor chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Not yet. But I’ll keep pushing. Keep probing. Pointing you in the right direction. And when you break, Jimmy? You won’t just be like me.”

He leaned in so close Logan could feel his breath, hot and heavy against his ear. “You’ll be me.”

Logan’s body convulsed again, another wave of heat ripping through him. He felt like he was drowning, like he was being consumed by something primal and uncontrollable. But beneath the agony, there was a spark of resistance. Of defiance.

“Never,” Logan growled, his voice barely audible but filled with venom.

Victor stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched the medics work to stabilize Logan. “We’ll see about that, little brother.”

Stryker’s voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. “Enough. Victor, stand down. Logan will recover, and the mission will continue.”

Victor gave a mock salute, his grin never faltering. “Whatever you say, boss.”

He turned and walked out of the room, his laughter echoing in the sterile air. Logan lay on the table, his chest heaving, his body trembling as the fire slowly began to subside. But Victor’s words lingered, a dark shadow that refused to be shaken.

Logan closed his eyes, his claws retracting with a reluctant snikt. He wasn’t going to break. Not for Victor. Not for anyone.

But as the heat of Victor’s blood continued to burn within him, a part of him wondered just how long he could keep that promise.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

The Legend of the Haunted Mansion... Creed Reader AU:

(Warning: Mentions of abuse, death, possible suicide, mentions of someone going insane, and death of past Reader... you have been warned...)

• The old mansion, belonging to an old, secretive family, strays far past the modern road, and trails deep into the woods, towards the older waterways and near the mud... It's been there for ages, possibly two hundred years... The halls are covered in cobwebs, the rooms filled with dust, the air deathly still and cold, cold as death... Some say they can still hear the echoing cries of its residents, their haunting wails, their ghastly screams... Especially of the family who owned the estate...

• They were the Creed-Howlett family, one odd for their time. The mansion already had a secretive past, how it was built and why, and what happened to the parents of the brothers who inherited it. The family was run by two brothers, one by the name of Victor Creed, tall and sharp and blonde, a sabretooth tiger in the flesh, and one by the name of Logan Howlett, short and pointy and dark, as tough as a wolverine. These two were ferocious by nature, natural-born hunters and adventurers, and brothers by unknown family ties... They ran the estate, decorating it with their trophies and strange treasures, throwing lavish parties for their friends and their own amusement...

• The brothers would soon have heirs, though no one is sure how they were born, or to whom. All anyone knew was that the two brothers welcomed two children into their home, each expected to inherit their thirst for blood and vengeance... One was a brown-haired girl, poised and cunning and intelligent, sharp as a whip and just as dangerous with one in hand. Her name was Laura Howlett, taken in by Logan, and raised to be his successor... Then there was Reader Creed, a child that was kind and soft-hearted, one who was loud and caring of other living beings. This would drive a wedge between them and their family, as Reader Creed was quite different from the expectations of their family, or of society in general...

• Where their father and uncle were deadly, smart, and masterminding the downfall of their rivals and any perceived enemies, and where their cousin was perceived to be the more charming, socially acceptable heir, Reader Creed was ahead of their time. While others would frown on being so openly emotionally, that was what they were. They were blunt, honest, sincere, which their family, nor their friends, were, nor the society they were in. Reader Creed happened to be more interested in art than the hunt, sculpting odd creatures and painting scenes in soft colors, even making small toys from stuffing and scrapped cloth, rather than stuffing hunted animals or hunting large creatures. Even in social settings they stood out, not wearing clothes that were deemed appropriate, but rather wearing what they wished, no matter how it looked or how others felt.

• This tended to anger their family and the family's friends, annoying them and causing harsh emotions to well up. For some, it might have been enough to set up an unfortunate accident, which would lead to the wounding of the young heir. Records show that something, almost like a wild animal, had clawed them, harming their vision and scarring their face and neck. The following weeks, it was said they stayed locked away in their room, quiet as a whisper, slowly losing touch with reality.

• After the youngest Creed was well enough to walk around, it was noted how they were harder to find, often staying out of sight of others and avoiding rooms if they knew they were occupied. Some could hear them crying, when they thought they were alone. Others thought they heard whispers, words of pain and sadness, whispered in the dead of night. It wasn't long before Reader Creed would disappear...

• It was during a cold night in the snows of Winter that they went missing. A party had been thrown to celebrate a successful find by the two Creed-Howlett brothers, attended by their friends and allies and well-wishers. Some, such as the business partners Xavier and Lehnsherr, as well as old friends of the like as Ms. Darkholme and Mr. McCoy, even some young wards and students and heirs of the people were there, curious and excited... The last anyone saw of Reader Creed at the party was on their own, face fresh with their scars, and their eyes crestfallen, bright with tears... As the party was in full swing, they disappeared...

• No one was aware they had left until it was time to have everyone gathered... When a few noticed the young heir missing, a few guests offered to search for them, believing they weren't far. The look for them wasn't fruitful, no one being able to find the missing child in the main rooms. The search widened, as their family became involved... Yet when they checked their relative's favorite places to hide away, there was no one there. Now everyone knew they were missing. Some questioned if they'd been kidnapped. Others thought they passed out after leaving the party. And others thought they went outside...

• When they went to the gardens to check, they found footprints in the fresh snow. This lead the searchers deeper into the grounds, where the trail eventually died, covered by the snow that kept falling. There were no boot prints. Nor any missing coats or thicker gowns or jackets. Reader Creed had left barefooted, in the dark of a wintery night, without any protection from the elements. Their family and their guests fell into a panic, hoping they would find the young heir before it was too late-!

• But they did not...

• Reader Creed would eventually be found a few days later, frozen to death in the mausoleum, snow caught in their hair and fingers raw from scratching at the door, which had closed on them that fateful night, sealing them in a premature grave... Once they were found, their family fell apart...

• Laura Howlett would shut herself away, refusing to see anyone unless they were her father or uncle. The few who managed to speak with her reported she had become depressed, bitter, angry, keeping to herself and only seeing her closest friends. In later years, she would die from a fever, haunted even to death by what she thought were the cries of her cousin...

• Logan Howlett would fall into his work, burying himself into hunting and selling furs and bones of the creatures he'd find. It was said he started to indulge in drugged tea, hoping to escape his own guilt, yet instead only seeing his missing relative. Many nights he would spend pacing the halls, grieving and screaming in anger and loss... After his daughter passed, he would soon follow, having been poisoned by a viper, that no one knew where it came from...

• And Victor Creed, eldest brother and patriarch of the family, fell into enraged, fitful insanity. It was gradual, starting with denial, then acceptance of the death of his child... But his thoughts seemed to spiral, the longer it was without Reader Creed, and only fell deeper, harder, with the passing of Laura, then Logan... After he had outlived his entire family, it was said he would stalk the halls, hunting for phantoms that didn't exist, performing rituals thought to bring back the dead, grieving for the loss of his family...

• Tragedy befell the family's friends and allies as well, many meeting tragic ends or having haunting fates. While some would live to be old, most died rather young, insane or wounded... The mansion, still standing, is thought to be haunted, though no one walks its halls anymore... Rumor has it there's a new groundskeeper being hired, to take care of the old graveyard and garden, hopefully to bring some former glory back to the estate's decaying self...

[jhkfan123]

money power glory| coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

in which: coriolanus, your classmate since forever, keeps eying you from across the academy ball. while you talked to him daily, in class and whatnot, the two of you were merely acquaintances. until now.

warnings: kind of stalker-y coriolanus snow, but not too bad. other than that nothing

wc: 1.7k

au: snows never lost their money,

the academy ball was the event of the year. funded by mr. strabo plinth, it was always extravagant. and this being you senior year at the academy, you weren't going to let yourself down.

you decided on a very sparkly, floor length gown, that shimmered with each movement. it included a very high slit that ended just above your thigh. you decided on strappy heels that sparkled just as much as your dress. your hair was half up half down, with a white bow securing the upper portion.

this year, you decided you weren't going to commit to a date. you had gone with different people over the years, but being free from a date allowed you to dance with anyone you wanted, and you liked that freedom.

the ball was always held at the swan house. it really had only started ten years ago when the war ended, but with the elegant decor and abundant flowers, you would have never known that a war was not far gone.

when you arrived at the ball, your driver helped you step out. there were many lights on, and you could hear the chatter and the music from outside. you weren't technically late, as there wasn't a formal start time, but you certainly weren't early.

when you walked in, you took in your surroundings. the dim lights, the slow music, the avoxes walking around with trays of hors d'oeuvres. the entryway had a coat check, and a seating arrangement chart, though no one was seated for too long. anyone at any given time was either dancing, chatting, or hooking up.

however, you made your way to your seat anyways, allowing you to put your bag down and have a place to come home too. then, you looked around for someone to talk to. eventually, you laid eyes on sejanus plinth, your classmate. you made your way over with a smile on your face. on the way there, you were offered a glass of champagne, and took it gladly.

"enjoying the party?" you snuck up on him. he looked over at you, breaking him out of his people-watching trance. you took a sip of your champagne.

"hardly. these extravagant parties shouldn't even be happening." you always noticed that sejanus had something to say.

"and why's that?" you asked.

"because out in the districts.." you rolled you eyes, he always seemed to mange to bring this up. "...they have nothing, not even flowers. and look at us, using them in our drinks as a garnish." he gestured to the drink in his hand, a flower floating atop it.

"c'mon sejanus, it's our senior year. you need to enjoy this party at least once." he scoffed. you looked at him, then out of your peripheral vision, your eyes set on a boy, staring over at you from the other wall.

you recognized him as your classmate, coriolanus snow. his head was slightly higher, and he seemed to be looking down at you. you flashed a closed mouth smile, not really sure what to do. he didn't return it, only lowered his head for a brief moment.

"maybe you're right. but being capitol is going to kill me." he replied. you looked back at him again.

"you know that you'd have a higher chance of dying in the districts, right?" you joked. you realized it may be a little insensitive. "i'm sorry."

"it's alright. don't worry. go enjoy the ball. i can see i'm being a mood killer." he said. you nodded, tapped him on his arm, and walked away.

you didn't get far before festus creed approached you. he was the certified asshole of your class. you rolled your eyes before he could even talk to you.

"need a dance partner?" he asked. he took your hand

"i'll find a different dance partner." you tugged your hand out of his grasp. "go find some girl to hookup with."

"i'll do that later. for now, as our last year, dance with me." he moved closer. " you felt bad for him, having to act like this to get any attention.

"you get one dance." he made a fist with his hand and cheered in the air. he escorted you to the dance floor. you reluctantly took his hand, and danced with him. you could tell he was really taking in the moment. this was not what you wanted to spend your time doing. you waltzed with him for a moment, constantly having to position his hand where you thought acceptable.

"i'll take her now, festus." you heard behind you. you saw festus gain a look of annoyance. he dropped you and walked away. then, you saw coriolanus snow. he took your hand, placed a hand on your back, and began to dance with you, picking up the same rhythm as you had with festus.

"hello." you said. for some reason, you weren't even half as reluctant to dance with him. must be the fact he rescued you from festus.

"i could tell he was annoying you." he commented. he was definitely right.

"thanks for rescuing me." you replied back. he raised one side of his mouth into what could almost be seen as a smirk.

"you know, i couldn't help but notice you have only spoke to men all night. trying to make something out of your last ball?" he asked.

"in my defense, two of them trapped me into conversation. you being one of them." you sarcastically replied.

"you don't want to talk to me just say the word, doll." you couldn't help but get flustered at his comment. he seemed to have a gentleman like attitude to him, which you hadn't noticed until today.

"how'd you get festus to listen to you? he listens to no one." you were genuinely curious to know how he managed to get festus away from you.

"he knows better than to not. i beat him up in 9th grade, got me a two week suspension." he responded. you were learning new things about him with each question and answer.

"i never knew that."

"there's a lot about me you don't know. but i'll tell you anything you want to know." now, he wasn't looking at you, but up around you, at your surroundings. "people are looking at us." he commented. looking past him, you noticed his statement was completely true. you could point out at least ten girls with a jealous rage on their face. you knew coryo was not very committal, but he didn't need to be. all girls wanted was one night with him.

"i wonder why. i'm pretty sure i'm the only girl in our grade you haven't slept with."

"you're wrong." he replied. "i'm not as much as a dick as you think i am." he continued. you glanced up at coryo, who was now looking down at you again. you couldn't help but get a fluttery feeling in your stomach. a feeling you hadn't got in a long time.

"i want to talk to you. and not here, outside the ballroom." he nodded at you. then he placed his hand on your back and escorted you out of the ballroom. you heard girls whisper around you, you assumed they thought you were leaving to go hook up with him. you just scoffed.

when the two of you made your way to the entryway, next to one half of the grand staircase.

"look. i've been seeing you eye me like a stalker for the past few weeks, and now you come and dance with me? what's going on?" you asked.

"i have been. less noticeably in prior years than more recently. i know that soon, we are going to university, and anything could happen there. but i've been looking at you." he noticed how creepy that sounded just as soon as you did. "i'm sorry, that sounds creepy." you nodded quickly.

"yeah, it does. look, if you just want to hook up with me just say that." you had assumed that's what he was getting at. with his current reputation, you didn't think anything more.

"no. i don't just want to hook up with you. but i won't deny the fact that your the most beautiful woman i've ever seen, and i have to say something now before it's too late." you blushed more than before. could you really believe what he was saying?

"oh, wow, thanks. y'know, you're much more of a gentleman than i thought you were." you added. he finally smiled.

"anyway, i just wanted to say something, before it was too late." he seemed defeated that you hadn't said much more. but you took a moment to think.

this was coriolanus snow. the son of one of the most famed generals in the war. coriolanus snow, the boy with the highest grades in the class, the top contender for the plinth prize. not like he needed it. this was the coriolanus snow that had just confessed everything to you. and maybe that was what you liked. you felt like you had power over him.

"coryo," you saw him melt a little at you sounding his name. you repeated. "coryo, i-" you weren't sure how to tell him you were willing to take a chance on him.

"just kiss me." was all you could get out. he made no hesitation in following your order. you saw a smile on his face. he immediately crashed his lips into yours, with an urge to make up for the years he had been admiring you. you didn't feel tense anymore, you just felt bliss. "coryo-" was all you could get out in-between the kisses.

you couldn't believe what was happening. you promised yourself you wouldn't give in to anyone tonight, but you just couldn't resist.

when he finally released you, you looked up at him. then, you were silent for a minute. you thought. clearly he wanted more than one night with you. and his family was powerful. and rich. and if you actually managed to get more than one night with coriolanus snow, you would be glorified. maybe he'd treat you right. besides, it was senior year. if there was any time to take a chance on him, it was now.

he was clearly waiting for you to say something. instead, you pulled him back into another kiss.

[rottmnt-residuum]

Any other LGBTQ+ Headcannons that are canon is the comic??;)

*patiently awaits Cupioromantic Donnie*

hmm... had to think about this for a while and talk about it with co-author, but here's what we got. we mostly base this stuff on how plausible it is in show/if there's evidence for it. with a dash of personal experience. This only applies to residuum, btw. I have different personal headcanons for these characters outside the comic.

april: lesbian. this is mostly based off of the fact that most aprils get with their caseys & the comment she said to dale. which could be taken as disinterest in dale specifically, but she seemed more concerned with impressing that popular girl earlier and that reads as more... saphic, i suppose. or at the very least homoromantic.

raph: raph is just raph. we look at him and basically just *tv static*. go crazy. all we got is jokes or stuff that has too little evidence to support. so, yeah, he's whatever you want him to be i guess?

leo: trans. already said my reason in the other post. also, gay. if gay were a power source he could power the entirety of the united states for five months straight without a single power outage. failing power grid notwithstanding (< thats the actual word. its supposed to be mushed together like that. wack.).

donnie: as much as i'd like him to be ace/aro spectrum rep, he just doesn't have the evidence in show for us to apply it to him in this comic. it's funny, for being hc as ace so often he sure is the most outwardly romantic/sexual turtle in the show lmao. one! cherry: "you're so cute, but you're so mean! why do i always go for your type?" two! astrogirl?? (whatever her name is) he is very very romantic with her. he has a type y'all. also just look at those two, he's a leg man lmao (bootyyshaker9000 anyone? ha!) anyway. and with the bromance/instant chemistry he had with that one guy in the purple dragons... Pan. or possibly Omni as he does seem to favor... cute brutal femme... Yeah. Omnisexual.

(you have no idea how fucking bad i want this boy to be ace spectrum. hes got the colors y'all!! The Colors!!!!! but alas... i am bound by my canon plausibility creed for this comic)

mikey: ace. possibly ace/aro. he shows interest in literally no-one. we're aware that the common hc is pan but... we know a pan 13 year old, and let me tell you ahahahaha, kids going through puberty are very uncomfortable to be around sometimes, especially around their partners. or crushes. and mikey... well, that boy is ace behavior personified lmao. aces in the back you get what we mean right?? right??? anyway commiting to aroace

[errruvande]

Fanfic writer interview

Thank you @thelettersfromnoone for the tag!! 💖

How many work do u have on AO3?

3, not your local AO3 girlie lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

8 534

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes

I'll go with Tumblr ones, cause from my 3 AO3 works the biggest number I got is 31 lmao

Anyone but you (Legolas x f!reader)

Night watch (Legolas x Reader)

Well-deserved rest (Haldir x f!Reader)

One messy night (Boromir x f!Reader)

Transition (Haldir x f!Reader)

Honorable mention (since it's not fics but headcanons)

Green Council receiving a hot pic from you (HotD)

TLK men's reaction on being pet named

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to respond to comments! These little things are brightening up my day, so I wanna let the people know that they are my heroes hahaha

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I really think it's Transition. All in all it's a pretty dark story, a bit depressing I think (I had these intentions while writing at least).

Otherwise, I don't think I have angsty endings fics?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

New family members for sure!! Was thinking hard what to choose, cause I think all of my happy ending fics are on the pretty same level on a happy scale, but I remember that I have this gen, non romantic baby and I love it so much ❤️‍🩹 There's a little TLK OMC for y'all

Do you write crossovers?

I wanted to say I've never done this BUT THEN!!! My Assassin's Creed (Ezio) x LOTR little headcanon!!! My beloved child!!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, not that I remember getting any hate on my fics

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, tho not much and on rare occasions. I used to write a lot of smut when I was younger (a teen), then I stopped being comfortable with it for a wild few years (tho reading never made me uncomfortable lmao).

Now I started writing smut again, idk what kind? Don't really understand what does that mean lol F x M traditional sex? Pretty detailed? If so, then yes lmao

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't know 😂 Maybe, maybe not. I think rather not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge, I don't think so.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

We tried with my friend a long long time ago. Didn't go well lmao It's hard and kinda stressing, cause you never know what the other person is gonna write (at least we had this SURPRISE system), so... You kinda have zero plot cause everything you want to write plot-wise can be ruined by the second person's plot lmao

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Athelnar?? Athelstan and Ragnar were my first ever OTP (quickly followed by Alfred and Uhtred). You could never beat that Athelnar shit out of my body lmao I've never written for them, but oh I do love them boys!

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Now, that's the HARSH one lmao

I think I have at least 3 OC stories that I really wanna write (2 for TLK and one for LOTR), but I'm scared that I will never actually do it. I never was good with multi chaptered stories, and these are indeed not a one shots 🥲

What are your writing strengths?

Ugh... I don't know? I think I was pretty good with dialogues and descriptions of the surroundings to build the atmosphere. But... I guess it's not for me to decide but for the readers?

What are your writing weaknesses?

I rarely finish what I've started lmao I should write everything in one go or else I'll never finish it... Or will finish it in two months even if it's a 2k words one shot

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I love them! I've only done it with my LOTR fics (with Sindarin) but I really love it. But I really love it when the language is different from the language of the settings? Like, if the story is happening in England and everyone is English, but you have two characters who can speak idk Dutch, let them have a Dutch language in their dialogue. I had a rant post about it not that long ago actually lmao You have to think about your in-universe language

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Ahhh Bungou Stray Dogs! I love them, and I'd gladly try to write something for them. Not a character/character but reader my beloved.

And maybe Stephane Narcisse (reign) my beloved and a reader

What's your favorite fic you've written?

The blood on my hands (Eomer) and Peace (Finan) are definitely my fave ones I think. They are dark and both explore some trauma

No pressure tags: @whitedarkmoonflower @lord-aldhelm @holy3cake @gemini-mama @emilyhufflepufftlk @persephones-journey @solinarimoon @mrsalwayswrite @emmanuellececchi @bilbotargaryen @levithestripper @mrsarnasdelicious @paula-in-dreamland

[dare-to-dm]

I have such a love/hate relationship with the Assassin's Creed series.

On the one hand, I hate that it feels like Ubisoft is maliciously designing this franchise to eternally suck money out of my wallet without ever giving me narrative closure or quality design. Like, there are so many cynical at best design decisions in this series. For context, I'm currently playing Assassin's Creed Valhalla, and I've already played every mainline title up to this one, except for AC: Unity, because I've decided to die mad about the whole "It's too hard to make a female playable character" thing. And for a long time now, it feels like each new title is shallowly chasing industry trends in order to try to appeal to a more mainstream audience. In AC Valhalla, there are so many mechanics straight up lifted from other popular games, but implemented so poorly and in such a vestigial way that it doesn't feel cohesive. Like, they tried to implement the pawn system from Dragon's Dogma for some reason, or the puzzles from Senua's Sacrifice. And this is a sad look for a series that was at one time so groundbreaking that it was influencing other franchises instead. In addition to just stealing a grab bag of mechanics from other games, Assassin's Creed is sacrificing its own unique identity to emulate other popular genres, with the combat in AC: Valhalla feeling way more soul-sy than it has any rights to. I mean, there are straight up boss battles in this game.

Boss Battles. In an Assassin's Creed game.

And you can't even just straight up assassinate anyone anymore. Like, if the opponent NPC is a higher level than you, than an assassination is basically just a fancy attack that does a little extra damage. Meaning there's hardly a reason to bother with stealth anymore, you might as well open up combat with a big flashy ability that will at least stun other opponents.

To their credit, you can change this in the Settings. In fact, if there's one thing they put a lot of effort into designing, it's the difficulty options. You can make it so assassinations are always an instant kill. You can make it so that opponents are always the same level as you. You can precisely calibrate how much damage you give and receive. There are also difficulty options for the stealth and for the exploration. You can literally remap the controls however you like. Honestly, I laud them for this. Although a cynical side of me feels like it's also indicative of a weak vision for the game. Rather than crafting an experience for a specific audience, it's another attempt to design for broad appeal.

All this is not to mention all the crap they've gotten up to with their monetization strategies. That could be a whole other post.

I've stuck with the series due to my interest in the story, and it feels a little like they're holding that interest hostage. Each new release gives me tantalizing bread crumbs, but little if anything is ever truly resolved or answered. It leaves me wondering if there's any kind of master plan for the whole thing, or if they're literally just stringing me along with whatever bullshit they think will keep me engaged with no end in sight.

But on the other hand, sometimes those bread crumbs are so good.

Like, there's at least one person on the development team (and probably far more) who is putting real time and effort into making a well researched, intricate, interconnecting story. Someone who makes me feel rewarded for my 100% completion tendencies with all these little nuggets of story and character and clues that feels like it all adds up to something special.

A moment for me in AC Valhalla that reminded me of why I like this series so much is when the viking protagonist travels to "Vinland" and meets some First World People there, who in the game are speaking Iroquois. And there is no translation. Like the protagonist, you are stuck guessing what they are saying from their body language and context clues. It's such a cool way of getting you immersed in the story and setting, and it really stuck with me. And then of course I searched online for a translation, and it feels like the writing team integrated the lore and culture here very respectfully. Like with ACIII, it's clear they consulted with real current speakers of the language, and in addition there is an inclusion of a Mohawk creation myth (which also ties into tidbits explored in both ACIII and AC Rogue). And those creation myths might have been shared simply as a nod to the culture being presented here, but it might also tie into the greater mystery surrounding the Isu, which is cool to speculate about.

Basically, there are some really cool storytelling things happening in this series, and it often motivates me to research and learn a bit more about real history. I just can't give it up.

I've heard that AC Mirage was more of a "return to basics", and optimistically I hope that means the game mechanics are returning to more of what gives Assassin's Creed it's own unique identity. But as long as they keep giving me those narrative nuggets of gold, I'm stuck for the ride.

[bobgoesw00t]

Hold meeeeeeeeee!!!

Whelp, the one thing I was dreading as an American had happened...Trump is getting a second term as President even though he's been PARTIALLY IMPEACHED TWICE AND IS A CONVICTED FELON!!!!!!!

As someone who voted for Kamala and was really hoping she could kick his retarded ass, I'm pissed but getting through this...EXTREMELY SLOWLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Basically, I'm in desperate need of ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING SWEET AND WHOLESOME AND FLUFFY INVOLVING MY OTPS MORE THAN EVER!!!!!!!

So if anyone has something that fits any of those categories in EVEN THE SLIGHTEST that involves Sormik, Palletshipping, Trainshipping, YujiKiri, MakoHaru, KiriBaku, TodoDeku, KawoShin, Daikeru, Jenkato, Asuto x Hikaru (from Inazuma Eleven Orion), or KyouTen (haven't even started watching Ina Go and I'm already KyouTen trash) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND THEM MY WAY!!!!!!!

And before I forget, the following ships can also involve smutty fluff: EnGou, FDKD, Soroku, Vanven, Greyskyshipping, SidLink, and NetZan...the latter three involving Kyouhei in that STUPID SEXY BATTLE/WETSUIT OF HIS, Netto and Enzan being in Cross Fusion, and Linky-Poo in the Zora Armor/Stealth Armor/BOTH.

Really struggling to keep a hopeful mindset right now even WITH three awesome games coming out early next year that I'm excited about (Tales of Graces f Remastered, Assassin's Creed Shadows, and Xenoblade X Definitive Edition). The more tooth-rotting fluff involved with the submissions the better!

Looking forward to any sweet fluffiness that can be sent my way and thanks in advance for any and all help...stay safe and sane out there everyone...we've got a LONG four years ahead of us starting in January >_<

[slaymitchabernathy]

Socks & Stitches

Coriolanus is deep in paperwork when the phone on his desk rings. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall, it’s nearly five o’clock, far too late for anyone in the office to be ringing him for last-minute favors.

He’s gotten so tired of those.

“Could you run these papers over to the other department for me? My grandmother is sick and I have to take care of her.”

“Did you happen to come up with a plan for the new development project? You always have the best ideas so I was hoping you could take charge for that one.”

All excuses that he’s grown so tired of. It’s hard being at the top, where everyone expects you to be a leader. Still, it pays the bills and he enjoys it for the most part.

The phone continues ringing and with a heavy sigh, Coriolanus picks it up and brings it to his ear, preparing for the latest bullshit lie from someone trying to go home early.

“Coriolanus Snow, to whom am I speaking?”

He uses his most authoritative voice when answering the phone, a voice that is not to be messed with. He’s met with the softest voice he’s ever heard.

“Coryo?”

His heart drops at Soarynn’s shaky tone. She sounds like she’s been crying. “Soarynn? What’s wrong darling? What happened?” He asks, adopting a more kind tone, a patient tone only reserved for her.

Soarynn sniffles before answering, “It’s Petunia. She’s…she’s sick. I don’t know what to do or what happened but she’s not being herself. She sounds like she’s in a lot of pain so I’m taking her to the veterinarian.”

That cat is going to be the death of him.

Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath, “Don’t worry darling, I’m sure she’ll be alright. I’ll meet you at the veterinarian's office okay?”

Her voice trembles, “Okay.”

He holds the phone to his ear after she hangs up. What if Petunia doesn’t make it? What if this is some deadly disease and it’s already too late?

They can’t lose Petunia. They just can’t.

Coriolanus finally slams the phone back on the receiver and gathers all his paperwork, tucking it safely into the correct file before standing to grab his coat and briefcase.

He looks at the clock again. He looks at the clock because at five-thirty he’s supposed to partake in an important meeting where he will take the lead for a majority of it. But he can’t. Not with Soarynn on her way to the veterinarian.

He swallows a displeased groan when he realizes what he must be subjected to if he wants to make sure he’s there for Soarynn who is bound to be a broken mess by now.

He has to ask for a favor.

He wastes no time in striding down the hall and knocking just once before opening the door to Festus Creed’s office. “Festus,” he breathes, relieved that his friend is quite literally making paper swans at the moment, not busy at all, the perfect contender to take over this meeting for him.

Festus looks up at him and raises his eyebrows at his attire, “I didn’t know you were leaving early today Coriolanus. Don’t you have a meeting soon?”

Coriolanus all but rolls his eyes at the question, “Yes. But some things come up. An emergency. Petunia is sick and I have to meet Soarynn at the veterinarian.”

Festus, who is as familiar with Petunia as he is with Coriolanus’s distaste for Petunia smirks and tilts his head, “So you’re running off to the veterinarian to be by your girlfriend’s side?”

“Yes.”

“To take care of the cat you so passionately claim to hate?”

“Yes.”

“And to pay for the most likely, very expensive bill you’ll receive at the end of her visit?”

Coriolanus nearly strangles Festus but restrains himself, “I left my meeting notes on my desk in a folder. Do not crack any inappropriate jokes during this meeting.”

Festus holds his hands up in surrender, “It was one time! Now go do what you need to do instead of glowering in my doorway. You’re ruining the aura I’ve created in here.”

Coriolanus takes a quick look around the disheveled office where papers are scattered everywhere and almost everything in here could count as a fire hazard. “Have a good night Festus.”

꧁ ꧂

The cold air fills his lungs as Coriolanus jogs down the busy Capitol streets. They’re all crowded due to it being a Friday night but he moves through the crowds quite easily.

He feels a bit better when he finally sees the veterinarian's clinic with his car parked in front of it. Thank goodness Soarynn enlisted the help of their chauffeur instead of walking all this way like he did.

When he reaches the clinic he’s welcomed by the warm air and the sound of that weird parrot who says all sorts of things. They had selected this clinic based on their reviews and reputation.

The reviews however, failed to mention the parrot who was a permanent resident at the clinic who liked to throw out obscenities whenever it pleased at unsuspecting patients.

The animals obviously didn’t care but the owners certainly did. Coriolanus still hadn’t recovered from the time the parrot had looked him dead in the eye before squawking: “Let me feel those curls, pretty boy.”

He hadn’t slept well that night.

He tunes out the bird as he focuses on the familiar sight of his girlfriend standing at the receptionist’s desk. He doesn’t see Petunia with her which he takes as a good sign. It means she’s already been taken to the back. As he reaches Soarynn he picks up on the conversation she’s having with the receptionist and his heart breaks even further.

“…and how old is she?”

Soarynn wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, “She’s two years old,” she says so softly. Her voice is so delicate and fragile. Her entire frame is trembling as she holds onto the edge of the desk.

“Alright. And how do you spell your first name?” The woman asks, peering up at Soarynn with a look that is all too judgmental for his liking. Soarynn normally presents herself with the sophistication that is expected of a high-society Capitol lady.

Right now she’s dressed in a haphazardly thrown-together outfit as she tries to hold herself together.

Soarynn swallows, “S-O-A-R-Y-N-N.”

The woman hums as she jots that down, “And the patient's first and last name?”

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to finally rest a hand on Soarynn’s shoulder, jolting her from her conversation. “Petunia Snow,” he says, his voice laced with authority and assertiveness. Soarynn instantly melts into him and allows him to wrap an arm around her shaking frame.

The receptionist looks up at him with wide eyes and a newfound respect for the patient she’s referring to, “Mr. Snow, I…I didn’t realize she was your cat.”

Coriolanus nods, “She is. And she is to be taken care of with the utmost respect along with my girlfriend.” He holds Soarynn a little tighter, hoping to lend her some strength and courage.

The receptionist swallows and looks over at one of the many doors before looking back at them, “Well, it appears that Ms. Petunia Snow is going to have to undergo surgery. I’ll have you two take a seat so I can go fetch the head veterinarian.”

Soarynn nearly loses it when she hears that her cat is going to have surgery.

Coriolanus does all he can to comfort her but he knows it’s mostly futile. Soarynn adores Petunia, should she not survive the surgery, she’ll be devastated.

“What if they can’t fix her?” Soarynn asks as she clutches his white shirt, wrinkling it but Coriolanus couldn’t care less about wrinkles. He places a loving kiss on the side of her head, “These are the best veterinary nurses in all of Panem darling, Petunia will be feeling better in no time.”

Soarynn sniffles and Coriolanus is quick to offer her his handkerchief, “I feel horrible. I can’t imagine how terrified she must be right now.” Coriolanus has a feeling that Petunia is most likely hissing at everyone who comes within her sight right now but he keeps those thoughts to himself. Soarynn needs encouragement, not tips on training her cat who’s as spoiled as they come.

The two of them sit and quietly talk for a few more minutes before a nurse approaches them holding a clipboard, “Mr. and Mrs. Snow?” Coriolanus feels his heart skip a beat when hearing Soarynn being addressed as his wife, carrying his name even though she isn’t.

Not yet at least.

He nods, “That’s us.”

The nurse glances down at her clipboard before speaking, “We're about to take her in for surgery if you’d like to say goodbye until tomorrow morning.”

Soarynn tenses next to him and Coriolanus places a hand on her thigh, “What do you mean tomorrow morning? She won’t be able to come home tonight?” Soarynn asks the nurse who looks more and more nervous as the seconds pass. The people who work here are used to the kind and gentle Soarynn Nightingale. This Soarynn Nightingale is on high alert, frantic and desperate.

"No Mrs. Snow, she won't be ready to leave until tomorrow morning to ensure that her recovery goes smoothly."

Soarynn gives Coriolanus a pleading look as if he can control how these people do their jobs, "We would appreciate a few minutes alone with her," Coriolanus decides, figuring that should something fatal occur tonight, they've both said their goodbyes.

꧁ ꧂

They're led to one of the rooms where appointments are normally conducted although it lacks the sense of familiarity. Soarynn lets out a sharp gasp when they see Petunia lying on the table, her eyes closed and her breathing labored.

Coriolanus tries to push down his concern for the feline, the feline who is usually the bane of his existence but even he feels his heartstrings being pulled.

The cat looks pitiful to put it lightly. She lacks her usual sharpness and doesn't even hiss when she notices him in her presence. "Oh, my darling," Soarynn whispers, making her way towards her beloved pet, "it's going to be alright Petunia, I promise they'll take such good care of you."

Coriolanus can hear a tremor in Soarynn's voice as she attempts to put on a brave face for Petunia who is just now waking up. She lets out a soft meow, so soft that it reminds Coriolanus of when she was a small kitten, just finding her voice.

Soarynn gently pets her head and whispers words of love and devotion, promising to be here first thing in the morning when they open. Coriolanus stands near the door, watching the two most important women in his life say goodbye before one undergoes a major surgery. He wonders what's caused Petunia to get like this. Perhaps she ate something poisonous to cats.

The head veterinarian appears at the other door that leads to the back of the clinic and offers Coriolanus a small smile, "We'll be taking her back in a few minutes," he tells them. Soarynn nods but doesn't take her eyes off Petunia, "Alright. You'll be alright Petunia, I promise we'll spend the entire day together tomorrow once you come home."

The veterinarian's face slightly softens at the touching sight and Coriolanus feels his heartbreak when Soarynn presses one last kiss to Petunia's head, her nose nuzzling Petunia's before she pulls away. Soarynn turns back to face him and he can see tears falling down her face, "I'll be in the car," she whispers before brushing past him.

Petunia watches Soarynn leave with sad eyes and Coriolanus sighs, carding his hand through his hair before he approaches the cat who normally hates him.

"I know I don't often voice my affection for you," he says quietly, crouching down to be eye level with Petunia, "but I do find myself worried for you right now. So please, if not for me, then get better for Soarynn. I can not picture our lives without you Petunia."

Coriolanus feels himself getting a little bit choked up and scolds himself for showing such weakness that is only reserved for Soarynn to witness. But Petunia is an extension of his girlfriend and she's seen him working late at night and rising early in the morning. The cat is family, simple as that.

Petunia gives him a slow blink and Coriolanus gently scratches behind her ears, her favorite spot before rising back to his full height, "Take good care of her," he tells the head veterinarian who nods, "Of course Mr. Snow. She's in good hands."

Coriolanus gives Petunia one last look before leaving the room, doing his best to ignore the cries she lets out once he's out of her line of sight.

꧁ ꧂

His heart breaks even more when he finds Soarynn in the backseat of the car, crying. "It's alright darling," he says, wrapping his arm around her shaking frame, "she'll be alright. She's just going to take a long nap, that's all."

He tries to frame it to sound as easy as possible but not even he knows how invasive the surgery will be. Coriolanus would like to argue that all surgeries are invasive, but he once again keeps his thoughts to himself.

Soarynn doesn't say a word and simply continues crying as they're driven through the busy Capitol streets. Coriolanus rubs her back in soothing circles and thinks about anything but the most pressing matter on his mind.

He already knows that Soarynn won't sleep a wink tonight, not willingly at least. Should she drift off accidentally, she'll be sure to wake right back up when the clinic opens at seven tomorrow morning. Soarynn has never been an early riser but she's bound to become one for Petunia.

Coriolanus watches the familiar sight of their apartment building come into view, the car coming to a stop on the Corso. He presses a kiss to the top of Soarynn's head, "She'll be alright Soarynn."

꧁ ꧂

"So the meeting went well?"

Coriolanus glances over at the window seat in his study where Soarynn is currently sleeping. She normally comes in with Petunia and the two of them curl up on the cushion together but today is far from normal.

"Yep, they loved me, might even promote me to the executive president," Festus tells him over the phone. Coriolanus rolls his eyes at his friend's jokes, just thankful that he managed the meeting without him. "Well, thank you for helping me out. It's been a stressful evening for us."

"How's Petunia? Did they figure out what was wrong with her?"

Coriolanus sighs and rubs his temples, "Not yet, but she's undergoing surgery right now, we can pick her up tomorrow morning right when they open." Festus chuckles, "So you'll be there right when they open knowing Soarynn."

Coriolanus glances at Soarynn who's still asleep. She didn't want to be alone, be reminded of how empty the penthouse was now that Petunia wasn't roaming the halls at her leisure. And Coriolanus of course, didn't want Soarynn to feel alone, so she settled for the window seat so he could be near her while he worked.

"Yes," he mumbles in agreement, "so heaven forbid if they want to keep her for another day." He can't imagine why they'd need to keep Petunia for longer, but with his luck, she'd need to be put in some sort of quarantine.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, just try and get some rest."

Coriolanus wants to tell Festus that getting rest is wishful thinking but he might just be able to slip in a couple of hours of sleep if Soarynn doesn't wake up. The poor thing cried the whole way home and for another hour once they made it up to the penthouse. It doesn't help that Petunia's toys are scattered everywhere. Coriolanus has found them in various places over the years, in his shoes, his briefcase.

Nothing had been more mortifying than opening his briefcase at an important meeting all for a toy mouse to fall onto the table in front of his associates.

Still, he would happily deal with the toys if it meant that Petunia returned home safe and sound.

Coriolanus says his goodbyes to Festus before hanging up and staring at his sleeping girlfriend. He's never seen her this sad before, this lost. The whole reason he got Petunia was so that she wasn't lonely when he went to work and now Petunia might not come home.

He'll just have to hope for the best and trust the veterinarian. But trust is a hard thing to possess when it has to do with someone you love.

꧁ ꧂

"Coryo, Coryo wake up! Wake up!"

Coriolanus lets out a tired groan as he's repeatedly pushed towards the edge of the bed. He brought Soarynn to bed around midnight hoping for both of them to get a few hours of decent sleep. "Come on! It's almost seven!" Coriolanus finally opens his eyes to see Soarynn nearly on top of him, her eyes wide with excitement. She looks exhausted but excited, the adrenaline is rushing through her from what he can see.

Coriolanus yawns and slowly sits up, looking at the clock on the bedside table to see that there are ten minutes til seven. "Darling, why don't...why don't we have a little breakfast, and then I can take a quick sho-"

"I'll meet you there," she says before bolting off of the bed and out the room. Coriolanus sits there for a moment, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Surely she'll wait, surely she'll call their driver, surely...was that the sound of the front doors opening and closing?

"Soarynn?" No response.

"She left me," he mutters, slowly getting out of bed, "she left me for the cat."

Coriolanus quickly gets dressed, throwing on whatever he can find, some shoes, a coat, maybe some pants. It's bound to be freezing outside but that won't stop Soarynn.

By the time he's made it downstairs to the apartment building lobby, she's long gone. Coriolanus shakes his head, "This girl is unbelievable," he says to himself before stepping out into the cold morning air.

If he squints hard enough, he can see a tiny pink blur running down the street, his girlfriend.

It's admirable really, how dedicated Soarynn is to Petunia. He can only hope she'd maintain the same level of dedication should he be the one in the hospital getting surgery.

When he finally reaches the clinic, the lights are already on and he can see several nurses milling around inside. He's welcomed by warm air when he walks inside and he doesn't see Soarynn anywhere. The receptionist is just getting settled behind her desk and offers him a tired smile, "Good morning Mr. Snow." He nods, "An early morning is more like it."

The receptionist sighs and glances towards the only room with the door open, "They're in there." To hear that not only his girlfriend but her cat are in the room lightens his heart significantly.

Petunia survived.

Coriolanus makes his way over to the room and finds Soarynn on the floor holding a white ball of fur. Petunia. The cat immediately lets out an agitated hiss the second she lays eyes on him and Coriolanus merely rolls his eyes, "Just yesterday you cried out for me."

Soarynn rocks Petunia back and forth and places a kiss on her head, "Don't listen to him Petunia, we're both so very happy that you're alright." He is quite pleased to see Petunia back to her regular, annoying self. She appears to be no different except for her front left leg which has been shaved and wrapped with a pink bandage and gauze.

"She had to be given anesthesia," Soarynn tells him, her eyes sparkling once again now that all is right with the world and more importantly, with Petunia.

They're interrupted by a knock at the door and it's one of the nurses holding something made of plastic in her hands, "I've come to show you how to clean her stitches," she says. Soarynn nods and Coriolanus helps her off the floor, smiling at how she's shown up in only her pajamas. A pink silky button-up shirt with long sleeves and matching pants with feathers around the ends.

Soarynn is quite the fashion statement.

Coriolanus listens intently as the nurse instructs them on how to clean the stitches going up Petunia's abdomen, and that she should only be fed dry food for the next week along with a prescribed antibiotic. She then shows them the plastic thing in her hands which turns out to be a cone that goes around Petunia's neck that prevents her from licking at the stitches.

Coriolanus chuckles when the nurse forces the cone around her neck and earns a loud, frustrated yowl from Petunia who attempts to lunge at the nurse. Soarynn holds her tightly and shoots Coriolanus a glare, "Don't laugh at her Coryo, she's had a very rough day." He smirks, "Well it seems that she's back to her regular, perky self."

꧁ ꧂

"Sign here, here, and here."

Coriolanus dutifully signs all the release documents concerning Petunia while Soarynn stands next to him, beaming as she holds the feline in her arms.

"Here is the total bill concluding your visit with us," the receptionist says, sliding over the bill to him. Coriolanus widens his eyes at the bill, at the steep price Petunia has cost him. "What on earth did you take out of her? What did she eat?" He asks, unable to stop himself from wondering what it is that is costing him so much.

The receptionist pulls out Petunia's file and flips through a few papers before answering his question, "A black sock."

Soarynn lets out a small gasp and Coriolanus glares down at the cat who looks up at him smugly, as if she's planned this all along.

"She ate my sock," he concludes, giving Soarynn a knowing look.

Petunia has always had a thing for his socks even though Soarynn has denied it time and time again. She'll bite holes in them or hide them from him. This pricey bill is finally written proof of her crimes.

He pulls his wallet out of his coat pocket and hands his card to the receptionist, "Here you go." Soarynn does her best to look guilty and hide the growing smile on her face but she fails miserably and Coriolanus scoffs, "I don't see anything funny about this situation. I'm out one sock and my bank account is out four thousand."

Soarynn leans her head on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes up at him, "But it's for a good cause darling, aren't you glad she's all better now?" Coriolanus is certainly glad that Petunia didn't drop dead but her eating his sock further proves her vendetta against him.

This is psychological warfare.

And he's losing.

"Would you like to make the payment in full or in installments?"

Coriolanus nearly laughs at the question as he glances back down at the receptionist, "In full."

It's moments like this where he's glad that he's in the financial situation he's currently in, where he can afford to pay an expensive bill like this out of the blue.

Once the payment has been made and he's four thousand poorer, all three of them step out into the cold morning, this time the car is waiting for them. Coriolanus had spoken a quick word to the doorman before leaving for the clinic to have their car sent to pick them up.

He'd be damned if he had to walk back home dressed like this.

꧁ ꧂

"Oh, look at how clever you are darling."

Coriolanus glances into the hallway to see Petunia trying to catch a beam of light shining against the wall. Soarynn loves to take a flashlight and watch Petunia try and catch the light, claiming that it helps her tune into her "hunting instincts."

She's already caught a sock, so that's a start.

Petunia has been home for three days and Soarynn couldn't be happier. Coriolanus took the day off today to spend it with them, mostly to make sure Petunia didn't try to kill herself again when Soarynn turned her back for a split second.

But Petunia is as delighted to be back in Soarynn's presence as Soarynn is to be in hers.

Petunia looks into his study, momentarily making eye contact with him before hissing. Coriolanus doesn't try to hide his smile.

Some things never change.

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