#be careful about using labeled product boxes

[bestruction]

A domestic life with him

Summary: Moving in together and how it affects your life

Warning: mentions of sex life

How do you move in together? 

You stretch out on the bed beside him, your legs tangled lazily with his, the curve of your back pressed to his chest. He thinks your room smells faintly of your shampoo and lavender oil. It’s quiet, and comfortable, like it always is when he is around you. Until you speak: 

“I’m gonna have to start looking for a new place soon,” you say, voice soft, fingers brushing against the edge of the sheet. “Ino and Sai are getting married, and... the rent’s too much for me to keep on my own.”

He doesn’t reply right away. You feel his fingers stop tracing idle lines on your arm.

“When?” he asks, quiet.

“A few months, maybe less.” You sigh. “I mean, I can figure it out. I’ll find something, I just—ugh, moving again, you know?”

There's a long pause and then, carefully, like he’s testing the words on his tongue, Sasuke says, “You could move in with me.”

You blink and turn your head just enough to look at him, like maybe you misheard. “What?”

His gaze meets yours—dark, steady, unreadable for a beat, and then softer. “The house is too big for one person anyway. And... you’re there all the time.”

“Yeah, but—” you pause, your heart stuttering a little. “Are you sure?”

He nods once, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your skin. “It’s not just about space. I want you there.”

You swallow. Hard. Because it feels so real now. Not just stolen nights or secret kisses or warm meals shared over laughter. It’s him asking for permanence, offering something solid.

“Okay,” you whisper. Then smile, small and blooming. “I guess I’ll start packing soon.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmurs.

The moving 

It’s strange, seeing your life in boxes in the front hall of the Uchiha estate is cluttered with them—some labeled in your handwriting, others barely taped shut because you were in a rush that morning. It smells faintly of summer air and clean wood, and the hush of the house makes every sound, every laugh, every rustle of cardboard feel louder, more intimate. 

Sasuke shrugs off his jacket, setting it neatly on a chair. He’s already rolled up his sleeves, dark hair slightly tousled from carrying furniture. “Which one first?”

You grin and plop down on the floor in front of the closest stack. “Let’s start with the bedroom, I guess. Unless you’ve changed your mind and want me in the guest room after all.”

He throws you a look mildly offended, but faintly amused. “No. You’re staying with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure? I know it’s a big step, me taking over your closet space and all.”

“I don’t use half of it,” he says, crouching next to you, pulling open a box. “And your things already smell like the house.”

That makes your chest tighten a little, the way he says already. Like you’ve always belonged there.

You two work in quiet rhythm, unpacking books, your favorite mugs, and a ridiculous number of skin care products that Sasuke side-eyes but doesn’t comment on. He helps hang your clothes, fold blankets, and adjust the shelves in the closet so your boots can fit.

It’s peaceful. Domestic. Almost too easy.

Until he opens a very special box.

You hear the rustle of fabric, followed by a distinct pause. You look over—and there he is, crouched beside a box labeled Miscellaneous – Bedroom, holding a pair of your lace panties between two fingers, expression unreadable but eyes gleaming with something undeniably smug.

“These are miscellaneous?” he asks smirking.

You nearly choke on your laugh, snatching for them. “Give me that, Uchiha!”

He leans back, holding them just out of reach. “You really packed these in the open. What if Ino had seen?”

“She’s seen worse, believe me,” you mutter, finally yanking them from his hand. “Pervert.”

“I don't remember seeing this one before...” His voice is quiet, teasing, a rare kind of mischief that only comes out when you’re alone like this.

You meet his gaze, cheeks warm. “Do you have a problem with it?"

“No,” he says, voice low. “But I’ll have a problem if I don’t see you in them sometime soon.”

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to hide your smile as you shove the box behind you. “Focus. We have like six more to go.”

Life together 

Living with Sasuke Uchiha is nothing like you imagined and everything you didn’t know you wanted.

At first, you worried the house would feel too big. The Uchiha estate is quiet, almost haunting in the early mornings, with the faint creak of wood and the distant rustle of trees filtering through the open windows. But Sasuke fills the silence in his own subtle ways.

You wake to the smell of tea—never coffee, he doesn’t like it—and to the soft clinking of ceramic mugs on the kitchen counter. Sometimes he’s already gone for training or a mission, but he always leaves something behind. A note. A pressed kiss to your cheek. A half-peeled tangerine on the table because you like them cold from the fridge.

You quickly learned he has his quirks. He doesn’t like when shoes are left out in the entryway. He folds his clothes with obsessive precision and always lines them up in the drawer, color-coded. He’s terrible at grocery shopping. He buys too many of one thing and forgets the essentials, like toilet paper. He reads late into the night, eyes darting across scrolls or books in silence, and when he’s deep in thought, he chews the inside of his cheek. He always showers before bed, and he takes forever drying his hair with a towel like he’s never in a rush for anything.

He’s also… kind of messy in unexpected ways. His weapons are everywhere—on the kitchen table, beneath the sofa cushions, tucked into flower pots by the window. Once, you found a kunai in the drawer with the ladles and nearly screamed. You told him off for it, and now there’s a basket by the front door labeled weapons only that you both pretend is perfectly normal.

Domestic life with Sasuke falls into an easy rhythm. You share the tasks without ever having to talk about it. He handles the heavy lifting, takes out the trash, cleans the gutters, and fixes whatever creaks or breaks. 

You cook most nights, though he surprises you with meals sometimes: simple rice, grilled fish, steamed vegetables. He’s better at it than you expected, even though he always acts like it’s no big deal. You clean together on Sundays, barefoot and comfortable, music playing low in the background as you sweep and dust.

There are small traditions now.

He always washes your hair when you shower together. It started as a joke, but he does it so gently, fingertips massaging your scalp, that now it’s your favorite part of the day.

You make dango together every other Friday, even though his always come out prettier.

On Saturday mornings, you sit in the engawa and drink tea, legs touching, eyes on the garden you've slowly brought back to life together. Sometimes, he reads aloud to you, voice quiet and steady. Sometimes, you just sit in silence. It’s never awkward.

And on the first of every month, you light incense for his family. He never asked you to do it, but you started once and he hasn’t let you stop. You kneel beside him in the family shrine, your pinky always brushing against his. He never speaks during those moments, but his silence is heavy with emotion, and afterward, he always holds your hand tighter.

Living with him is… peaceful.

Safe.

Sacred in a way you didn’t expect.

And maybe the house is still big.

But with your shoes by the door, your earrings scattered on the vanity, and your laughter echoing down the hall, it finally feels like a home to him. 

How does it affect your sex life? 

Living together shifts everything, your rhythm, your routines, the way your bodies fit around each other. So yeah, sex… sex changes too.

When you were sneaking around, it was always rushed, muffled, stolen between shadows and quiet moans swallowed into kisses so Ino wouldn't hear you crying his name. Now, there’s time. There's a whole house between you and the world. No one to overhear the bed frame hit the wall. No ticking clock.

Some mornings it’s lazy, drawn-out. He presses himself against your back, warm and half-asleep, and slides his hand under your shirt like it's instinct to hold one of your breasts and nipple between his fingers. Sometimes he doesn’t even say anything, just nuzzles into your neck and waits for your soft sigh before guiding your hips back into his to make you feel his boner. Other times he kisses the curve of your spine and whispers, “Turn around,” like he’s asking for something sacred.

You learn he likes to touch you when you talk. When you're sitting on the sofa reading or ranting about something Ino said over lunch, his hand is on your thigh, under your shirt, trailing idle circles. It doesn't always lead to more—but sometimes it does.

The comfort of routine gives him room to explore you, and you, him. He learns the exact pace that makes you cry out his name louder and that if he angles his cock up while pressing your belly down, it makes you forget your own name and he loves it so much, your face nearly gets him cumming on the spot all the time.

You learn how he likes his back scratched when he’s close, how his breathing falters when you tell him how good he feels, and how he loves it when you wake him up under the blankets, licking his tip.

He also takes his time kissing every inch of you, spreading your thighs slowly, tasting you until your legs shake. And he lets you see him—really see him—when he loses control. And God helps you when he does. 

Living together makes everything more intimate. It’s the way he lifts your shirt without tearing it off, how he looks at you when you’re on top of him, hands gripping his chest. It’s the quiet after when you’re still tangled up in each other, and he pulls a blanket over your bare bodies and murmurs something like, “You tire me out,” with that rare, soft smirk.

And there are new firsts.

The first time on the kitchen table, flour still dusting the wood. The first time in the engawa with the door cracked open and cicadas chirping loudly. The first time in the garden, in the shower... 

And every new "first time" he is careful, focused on making you feel good until cry actual tears of pleasure. 

Sex with Sasuke feels like coming home, like worship, like love, raw and real in every thrust, every kiss, every whispered “I fucking love you so much, pretty girl" 

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

What Did I Say?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: A trip to the market takes a turn for the worst when you run into a bounty hunter that doesn't take no for an answer. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the fourth fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Touch Her And Die, Protective!Din, Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Shy!Din

Word Count: 9K (HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! 😱)

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ just because this contains an UNWELCOME ADVANCE from someone on the reader (not Din) (it's creepy, And the reader does get hurt- just a little bit), Angst, Blood, Death, Super Creepy Transdoshan, Din Protecting the Reader and Being Super Hot While Doing it, Loverboy!Din But The Reader Doesn't Know It, One or two curse words?, Din taking care of the reader, The reader is really soft and likes to bake? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Again, this does contain an unwelcome (somewhat sexual? I really don't know what to call it) advance from a creepy lizard man, please, PLEASE, do not read this if that's something that will hurt you. I really don't want anyone to be effected negatively by this. After that whole situation it does get really cute...

The sounds and smells of the market were all around you, flooding your senses as you wove through the multicolored stalls on the bright afternoon. The sun above warmed your shoulders through the soft red dress you wore that swished around your ankles with each step through the crowds.

The smell of spices, fruit, fresh baked pastry, and perfumes wafted up from the booths around you while the chittering of creatures in cages, the low hum of electricity, and the sound of vendors calling out to the other shoppers filled your ears. Families walked through the streets enjoying the fare and children giggled while they darted through the crowds playing tag while lone shoppers migrated from booth to booth, drawn in by smooth talking vendors with beconing hands.

It was one of those wonderful Saturdays. You had woken up early, made enough pastries for the morning rush, and left your assistant Jax in charge while you went grocery shopping. There was a list clutched in your hand written in your untidy scrawl, but you were only partly paying attention to it.

Shopping in the market was one of your favorite things to do.

Everyday there was a new vendor or a new product being sold, and you often didn't know where to look for fear of missing out on something strange and unusual. It always awakened a sense of excitement and joy, and of course it always made you feel more connected to the community on Nevarro.

You lean over the display of baskets filled with brightly colored and various sized fruits and vegetables that spill out in a colorful blur onto the small table.

“How about these?” The vendor asks with a wide smile, a hint of an accent on the end of his words, while he holds out a small container of bright purple fruit, each no bigger than the tip of your pinky.

You take a bite, allowing the sour and sweet taste of the fruit explode in your mouth, while the juice stains the delicate skin of your fingertips.

In your mind you begin to assemble a pastry around the flavor, thinking of the things you could make.

Maybe a jelly roll with honey-wine drizzle.

“These are perfect! I'll take two boxes." You smiling at the vendor who mirrors your enthusiasm and begins to pack up a bag for you while your eyes drift over the other fruits on the table considering what else you could create from oddly shaped products.

The market never failed to inspire you, and you often went back to the bakery laden down with multiple bags and exciting ideas about possible treats to bake. You also supposed that was the curse of shopping hungry, and it was something that you did often, but never regretted

Today you had been hoping to find more inspiration for savory treats. Since the day you went with Din to parent's night, he'd gone from stopping by a few times a week to everyday. And each time you'd send him off loaded down with a bag full of meat pies, stew, pastries, and anything else that you could think of.

It made you smile to yourself, but it drops a little bit when you think of him. Din hadn't been into the shop in a week. You knew that it was because he was out on "a job." He hadn't said where  he was going or what he was doing, but he had stopped by just before closing time the night before he left to tell you.

He'd loitered by the door for a few moments watching you sweep up and listen to you talk about your day while Grogu slept in the bag slung around Din's broad chest. And after he'd told you that he was going to be off planet for a few days.

You been surprised that he was telling you that, but at the same time you were happy he did. If Din had stopped showing up with no warning, you would have been worried that something terrible happened to him.

Despite his hesitancy to talk about it, you knew what Din did for a living, and even though you knew that Din was supposedly a mighty warrior and he wore armor that protected him, you still worried about him. The thought that Din would just vanish from your life made an unpleasant feeling bubble in the pit of your stomach.

It had happened so quickly, but you could feel yourself falling for him more each day, and his time away from you this week, had only proven how much you depended on seeing him every day.

The week had dragged on, each day longer and longer in Din's absense. You'd almost gone to find Karga to ask him if he'd heard from Din, or stopped Cara as she did her daily rounds about the city to see if Din was back. You'd held yourself back.

The trip to the market at the end of the longest week of your life had been an attempt to cheer yourself up, but it hadn't done much to keep your mind off him.

Each flash of silver in the sun had turned your head as you walked through, heart surging at the thought of running into Din, but every time you'd been disappointed.

It wasn't him and you missed him more than you thought possible.

You missed hearing his heavy sigh, seeing the tilt of his head as he watched you with a customer, and feeling the warmth of his gaze that made your cheeks heat.

You missed hearing his laugh at your jokes, seeing him cradling a sleeping Grogu in his arms, and smiling at the awkward hesitation Din had whenever you did something for him that he wasn’t expecting. Like when you rubbed a smudge of icing off his breastplate because Grogu had touched it with sticky hands, or when you'd made Din sit still while you patched a hole in his cowl with the emergency sewing kit you always had with you while he stammered that you didn't have to do that.

Those moments made you imagine that Din was blushing beneath his Beskar and smiling at you the way you smiled at him. You understood that the grumpy and somewhat stoic Mandalorian you'd come to know was not someone who blushed easily, but it gave you an unfathomable amount of joy to be the only person that could do that to Din.

Or at least… think that you were the one who made him blush.

“Hey baby.” You hear someone hiss, but you ignore it, expecting it to be directed at another customer and you continue looking at a collection of vegetables on the table, that are star shaped and bright red.

I wonder if they'd bring a little spice to a good hearty stew. Does Din like spicy food?

You made a mental note to ask him when you saw him.

“You here all alone?” The voice says again and you feel someone’s hand on the small of your back, pressing through the crimson dress you were wearing.

You flinch at the intrusion and turn your head to gaze up at a large Transdoshan that stands beside you. His reptilian face is split into a wicked smirk, tongue treading through his black lips, red beady eyes raking across your figure in a more than friendly way.

Nevarro did occasionally get a colorful group of bounty hunters, each month there were less and less with the way Cara and Karga were cleaning up the city, but you'd never seen a Transdoshan here before, especially not one this close.

Most of the bounty hunters kept to themselves, only coming in to your shop with clipped words before you sent them on their way, but there was something lurking behind his beady eyes that made a cold shiver trickle down your spine and your heart beat dangerously fast.

You wondered if he could hear it.

“No.” The lie slips through your lips before you can stop it, and you try to pull away from him to continue shopping, hoping that he'll leave, while the vendor watches the two of you uncomfortably.

“I think you are." The Transdoshan teases with a smiles so wide you can see all of his sharp teeth.  "And someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be out all alone on a beautiful day like this.”

The black stripes that run vertically up and down his face are a stark contrast against the white scales and red eyes. His hand presses harder against the small of your back and you can feel the sharp tips of his claws against your soft flesh through the dress.

You clear your throat, trying to slow the rapid beat of your heart. "Can you please move your hand? I'm trying to shop." You say it as politely as possible, but it does little to keep the tremor from your voice.

His red eyes crinkle around the edges with his smile as he hears the shake on your words. “I think I’ll keep it here. In fact why don’t you and I go somewhere a little more private.” He rasps, tongue flicking out through his fangs, as his other hand travels down to grip your wrist dragging your body back into his. His skin is cold, scaly, hard, and unyielding where it rests against your flesh.

His breath is warm and smells like something coppery and metallic, while his tongue tickles your cheek.

Another shudder travels down your spine when you think about going anywhere with him, especially alone.

Your eyes flick to the other people in the marketplace hoping to catch a glimpse of Cara Dune for help, but you don't see her.

You wish that Din hadn't gone away, wish that he was here with you, because you knew that if he was someone like this Trashdoshan would never come within ten feet of you.

“I’m okay thanks.”  You try to pull away cringing back from him, but he only tightens the grip he has on you, pulling your back harder against his chest.

“Come on sweet thing, don't be like that-“ the Transdoshan leans down, his dark tongue flicking between his sharp teeth, but as he does someone grabs him by the back of his jacket and rips him away from you, so hard and fast that the he stumbles away and lands in the dirt.

Even wearing full armor, Din looks furious as he puts himself between you and the Transdoshan laying on the ground a few feet away. Anger wafts off of him in waves through the silver Beskar into the blaring sunlight, and his shadow falls long over the warm ground beneath your feet.

Din pushes you behind him, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep your body pressed against his back as he looms over the Transdoshan. Your hand automatically comes up to his shoulder, allowing it to ground you to where you are, while Din’s hand is placed firmly on the back of your waist.

The Transdoshan rises to his feet with an angry snarl, lips curled back over pointed teeth that are about half the length of your pinky. It makes another shudder travel down your spine and you gasp softly against Din.

You feel Din's body tense at the sound of your gasp and feeling of your shudder, and the hand on the back of your hip tightens as Din pushes you further behind him into his back. You lean into his protective embrace.

“Don't you ever touch her again.” Din’s voice, although monotone, is laced with venom.

The Transdoshan's eyes flick to where you stand behind Din, his lips curling into a wicked smirk before he says something in his native tongue and then vanishes into the crowds of people enjoying the sunny day who have watched the drama unfold with wide eyes.

You relax as he vanishes and take a breath for the first time in a minute. “Thank you Din.” You say, but Din doesn't answer, in fact his arm tightens around you where it's wrapped around your waist. 

“Din?” You say his name softly to get his attention, but he doesn't turn. His gaze is focused in the direction that the Transdoshan disappeared.

“Wait here.” He says his voice still a growl through his helmet before he hands you the kid and vanishes in the same direction as the Transdoshan.

You try not to be disappointed when his arm is removed from around your body. You had felt so safe pressed against him, like no one could touch you.

You take in a shaky breath to calm your heart, that still seems to be going a mile a minute. Grogu reaches up and touches your chin with one of his little hands, drawing your eyes to the child in your arms.

“Hey Grogu,” You smile as the child coos and puts his fingers through your hair, tugging lightly at the strands that have pulled free from your floral scarf.

He coos something and nuzzles his head into your chest. You might be imagining this, but there's a part of you that thinks Grogu is trying to make you feel better.

It works.

You smile at the little creature, holding him closer to you as he reaches up again to squeeze your chin. "I'm okay."

Grogu blinks his dark eyes, but he mirrors your smile.

 “Are you having fun at the market?” You ask him, gently rubbing his ears, but notice that he has a brown sticky substance smeared on the bottom half of his mouth. “You’re a mess.” You laugh and take out a cloth from your bag, wet it with your tongue, and begin to gently drag it over his face.

Grogu wriggles defiantly under your ministrations, but you hold him fast and continue, allowing the rhythmic movement of the cloth against his face calm you and also distract you.

You had no idea where Din had gone, only that you were now more worried about him than you had been for yourself.

The Transdoshan was bigger than Din, what if he hurts him?

Din reappears next to you, the shine of his metal in the sunlight almost blinding, but you feel a wave of relief at his reappearance. There's a purplish-black substance flecked just under the right intention of his helmet that wasn’t there when he left.

“Are you alright Cyare?” Din asks, his voice a low rumble through the helmet, and then Din does something he’s never done, Din touches your cheek with his gloved hand, his helmet tilted down towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, gasping softly with his touch. It was the first time that Din had ever done anything remarkably like this, especially in front of the entire town that was still watching the two of you.

They always were, but by now you didn't care. You were used to the whispers, used to seeing women in the streets stare at you and then turn to one another as if they knew something you didn't.

"Yes." You breathe, looking up into the helmet with a soft smile. "Thank you Din."

"You do not have to thank me." Din replies, the roughness of his glove resting against your cheek is surprisingly comfortable.

"But-"

"Not for something like this. He won't bother you again." He says firmly, voice hardening.

For a brief moment you can feel his gaze locked on yours through the visor, and it brings a wave of comfort through your body, being here with him. A feeling of safety comes with it and you lean further into his touch with a sigh.

Din keeps his hand on your cheek for another few seconds before he drops it. You watch his head tilt in the direction of Grogu, who is still trying to squirm away from the wipe in your hand.

“I guess he’s saving whatever that was for later.” You say with a smile, changing the subject.

“We stopped at the shop, but you weren’t there.” Din explains. You can't help but think that he sounds a little disappointed.

“Oh so this is Uj cake.” You laugh as you finish cleaning. “I left Jax in charge. She’s pretty good at cashiering, not so much baking, but I thought that I made enough sweets for the morning rush at least."

The people pass by the two of you glancing nervously at the Mandalorian standing next to you, but you pay them no mind, gently rocking the child in your arms.

“How are you?” You ask Din.

"Good."

“I-um- wasn’t sure when you’d be back.” You drop your eyes to Grogu in your arms shyly. It was difficult not to show Din how much you missed him, and at the same time there was a part of you that wanted Din to know.

“It wasn’t supposed to take that long, but-“ Din stops mid-sentence, measuring his next words.

“But?” You look up at him raising an eyebrow in confusion.

You noticed that he did that a lot, that Din tried to censor what he said to you as if he were afraid to tell you the whole truth.

Sometimes you wondered if Din was waiting for you to run away screaming, for you to turn your back on him the way everyone else in town had, and it broke your heart. You wanted him to open up about his job with you, to tell you what he did, to tell you about the sprawling worlds that lay beyond this one.

You’d only been to a handful of other planets in your lifetime and you were sure that Din had some incredible stories about other worlds all over the galaxy.

Din waits another beat finding his words. “He kept evading me. I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Din remarks slowly.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I did-“ He clears his throat. “Bring you something.” Din's fingers fidget slightly where his hands hang at his sides.

“Oh really?" You blink in surprise. "You didn’t have to.”

Din reaches into his bag and pulls out an old book. It’s covered in a dark blue tattered binding with faded silver script on the spine and cover, and yellowed pages. He takes Grogu from you before holding out the book to you.

You take it gently from his hand and open the first page to read the table of contents, and realize that it's a cookbook. The listed dishes of sweet and savory items are things you’d never heard of, but you feel yourself begin to buzz with excitement at the thought of trying out new recipes.

He was thinking about me.

The thought makes you smile to yourself and blush, that Din thought about you as much as you were thinking about him.

“I saw you sitting at the fountain a few days before I left, reading, and I thought you’d want another one.” His voice is huskier than usual and you wonder if it’s because he’s nervous.

“That was very sweet Din. Thank you.” You brush your fingers over the page before looking up at him with a bright smile. “I can’t wait to try these out."

He nods once.

“Why didn’t you come say hi when you saw me?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I would have welcomed the disruption. Especially if I knew if you were going, I missed seeing you around." Your cheeks warm as you admit that to him, but you wondered if he felt that way about you, especially now that you had the cookbook clasped in your hand.

Din's muscles tense beneath his Beskar. "I-" He begins to say, but just as he does the Greef Karga walks by.

"Mando! You're back." Karga smiles wide at the sight of the Mandalorian. "Just who I wanted to see."

Din sighs. "What is it?"

"I need your help with something- only take a minute." Karga's gaze flicks to you. "Well isn't it Nevarro's favorite baker. Are you enjoying this fine day?"

The memory of the Transdoshan flickers across your mind, bringing the sharp feeling of his claws prickling against your back, and the warmth of his breath against your face. You shudder slightly, hoping that Karga misses it.

Din doesn't.

"Yes." Your smile feels a little bit forced. "I am."

"Good!" Karga booms. "Now Mando please, don’t make me ask again. I need you, old friend.”

Din's helmet hasn't turned away from where you stand, his concerned gaze focused on you for a moment too long. "Fine."

"Thank you!" Karga turns to go, expecting Din to follow, but Din steps closer to you.

"Are you alright cyar'ika?" Din asks it quietly under his breath and you watch his right hand twitch as if he was going to reach for your face again.

You didn’t know what the word meant, but you’d noticed that each time you were with Din, he'd use more and more words in Mando'a that you couldn't place. By now you were used to it, figuring that Din was getting more comfortable talking casually with you and it caused certain words in Mando'a to slip in to his vocabulary when he spoke.

"Yes, Din I'm fine. I promise." Your smile is genuine this time as you look up into the helm, and you reach out to touch his arm to reassure him.

Din waits a moment, his eyes tracing over you face beneath the helmet, before he sighs. "Can you watch the kid for me?"

"Of course. I'll go back to the shop. I'm sure that I can find something he wants to snack on." You place your new book in your bag before taking Grogu from Din, who gurgles happily and nuzzles into your neck.

Din sighs again and you imagine the Mandalorian rolling his eyes. "You shouldn't spoil him."

"He deserves it. And I like spoiling people." You didn't say that you wished Din would let you spoil him, because the big scary Mandalorian you'd heard rumors about was nothing like the man who showed up in your bakery for treats. There was a voice inside of you that wondered if he was as lonely as you were. "Thank you for the book, I'll see you in a little bit."

You walk away whispering to the child while he gurgles and squeaks grabbing on to the strands of your hair, not noticing how Din's eyes follow you through the market making sure that you're safe.

By closing time, Din still hasn't come to pick up Grogu, but you don’t mind. You liked spending time with him as much as you liked spending time with his father. You'd sent Jax home early, wanted to let her enjoy the rest of her day, and by now the twin moons had already risen from the horizon to bathe the city in a silver glow. The florescent signs that lined the streets flickered in multicolored splendor outside and strands of lights that lined the streets twinkled outside the shop.

Grogu was happily sitting on your counter with a bowl of stew clutched between his small hands, listening to you read aloud from the book of recipes that Din had brought you. There were so many recipes that you'd never heard of before, and by now you had a large list of ingredients written on a piece of paper beside the book you’d made. It meant another trip to the market, and you hoped that Din would go with you now that he was back in town.

"What do you think about stewed Jorgan berries with spiced egg-milk tart?" You muse aloud to Grogu who takes another sip from his bowl as you study the recipe written in neat script, running a fingertip down the list of ingredients. "I think that could be good." You continue, listening Grogu babble his answer. "Do you think Din would like it?"

The door at the front of your store opens, the happy jingle of the bell is familiar and welcome. You expected it to be Din, so you don’t bother looking up from the page. “Wow, Karga kept you a long time. What did he need?” 

But it's not Din that answers.

"Did you miss me sweet thing?" A voice hisses bringing a tremor of fear scuttling down your spine.

You raise your eyes from the book.

The Transdoshan dwarfs the front entrance of your shop, the lights of the street outside dramatizing the broad shoulders and imposing figure. It takes another step forward, mouth curling up in a snarl as it does.

One of it's eyes is completely swollen shut, the once white skin covering it an ugly blotchy purple, and it's lip is split, dripping purplish black blood onto the smooth wooden floors of your shop.

The color is familiar and you remember the flecks of liquid on the indention of Din's helmet from earlier.

Did Din do that?

The memory of how long Din was gone and how quick he was to follow the Transdoshan seemed to prove that.

He approaches the counter limping on his right leg as if putting weight on it is too much to bear.

"We're closed." You keep your voice from shaking. "Plus, I'm sold out."

Grogu coos softly, looking up at the creature that slinks forward, and you pick him up and move him out of harms way. The last thing you wanted was for Grogu to get hurt and if that meant putting yourself in between him and the creature that loomed over your counter so be it.

Why is he here? Why couldn't he have just slinked back to wherever the hell he came from?!

You'd thought that Din had made himself clear when he spoke to him earlier, but apparently this Transdoshan was more hard-headed than your favorite Mandalorian.

"Oh I'm not here for that." The one red eye glints with malice in the light, and before you can back up further, his hand flashes out across the counter and grabs your wrist, yanking you forward. "I'm here for something much sweeter."

You bite back a whimper.

Where is Din?

"You see, your Mandalorian disrespected me." The creature pulls you halfway across the counter, so close to him that you can feel his rancid breath against your face, the wood ledge presses painfully into your hip. "He wears all that fancy armor and I wasn't able to leave a mark on him. But you-" He raises his cold scaly hand to your cheek, dragging a claw down the arch of your cheekbone. "You were made for that." The claw bites into your skin following the subtle curve of your cheek.

The door behind him whips open so fast you imagine that it's been pulled off it's hinges. You can't see who it is, but all you know is that the creature is ripped away from you so suddenly that it almost pulls your arm off in the process.

You scramble backwards off the counter, holding your wrist to your chest, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

"Do you remember what I said I'd do to you if you ever touched her again?" Din's voice is a growl through the helmet, so different than the deep rumble you loved so much.

He has the Transdoshan pinned to the wall of the bakery, a silver knife pressed so hard against it's throat that blood blooms against the blade and drips down below the creature's collar.

“I don’t see your name written on her Mandalorian.” It spits back. “Perhaps she wants something more free range not someone locked up in a metal cage.”

Din's body tenses with the words and he growls out your name without looking away from the creature. "Take the kid into the kitchen. I don't want you to see this."

You do as he says without question, vanishing behind the curtain that separates the back and the front of the shop with Grogu clutched tightly against your chest.

He said you. He didn't say the kid.

The thought makes you remember how Din tried to distance you from when he spoke about his job, when you knew he was holding back details because he was afraid you wouldn't be his friend.

There's a sickening squelching sound, a muffled scream, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, but you don't leave the kitchen. You hold Grogu tighter to your chest and squeeze your eyes shut as your stomach knots at the unpleasant noises coming from the front of your bakery.

Din walks through the curtain, the dark blood of the Transdoshan splashed over the front of his Beskar, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. His helmet tilts in your direction and you watch him hesitate to come towards you, as if he's afraid that you would run from him.

How can I when I know he did that to protect me?

Before Din can decide to come closer, you run to him, throwing your arms around his chest with the kid pressed between the two of you, and burying your face against the hard metal of his breastplate. Sobs shake your body as tears burn and slip from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks.

You were trying not to focus on what had almost happened to you, but all you could think about is what would have happened if Din didn't show up when he did. Outside at the market had been a public place, but here, alone in your bakery there would have been no one to hear you scream.

You shudder at the thought.

It was enough to shock Din out of his stupor. He hadn't moved since you'd collapsed against him, momentarily surprised, but now his muscular arms come up around you to hold you against him. The breastplate was cutting into your cheek, but you didn't care, not when Din was actually hugging you back. 

"Shh cyar'ika, it's alright." Din murmurs, his voice softer than it was moments ago as he moves his hand up and down your back while you cry harder and tighten your arms around him. "He's not going to hurt you again I swear it."

The three of you stand there for another few moments, with Din rubbing his hand up and down your back while you cry softly into his armor and Grogu coos softly and nuzzles his head into you as if trying to bring you comfort the way his father is.

Din pulls back from you. "You're bleeding." His voice deepens a little bit and you can feel the invisible trace of his eyes over your face.

“Huh?” You sniffle, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Come on.” He leads you back to sit down on the ottoman of the plush armchair in the corner, tilting your face upwards and brushing back the strands of your hair that have fallen into your eyes.

You could see your reflection in the shine of his helmet, eyes swollen and rimmed with fresh tears, and an ugly long scratch that ran the length of your cheekbone.

“Does it look bad?” You whisper.  You couldn’t feel any pain, you were still in shock, anxiety thrumming through your body, with the possibility of what almost happened.

“No.” Din almost growls it, his gloved hand tightening on your chin as he continues to examine your face.

Finally he sighs, releases your chin, and tries to take Grogu from you, but Grogu wriggles defiantly and cuddles further into you.

"Please don't take him." You whisper in a voice you don't recognize. It sounds more hollow and still holds a little shake as you sniffle again.

Din does as you ask and kneels down at your feet, sitting back on his heels as he begins to strip off his gloves.

You blink in surprise, holding back the urge to reach eagerly for his hands, wanting to see just a peek of the skin, wanting to reach out and touch the forbidden flesh that he hid beneath his armor.

He doesn't notice your interest, instead Din stays focused on the task at hand.

Din reaches into the bag slung around his shoulders to pull out a small medical kit, methodically taking out the gauze and sterile spray.

 His fingertips reach to brush against your jawline and you gasp softly, not because he is touching the scratch that the Transdoshan left behind, but because Din's skin is touching yours. The exact thing that you'd wanted for so long.

"Are you alright? Does it hurt?" He rumbles, mistaking your gasp for pain. You can hear the worry in his voice. It stirs something in your chest, knowing how much he cared about you.

"No, it doesn't, not really." You smile faintly despite the situation.

"I'm sorry." He sighs shaking his head. "I should have come sooner. I shouldn't have assumed he would leave you alone."

"This isn't your fault." You whisper. "I'm okay."

"You're not."

"Din, I'm right here in front of you-"

Din's hand touches your cheek again. "But you're hurt. You wouldn't have been if I had been here with you. I was stupid to think-"

You raise your hand to touch the metal of his helmet, directly over where you imagined his cheek would be if he wasn't wearing it, tilting his helmet so you're sure he's looking at you through the visor. Din freezes in surprise. "This is not your fault Din. Please don't blame yourself for this. How were you supposed to know? Karga needed you for-"

"I do not care what happens to Karga. You needed me more and I wasn't here-"

"You were here when it mattered." You whisper back with a soft smile. "And you're here now."

He shouldn't beat himself up for this, not when it's not his fault.

"But-"

"No." You breathe wishing that you could see his face, touch his cheek the way he was touching yours, not just the feeling of the cold metal of his helmet against your hand, but the warmth of his skin. You knew that it could bring more comfort to him than this. "We're not going to go there. We're not going to think about 'what if' because if we do that we'll be here all night."

He sighs again.

Your thumb gently rubs over the indention of his helmet wishing again that it was his cheekbone. "I worry about you too."

"You worry about me?" Din chuckles, but there's a trace of surprise in his voice. "Why?"

"I mean you-" You press your lips together in a tight line before you drop your eyes from his helmet, the heat of his gaze through the helm too much.  It didn't matter that you couldn't see Din's face, you knew he was looking at you, and although you welcomed it, sometimes it was too much, especially now when you were admitting something like this. "I know what you do Din." You say it slowly, noticing how he stiffens, but you continue. "And you were gone for so long that I was afraid you were hurt or worse."

The thought that Din would never come back, that you'd never see him come into your shop with Grogu ever again haunted you.

Din's hand slips down to your chin, tilting up your face to look at him again. "Please do not worry about me cyar'ika. I swear to you that no matter what happens, I will always come back to you."

You didn't need to see Din's face to imagine the determination in his eyes when he says it, you could hear it in his voice, stirring something in the pit of your stomach that sends your heart surging up in your chest. It was so brutally honest, his voice holding more emotion than you'd ever heard before.

He said "to you."

The thought makes a shy blush creep into your cheeks.

Din keeps his hand on your chin for another few seconds, his gaze locked on yours through the helmet studying you. He was waiting for you to look away, waiting for some hesitation in your eyes. Din was a master of reading people, it was a part of his job understanding what a simple twitch on the end of someone's lips or of the flicker of someone's eyes meant. Din was waiting to see fear flash in your eyes, but there's nothing. There's only you.

It was why Din had told you to go into the kitchen, he hadn't wanted you to see what he was going to do to the creature who dared touch you. And after he'd expected you to tell him to leave, that you didn't wish for him to be around you anymore, that he was a murderer and scared you. It was the reason why Din didn't want his life as a bounty hunter to tangle with yours, because he feared the moment you found out the kind of person he was, found out what he'd done, understood how many times his hands ran red with blood, you would run from him. But you hadn't,  you had run to him, hugged him, collapsed into his chest and fit there like you belonged while asking him to comfort you.

The sharp tang of the Transdoshan's blood fills your nose and you can see the purple stain against the breastplate of Din's armor like a shadow, a reminder of what he did.

And maybe another person would be frightened, but you can't be, not when you knew that Din did those things to keep you safe. He was your friend and there was no part of you that believed Din would ever hurt you.

"I'm going to hold you to that." You smile into the visor, still only seeing yourself, but for some reason you can tell that Din is smiling back. Call it some inkling in the back of your mind, or some kind of psychic connection, but you can feel his smile.

"I don't break my promises cyare." He says firmly, but he leans into your hand where it still clutches the left indention on his helm.

Din had called you that several times since that walk home from the Parent's Night, and each time you were just a little disappointed. You hoped that Din saw you as more than a friend, especially after he'd promised that he'd "always come back to you," but you supposed not.

"I believe you."

"Good."

Din pulls back from you slowly to begin cleaning your wound again.

"Din?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" You ask tentatively.

Din's rough fingertips work with a practiced methodical precision and deftness that you didn’t think he'd possess, gently cleaning your cheek. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I wasn't sure if you were hurt too."

Din chuckles as he applies a bandage to your face. "What did I say about you worrying about me?"

"I didn’t promise I wouldn't worry." You laugh. "I just wanted to ask because you were fighting him."

"I am fine. My armor was sufficient to block his attacks." He reassures you before lifting up your left wrist to examine the bruising handprint the Transdoshan left behind. Din lets out a sigh that sounds close to a growl. "He should not have been able to do this to you."

"Is it broken?"

It didn't feel broken to you, it just hurt a lot more than the scratch on your face.

I hope people don’t think Din did this to me.

The thought of Ms. Cross and the other parents at the school gossiping about the new bandage on your face and what people had seen today in the market made your blood boil. You didn't want to hear a rumor about how Din invited another bounty hunter to Nevarro and it was Din's fault you got hurt.

"No, but I wouldn't knead any bread for a few days."

"Does that mean I get to hire you as an extra set of hands in the kitchen?" You joke. "Because I can always make you that pink apron. And yours certainly seem big enough to handle some dough."

Din only shakes his head, but before you can stop yourself, you reach out to take his hands in yours.

He stiffens.

It feels forbidden, like something you shouldn’t be able to do and yet you can't stop. You gently trace your fingers over the rough callouses on his palms worn from hard work and notice small scars that interlace and curve over the back of his hands over the burnished bronze of his skin. You wanted to memorize each one, to listen to the warm rumble of Din’s voice and  know the story of how they came to be.

Din sighs.

It's not the heavy sigh of annoyance he has when Grogu does something wrong, or the growl of a sigh he just had when he dwelt on what the Transdoshan did to you, this is different. It's soft through the modulator of the helmet, it wisps through the air and straight into your heart.

Oh no maybe I did something wrong.

"I'm sorry I should have asked-" You try to pull back, afraid that you've offended him, but Din takes your hands in his. They're much larger, warm and solid, but he holds yours with a gentleness that would have surprised you if you hadn't seen the way he was with Grogu.

"It's alright." He says softly.

"It feels wrong."

"What?" Din asks, voice laced with humor.

"I never see any of your skin." You were sure that by now your cheeks must be almost blinding under thermal vision. It felt like all the blood in your entire body had rushed to them and made them shine like a beacon in the night. "You don't take the helmet off to say hello and you certainly don't take off your gloves."

Din says your name softly. "It’s okay for you to see my hands."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He laughs. "It's my face that you cannot see."

You chew the inside of your cheeks measuring your next question. It was the one question you’d had since you met Din, why he kept his helmet on when you knew other Mandalorians that did not. "Why?"

"This is the way." Din replies in a monotone as if reciting the phrase from memory.

That tells me absolutely nothing.

“You really wear it all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Even when you sleep?”

"Sometimes."

“It must be uncomfortable."

You couldn’t imagine waking up with your head in a helmet, you'd probably think you were suffocating. That or you’d think you went blind.

"I'm used to it." Din shrugs. "I've been wearing this since I was a boy."

“So since last week?” You say with a laugh squeezing his hands. You were trying to make light of the situation, given that you didn’t understand why Din wore his helmet and your brother did not.

Din chuckles, the warmth of his laugh making you feel like you’d sunk into a hot bath. His helmet is tilted down where you’re holding his hands in your own watching your fingertips trace over the scars that weave over his sun-kissed skin.

“But what if you-“ You stop the question before it comes out of your mouth.

Din’s head tilts up to look at your face. “What if I what?”

“Nothing, it’s too personal.”  You shake your head in embarrassment.

You didn't know what had made you almost blurt out the question 'what if you wanted to kiss someone?'

Well, you did know, because you wanted to kiss him, but you didn't know if Din saw you that way. Given the way he kept calling you "friend" in Mando'a you were sure of it.

“Please ask me Cyare.” Din gives your right hand an encouraging squeeze.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You cannot.” He says gently.

You swallow. “What if you wanted to kiss someone? You wouldn’t take off your helmet? And if you got married Din, you’d just never-“ You trail off, cringing at your questions. You weren’t about to open the can of worms that was asking Din about his sex life.

I should just shrivel up and die.

Din’s thumb deftly traces your bruised wrist in a soothing motion, taking his time before he answers. “There are other ways to kiss someone.”

“Oh.” You had no idea what that meant but you were still trying to not be so damn awkward because now you were imagining what it would be like to kiss Din. Not to mention the feeling of him holding your hands skin against skin felt so good it was making you transcend to another plane of existence. "Like what?"

His thumb stills.

"Please forget I asked that. You don't have to explain if you don't want to." You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. You really really didn't want to make Din nervous, not when it felt like he was actually opening up to you. It was what you had wanted since the moment you met.

Din raises his hand to your cheek, his gaze locked on yours through the opaque visor. He clears his throat. "May I show you?"

For a moment you forget how to breathe.

"Yes." You squeak.

Oh holy glazed honey buns he's going to kiss me.

Din waits a moment, before he very gently pulls your head down to his and rests his forehead against yours. You gasp softly, feeling the cool metal of his helmet against the heated blush of your face, fogging around where it rests against your skin.

And before Din can pull away, you raise your hand to the left indenture of his helmet once more, mirroring his own hand on your cheek, tilting you head to look into the dark visor with a soft smile.

Din sighs.

It’s not the tired sigh he has whenever Grogu does something or whenever you give Grogu a treat, it's softer, the same sigh he had when you first touched his hands. You're under the impression that he didn't mean to do that, but you see the tension dissipate from his shoulders as he leans further into you waiting another few precious seconds before he pulls away and your hand falls from his cheek.

Din doesn't say anything for a moment and truthfully you couldn't think of anything either. There was a strange energy in the room between the two of you, a tension that wound tight around where Din was kneeling in front of you and you were sitting. You knew he was only demonstrating, but there was something about it that felt like more.

His head tilts down to look at your wrist again. "We should ice that." He says, voice huskier through the voice modulator than it was a few moments ago.

"Oh, I can-"

Grogu reaches out with his hand and touches the delicate skin of your left wrist, laying gently against the bruised flesh. Warmth blooms where his three fingers grasp your arm, wrapping and curling around the bones and muscle, weaving them back together. And you watch as the flesh takes on it's normal color before your very eyes.

Grogu sighs heavily and falls back into your lap in a daze.

"How did he do that?" You raise your wrist to your face to examine it closer, slowly rotating your hand and flexing your fingers in surprise.

You hadn’t been looking forward to using only one hand in the bakery, but you were willing to make do with what you had.

Din gently take Grogu from your lap to into his bag, who has begun to snore quietly.  "He's always been able to do that."

"Heal people?"

Din nods once, but doesn't embellish.

Worry begins to trickle in at the way Grogu seemed to crumple as if it took too much out of him to do that. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes. He just needs to sleep.

You look down at the creature resting in the pouch, his small head cuddling into the worn leather side of the bag.

Curious.

"Thank you Grogu." You whisper, gently stroking his ears while he slumbers. He stirs for a moment to babble something under his breath in his sleep, but quickly drifts off once more.

“He didn’t want to see you in pain.” Din says quietly. “I understand how he feels.”

Your heart thuds an extra beat when Din says that and it again reminds you of what Din had done for you today, how he'd protected you and put himself in harm's way to keep you safe.

Din stands from his position on the ground and holds out a hand to you. "I would like to walk you home, if that's not too much to ask."

"I'd like that Din, but I still have to clean up-" You wave a hand at the kitchen that still has dirty bowls and pans stacked in the sink. “I can’t leave the kitchen like this.”

"Let me." His helmet turns in the direction of the front of your shop to look over his shoulder. "There are some things in here that I need to take care of. And I'd like to make sure you get home safe."

The memory of the sounds you heard coming from the front when Din was dealing with the Transdoshan make you cringe in disgust. The thought of cleaning up what was left of him made your stomach tie itself in knots and the sour taste of bile rise in the back of your throat.

But you didn’t want to leave Din with all this mess.

“Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want you to get some rest."

Din gently leads you by the hand to the curtain partition that divides your kitchen from the front of the shop, but stops so suddenly you walk into his back.

He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Close your eyes."

You do what he asks without hesitation and Din leads you through the shop and out the front door into the moonlit streets beyond.

The walk home is silent, but odder still is that Din has not released your hand since he led you through the tables and chairs at the front of your shop. He holds it gently, as if it's a beating heart.

But you weren't going to complain. The feeling of Din's bare skin against yours was giving you a pleasant buzz. The warm roughness of his palm surprisingly soothing. You didn't know how you were going to go back to feeling the leather of his gloves when all you wanted was this.

Not to mention that the streets were blessedly empty and there wasn't anyone watching Din and you together.

When you arrive at your door, Din says your name to catch your attention.

"Yes?" You ask.

He looks down at where his hand is still in yours as if he can't believe it. His thumb begins to trail over the back of your hand. "I didn't answer your question."

"My question?"

What question did I ask him?

Din hesitates again, unsure. "I can reveal my face to people in my clan. And if-" Din clears his throat. "If I were married, my wife would see me without my helmet."

"Oh, oh." You said eyes widening in surprise.

Frankly, you were shocked that Din was bringing this up again, but you weren't going to stop him. Not when Din was opening up to you again.

"We would be one. The other half of me." Din says this slowly. "My riduur."

“Riduur.” You murmur the word feeling the syllables roll off your tongue.

"Yes." He nods at your pronunciation of the word.

Your eyes trace the familiar lines of Din's helmet, again thinking what he would look like. It was something that you always did in the past, but now the idea that you wouldn't get to see him, stung just a little bit. It was difficult for you to imagine Din with someone else, to know that someone else got to see the soft side of Din that he only showed when you were with him, but you also knew that you would try your hardest to be happy for him if he ever took a wife. He was after all, your only friend on Nevarro and really your only friend beside your brother.

"She would be very lucky to be with you." You say looking up into the helm, a soft smile pulling on the end of your mouth as you give Din's hand an encouraging squeeze. "Just as I am lucky to have you as a friend."

Din's body goes stiff in surprise. It was the last thing that he was expecting you to say to him. In fact Din was afraid that he had said too much to you. Especially given that he was about to start courting you. The book he'd given you today would be the first in a series of gifts that he would bring back to prove his commitment and ability to provide, as had Din's statement that he would always come back to you and his remodeling of his home to make a bigger kitchen and more room for you if you were to accept him. Of course there was a part of Din that wasn't sure that you would accept him.

That was why Din hadn't told you what "cyare" really meant or tell you why he brought you the book. He thought that maybe easing you into it would be better.

Before Din can respond, you pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him as tight as you can. "I know you keep saying that I don’t have to thank you, I do. You saved my life Din. Thank you."

Din's body curves up around yours holding you tightly against the hard cool metal of his armor. "You're welcome cyare."

Guide:

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Cyare: Beloved

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @scoliobean @pressedwater @littlebear423 @bookloverkat

@scorpio-echo @windsweptarmadillo @foxin5billion @silas-aeiou

[formulaonecrumbs]

what’s he supposed to be? an alien.

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: lando helps ollie and reader build a ‘spaceship’

warnings: NONNNEEE

A/N: i have had a bunch of these prepared already so u’re getting them now cuz i don’t feel like studying but i wanna do something productive 😚 specific anon, i’ve seen ur request about this series (u know who u are) and i will get to that but i just want to get out what i already have written for them. it’s also basically what u asked for but it includes the other norris siblings less which i will start to do 🙂‍↕️ also i aged ollie up. TECHNICALLY he’s 3 years older than lando but i’ve made him 5 years older just to fit reader in YAY! LOVE YALL. ENJOY ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #2 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: back garden, norris family home, bristol)

timestamp: 1:16 pm 06-30-2003

the camcorder clicks on to the sound of children screaming—not the scary kind, the giggly kind, the kind that makes cisca laugh as she fumbles with the zoom.

the screen comes into focus: it’s the back garden, and it’s absolute chaos.

there are cardboard boxes everywhere. big ones, small ones, some half-crushed. there’s a pile of tape rolls sitting on the grass. scissors someone definitely shouldn’t be using are lying dangerously close to a puddle of glue.

“what on earth are they making?” adam’s voice says off-camera.

“a spaceship,” cisca answers, zooming in.

and there you are, about seven years old, hands on your hips like you’re the commander of some serious construction mission. ollie’s off to the side, about nine, wearing a bucket on his head like it’s a helmet. he’s wrestling with two boxes that clearly do not fit together.

and then there’s lando.

three years old (almost four). wearing socks on his hands. and crocs. the socks are red. the crocs are neon green.

“what’s he supposed to be?” adam asks, trying not to laugh.

“an alien,” you say proudly, turning to the camera. “he’s helping.”

“yeah!” lando yells, waving his sock hands in the air and immediately falling over the tape roll.

you rush to help him up, giggling the whole time.

“careful, bean,” you say, brushing grass off his shirt. “aliens can’t fly if they break their knees.”

“nooo,” he pouts, looking dramatically at his legs. “my knees are fine.”

ollie throws a pillow at him. “you’re slowing down the launch!”

lando squeals, picks up a cardboard tube, and starts swinging it wildly. “defending the spaceship!!”

“lando—no!” you shout, ducking as the tube nearly knocks over a pile of boxes. “this is delicate engineering!”

“delicut en-gen-eering,” lando repeats proudly, not knowing what it means but saying it like he invented the word.

the camera shakes from cisca laughing.

you and ollie eventually finish taping the boxes into a big, wobbly shape with windows cut out and scribbles drawn all over the sides. you even stick a paper plate to the top.

“what’s that for?” adam asks.

“satellite dish,” you reply, like it’s obvious.

the three of you crawl inside. the camera moves closer, catching a shot through the “window.”

ollie’s at the back with a walkie-talkie. you’re at the front pressing buttons drawn on with markers. and lando’s in the middle, holding the cardboard tube like a sword, eyes wide.

“commander y/n ready for takeoff,” you announce.

“copy that,” says ollie.

“alien lando ready too!”

“where are you going?” cisca calls out.

you grin. “we’re going to the moon to find more beans like lando.”

“beans like me!” lando says, clapping his sock hands together.

the screen catches a final shot of the three of you inside your “spaceship,” squished together, laughing like it’s the best day ever.

the spaceship collapses thirty seconds later.

“oops,” lando says from under a pile of cardboard.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Ok, Top Form. I've had a bad week. Please be the glorious sexy mess that I hope you are.

I am so happy Smart is back!

He was my favorite actor in Don't Say No, there was something about his charisma that just came right through the screen.

Ah, so Akin is already Very Big.

No, don't stop in the crosswalk, Jin baby... They really don't get how much they've traumatized us already, do they?

Although having him almost be run over by his own team is a new take, I guess!

Smart's hair looks so gooooood. I wanna touch it.

What a first meeting... love the framing. Akin so far above Jin at this point.

Poor little mint.

Oh no, not the rating going down! Be nice, Akin, he's a baby.

Wait, wait, wait...this music is the same they used for the Our Skyy 2 teaser trailer, right? I'm pretty sure, I watched that trailer about 200 times.

Hehe, not the branding shade.

This is being shot in a really interesting way. I like it so far, it feels a lot less static than a lot of shows.

Also, gorgeous setting.

I do feel for actors who are trying to do a proper scene, and getting a "the label's the wrong way" kind of feedback. That's gotta be so frustrating.

Ugh, Aof is the worst. This feels like it was written by someone who's worked with annoying brand owners, lol. Of course, I'm sure they'll still be doing plenty of product placement. Gotta get that bread.

I think Akin just got Jin to imprint on him.

I am also very curious about how Boom and Smart filmed this, and if they were both able to cry on cue.

Also very interesting that Akin kept crying while Jin was acting...

I was wondering about Akin's motivation to help Jin, if he really just wanted to get it all over with and go home, but it does seem like he has a caring side if he's thinking about the crew. I like that.

Ok, you know what, I give Jin a lot of credit too! We've had too many shows where one character overhears a little snippet that can be construed badly, and runs off upset. Jin consciously decides to move past it. Good boy.

Oh, Akin, don't act unaffected. He's too adorable and you know it.

There it is!

Damn, their chemistry. Just a shoulder touch is making me feel things!

So Jin is going to keep that mint box for life, right?

Geez, Jade has a dark view of success. Probably realistic for the industry, but yikes.

Lolol, Jin is too cute. Strong golden retriever energy.

"Where is your focus?"... Um, I think on how much he wants to do you.

Oh poor Jin. But heyyy, our director is finally doing some actual directing! That was some good coaching.

Ahhhhh, the layers! So much deeper meaning to the dialogue!

Also people are 100% going to be shipping their characters in this cop show.

Whoa...wings!

Damn, this is already so erotic.

First episode, and I am sold!

[seb-boo]

Sebastian Vettel Interview with Tages-Anzeiger [2025-03-09] English Translation ↴

[It's Tuesday lunchtime. Excited pupils stream out of a school in the Zurich Unterland. They have just had a visit from four-time Formula 1 world champion Sebastian Vettel. The German, who has lived in Switzerland since 2007 and in the canton of Thurgau since 2009, attracted attention in the last few years of his career by suddenly talking about environmental issues, such as the importance of biodiversity, or collecting litter in the grandstands after race weekends.

This Tuesday, the 37-year-old and Andreas Fehr debated the topic of the circular economy with four classes. Fehr is the owner of a fashion label and the topic was sustainability in the clothing industry. Vettel spoke about the possibilities of more environmentally friendly mobility. Afterwards, the former racing driver took time for a personal discussion.]

Sebastian Vettel, are you driven by a guilty conscience?

That was perhaps the case at the beginning of my involvement, when I thought: Oh, I've been racing and flying around the world for so many years, that wasn't good! Now it's much more optimism that drives me.

What do you mean?

When people talk about the climate crisis, many things are very, very bad, the outlook is devastating, the mood is doomsday. Children see their future as correspondingly bleak. It's important to me that we talk about solutions. There are a lot of people who have great ideas. Like in the textile industry, where there are so many approaches to greater sustainability. Today's children are much more perceptive and have a greater awareness of these issues. I had no idea about it when I was young. Of course I knew that you don't just throw things away, but I didn't know anything about the meaning behind it.

How environmentally conscious are you?

I am in a position of luxury. I have the time to deal with these issues and also the opportunity to afford alternatives. Fast fashion is advertised, it's tempting to buy two or three T-shirts at once. Our aim is to show that they don't last long and that someone is paying the price - the planet, the environment, the people in the production chain. It all starts with awareness. If you are aware of things, you can change things. I want to raise this awareness in the children.

You were a racing driver, you jetted around the world. Can you erase this huge ecological footprint?

I could by buying the relevant certificates. I did that before I retired in 2022. But that raises questions: does that really balance the books? There are many great projects that are perhaps not implemented so well. Planting trees is a great tool. But are the right trees being planted? In the right location? Are they being cared for? Will the tree still be standing in five years' time? Receiving such a certificate eases the conscience, but it is often worth taking a closer look. Even ticking a box when you fly is not enough. It is therefore very difficult to completely eradicate my footprint.

Where is it particularly large?

Flying accounts for the largest share. It's like other global sports. The fact that I then drove a car in circles and burned gasoline is no longer so important.

And today you are campaigning for environmental issues: are you a hypocrite?

I have to put up with this accusation. And yes: I am the biggest hypocrite there is when I talk about environmental issues and at the same time leave such a big footprint. I flew around the world for years - and not economy, but business or first class. But do I have to feel bad about it? We won't solve the problem with shame, but rather by confronting it and looking for solutions. We are all hypocrites because we also enjoy things that we know are not so good. Do we have to go on vacation to Thailand? No. But it's also incredibly beautiful there. We shouldn't ban travel, but offer technological options that allow us to do the same things as before - only more sustainably.

You and your family are often on the road in a camper.

Yes, we pitch up at the campsite and are a normal camper family. When I'm recognized, some people are amazed, but after the first beer together that's over.

How much did your childhood influence you in this respect?

Very much, we spent weekend after weekend on the road in our camper van, which was really great. Camping is also about memories and experiences that I want my children to have.

You have two daughters, who are 9 and 11, and a five-year-old son: do you feel you have missed out on parts of your childhood because of your career?

After I retired, I realized that I was on the road a lot more than I meant to be. When I was still fully involved, I thought: I'll be back home soon, just a few days and then I'll be back. When I stepped back, I realized that I had slept away more than at home. I'm enjoying having a completely different everyday life now.

Are you happy in your role as a father?

It's nice that I have time. I can also look back on a very rich childhood of my own, in which I was able to spend a lot of time with my parents and siblings. This time together is the most beautiful thing that my parents gave me - and I now live that too. Even if I don't travel from kart track to kart track with my children like we did back then.

Why not?

It hasn't turned out that way yet.

Does racing even have a future and a raison d'être?

That is a very good question. While interest in Formula 1 is constantly growing in America, people in countries like Germany are questioning whether it still fits in with the times. If Formula 1 doesn't move fast enough and find answers to important questions, it runs the risk of social pressure becoming so great that a ban will be discussed.

What questions does Formula 1 need to ask itself?

How are the cars refueled? How does the whole circus get from A to B? Hundreds of thousands of people travel to the races: How do they get there, how do they travel home, what do they consume on site, what food and drink is on offer anyway? There are a lot of issues involved. I would certainly find it a great pity if Formula 1 were to disappear.

Why is that?

There are many people who appreciate the sport on the one hand, but also the culture behind it on the other. It's a piece of history and cultural heritage, especially in Germany, where the automotive industry is very big and has a long history. You can't simply erase that. So Formula 1 basically has a right to exist. But in terms of vehicles and technology, it has to move on.

Formula 1 cars already have highly efficient hybrid engines, and from 2026 they will also be running on synthetic fuel.

Yes, thanks to this fuel, CO₂-neutral driving is possible. But synthetic fuel is not a panacea. The major drawback is the high electricity consumption during production, regardless of whether petrol, diesel or kerosene is being produced. The process is inefficient - while the electricity would actually be needed everywhere else, for example for heating buildings. Synthetic fuels are a bridging technology for forms of mobility for which we do not yet have any other solutions, such as shipping or air travel. There are no electric or hydrogen-powered container ships or airplanes yet.

And what about private transportation?

The electric car is much more efficient and has a higher degree of efficiency than a combustion engine. However, it is not fair to ask people to buy electric cars, as they are even more expensive than combustion engines. They need to become cheaper - the range also needs to increase and the network needs to be better developed.

The reality is this: There are 1.3 billion cars with combustion engines on the road around the world.

And for them, synthetic fuel makes sense as a transition. But if we think ahead, 30, 40 years into the future, it is important that the rich countries set the pace, set a good example and make the transition to electromobility.

What does your personal fleet look like?

It's not yet purely electric because I want to keep my VW bus, which runs on diesel. I also have an electric Porsche - okay, a Porsche - but also an electric Nissan.

You live in the country in Europe with the best developed public transport system. How often can you be found on the train?

I travel by public transport very often. Zurich is the perfect example of how it makes no sense to travel around a city by car. And that's a key: if the offer is there and public transport beats the car in terms of attractiveness, people are more likely to switch. In general, Switzerland is the model country, you can get to the most remote villages by post bus, the connections are great and the timetable is perfectly timed. Public transport has to be a real alternative everywhere, then people will change their minds.

Was it the same for you?

I was influenced by motor sports in my childhood and counted the days until I could get my driver's license. It was still important to my grandfather that his car had a star on it, our generation also drove other brands, and today's children often have completely different priorities anyway. So walls come tumbling down and new things emerge. The future can also be better than the present. If there is less traffic in cities, more electric cars, more public transport, that is better for everyone.

When you're on trains and buses, aren't you constantly recognized and harassed?

Of course I get recognized sometimes, but I appreciate the fact that the Swiss are very discreet. It's very different in Germany or other countries.

Is that one of the reasons why you moved to Switzerland in 2007?

That's the main reason why I want to stay here. I feel very comfortable. The initial spark was that I was a test driver at Sauber - even though I then quickly switched to Toro Rosso. I liked it here. And of course there were also tax advantages. But I would also have those in the place where many of my ex-colleagues live.

You're talking about Monaco. Why don't you live on the Côte d'Azur?

Switzerland is incredibly beautiful, a paradise. Monaco is certainly also beautiful and a bit warmer, but living in such a concrete jungle wouldn't be for me. I need space, mountains and nature.

Michael Schumacher has also lived in Switzerland for years. You always looked up to him.

He's the hero of my childhood and, in my opinion, the greatest Formula 1 driver in history, even if statistically speaking it's Lewis (Hamilton).

Since his skiing accident in 2013, Schumacher has been cared for at home in Gland, Vaud. You still have contact with the family through his son Mick, how important is that to you?

I get on well with Mick and we keep in touch, even though I no longer race and he no longer has a cockpit in Formula 1. That is important to me.

Michael's brother Ralf Schumacher recently made headlines because he came out as gay. That is …

… a taboo. Just like in many other sports. If we look at the statistics, many tennis and football players would have to be homosexual. But it's still very difficult to come out and be accepted in sport.

Why is that the case?

Let's take football: if a player comes out and then has to bend down for the ball before a throw-in, for example, there are bound to be many in the stands who burst out laughing. That's why role models who have the courage to come out are so important. I don't know if I could speak openly about it myself. That's why we should appreciate it when someone does.

How was Schumacher's coming out received in the motorsport scene?

Good, actually. But of course, motorsport is still a world where old white men have a petrol party. Some things are taboo for many. Lewis has already broken down many walls as the first black Formula 1 driver. He brought up the subject of racism and other things that were suddenly being talked about. I came into Formula 1 at the same time as him, I remember there were a lot of bad comments about him.

For example?

Because of his skin color, that he had no place here. In the meantime, he has not only shown through his performance that they were completely wrong. We need people like him. We used to be told not to talk about certain topics - money, love, sex, religion. Today, we've come a long way, and that's a good thing.

You are committed to the concerns of the LGBTQ community. Why is that?

People fight very hard in sport and do everything they can to win. But it should be fair. And that's what it's all about for me: fairness, fair treatment of all people, no matter who they love and who they are. Sometimes we take a step backwards in this development, such as with the election of Donald Trump as US president. Such decisions are usually made at the expense of people who do not fit into society's image. Drawing attention to this and giving these people a voice is extremely important.

You spoke earlier about your former home country of Germany: can you still be seen there at all?

Why is that?

Because you are campaigning for a speed limit on highways.

*smiles* In this discussion, freedom is often confused with habit. I live in Switzerland, where there is a speed limit. Does that make us less free here? Or do Germans immediately feel deprived of their freedom when they cross the border into Switzerland or France? But I am aware that driving without a speed limit is sacred for many Germans.

You have been able to let off steam on the racetrack all your life. What do you miss now that you can no longer do that?

I miss a lot, especially the competition. Or getting a result straight after a performance and knowing where you stand. The sport, the thrill. But I've also gained a lot and have more time for other topics and interests. I see it more as a trade-off than a loss.

[ghxstyfae]

Cramping ♡ R.Cameron

Synopsis: Headcanons of Rafe × reader on her period with bad cramps (/endo/pcos/etc.)

Warnings: mentions of heavy bleeding, bad cramps, medications, possibilities of drug use, labelled nsfw section

(Sfw)

Look, Rafe is an actual asshole and hes never really had to worry about any of his exes on their periods. He didnr care enough

But he legitimately loves you, and seeing you in pain breaks his heart.

At first it took some learning... "Kid, im sure its not that bad. Dont you all get this every month?"

But after seeing balled up in a *very* unusual positon, tears flowing freely, he starts doing anything in his power to help alleviate your pain.

He has a little container he puts out on his bathroom counter when you're on your period for pads/tampons/whatever u use

And another basket in his closet that has heating pads, midol (and other pain medications), chocolate and other snacks, and obviously extra boxes of any products you use.

If you are someone who has an extreamly heavy flow and bleed through things alot you dont need to be embarrassed w him.

He'll keep darker sheets for when your on your period and has no problem washing them and anything you need. "No worries Doll, i got a bubble bath in there, just go relax baby." 🫶🏻

If you find it helps with the pain, he'll offer weed. He loves getting you all high and brainless, especially when youre so anxious and emotional on your period, its easier to just let him think for you

Cuddles cuddles cuddles

"Let me rub the pain away baby"

Keeps the lights off and makes sure youre all snuggled up with some blankets, heating pads, an emotional support water bottle, and snacks if he needs to leave you alone

Which he probably wont too much throughout the cycle. I mean, if you want space he can leave the room?

Whenever someone else comments on how "overdramatic" hes being he gets so pissed.

Eventually this teaches him abt periods in general and hes able to help Wheezie out if need be

(Nsfw)

Would never be opposed to period sex. Hes a grown man (in his head smh) and doesnt mind getting messy, plus if you cumming will help with the pain, whos he to say no?

Speaking of cumming, you on your period and being in so much pain activates his breeding kink sfm...

"Come on Sweetheart, lemme fill you up. Gonna put my baby in your tummy, yeah? If i keep you full youll never have to deal with this again hm?"

[iriscasefiles]

Just under the wire for Pride Month, I've decided to publish a behind-the-scenes Patreon chat from about 3 years ago in which Kim (the resident Starship Iris science advisor, among other roles) and I discuss our respective experiences with asexuality.

Join us for an extremely 2021 conversation (were we ever so young?), about asexuality in fiction, asexuality in life, asexuality specifically in season two of Starship Iris, and American fruit history. Also, Kim has a novel proposal for fixing dating for some of us.

A few warnings:

This episode gets a little NSFW. Also, brief mention of alcohol abuse. 

A few notes:

Huge, the show I mention at the top of the episode, is not as fatphobic as it might sound. The protagonist is really against the whole concept of a weight loss camp and is trying to rebel. 

One thing we didn't get into is that ace representation in fiction podcasts is actually pretty great. Here's a partial list!

If you want to do some soul-searching about whether or not you could be on the spectrum of asexuality, here is a handy website! a thing to remember is that these labels are useful for ourselves only insofar as identifying with the label makes your life in some way clearer or easier. if you arguably fit the definition but you find the label is not personally productive for yourself, that is also okay!

I want to clarify that when I briefly complain about people on tumblr being negative about asexuality, I'm carping about a small number of people. Most tumblr users have been absolutely lovely to me, including about my orientation.

Happy pride to everyone everywhere on the asexuality spectrum, and to everyone outside the spectrum as well! Take care of yourselves, don't talk to cops, and embrace nuance in identities 🏳️‍🌈

[inmyglowupera]

12 Days until Spring

Spring Reset List

It’s no secret that spring is my favorite season, and I get ECSTATIC when it’s around the corner!🌷

I like preparing myself to meet the season with my best foot forward. So here is usually my little checklist I go through to make sure I’m ready to welcome the season of growth, renewal and change!

🌸 Declutter & Lighten Your Space

✔ Triage your clothes, shoes & accessories—donate or sell anything you haven’t worn in the last year.

✔ Declutter books & miscellaneous objects—use labeled boxes for keepsakes, candles, or seasonal décor.

✔ Sort through your dishes & kitchenware—keep only what you use and donate the rest.

✔ Shred or recycle unnecessary paperwork—no need to hold onto clutter.

✔ Check expiration dates—toss out expired food, medications, and beauty products.

☀️Make your space feel as light and airy as a spring breeze!

🌸 Deep Clean & Refresh

✔ Dust & disinfect surfaces.

✔ Wipe down windows & mirrors for that fresh spring sunlight.

✔ Sweep, vacuum & mop—especially in forgotten corners!

✔ Take out the trash & replace old sponges, cloths, or air filters.

✔ Change your bedding—nothing like fresh sheets for a seasonal reset!

✔ Do your laundry—wash winter coats before storing them away.

✔ Open your windows to let in fresh air & natural light.

✔ Light a scented candle or diffuse essential oils—something floral, fresh or citrusy to match the season.

🧼 It’s not for nothing that we call it spring cleaning.

🌸 Inspire & Reflect

✔ Journal about your winter wins—what did you accomplish these past few months? How can you build on that?

✔ Set realistic goals for spring—visualize who you want to be by summer.

✔ Challenge yourself to step outside your comfort zone—what’s one new thing you can try this season?

🌸 Get excited with little changes!

✔ Rearrange furniture for a fresh vibe.

✔ Experiment with a new outfit style.

✔ Research seasonal fruits & vegetables and try 1-2 recipes with fresh spring produce.

✔ Read a book in a genre you don’t usually pick up.

✔ Try a new café, park, or walking route—switch up your daily scenery.

✔ Experiment with a new hairstyle or a new skincare routine.

✔ Introduce a new scent into your life—whether it’s a signature spring perfume, body lotion, or home fragrance.

🌸 Digital Reset

✔ Declutter your phone—delete unused apps, clean up your photos, and organize notes.

✔ Tidy your email inbox—unsubscribe from newsletters you never read.

✔ Sort your social media—unfollow accounts that drain your energy or don’t align with your current mindset.

✔ Refresh your budgeting system—review your spending, set new financial goals, and maybe plan a little spring treat!

✔ Curate your content—update your watchlist, reading list, and playlists with things that inspire you.

🌸 Reconnect & Rebalance

✔ Plan a small spring gathering—a picnic, brunch, or cozy dinner with loved ones.

✔ Check in with friends & family—reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a while.

✔ Schedule a self-care day—refresh your skincare, do a home spa night, or treat yourself to something simple but meaningful.

✔ Dedicate time to movement & nature—whether it’s a new workout, daily walks, or just soaking up the sunshine.

✔ Reassess your work/life balance—is there a way to bring more joy into your daily routine?

🌸 Celebrate the Season!

✔ Write down 3 things you love about spring—flowers blooming? Longer days? That fresh spring air?

✔ Treat yourself to something seasonal—fresh flowers, a new journal, or even a pastel outfit.

✔ Capture a small spring moment—a photo of blooming trees, a quiet morning coffee, or your first picnic of the year.

[real-total-drama-takes]

Sighs so I’m sure a lot of people here saw that tweet that blew up about a TD movie “supposedly” being talked about by the production crew. I really don’t think this is going to happen and I wish everyone would shut up about it because a movie just doesn’t really work with TD’s format but what’s really pissing me off rn is how everyone is saying if this movie happens it’s for sure gonna be about gen 1. I into another fight with a genwunner about this and need to share some points I made:

So like, think about it: logistically, gen 1 coming back, at least not without pissing off some of the same fans who act like any TD content that doesn’t involve gen 1 isn’t feasible. First off, there’s the voice actors. Some of the gen 1 characters VAs no longer live in Canada and legally wouldn’t be allowed to be hired again to work with Fresh so they’d have to be replaced. Not to mention there’s several POC characters who have white VAs; you’re going to piss people off no matter what happens there (yes, I am on the side that POC characters shouldn’t be played by white VAs, but yeah there’s some people who very strongly disagree with that). Given how much genwunners whined about Chris’s VA change, I have no doubt they’d whine here too.

Second, a lot of genwunners complain that the reboot lacks the “edgy humor” of gen 1. The thing is, too much of the humor from gen 1 just wouldn’t fly today. I tried rewatching Action during the summer and literally could only get about 5 episodes in before quitting because of how disgusted I was by the constant misogynistic jokes. There’s definitely misogyny in the reboot too, but at least Chase and Ripper aren’t spewing it out literally every five fucking seconds like Duncan. There’s just so many jokes in gen 1 where the punchline is racism, homophobia or the characters being sexualized. That last one could be fixed if they visibly aged up the characters and stated that they’re all adults now, but given how many people have said the complaint that Owen wasn’t aged up for his reboot cameo is “ridiculous” I don’t think the genwunner crowd would be too fond of that idea. A highly profitable studio like WB isn’t going to approve a show with problematic humor without seriously watering it down before release because it’s 2024 and they know their studio releasing content like that marketed at children could get them labeled as problematic and lead to a drop in profits.

Speaking of which, a gen 1 movie probably wouldn’t do too well at the box office. Total drama is marketed at ages 8-16, the majority of whom were not alive during 2007-2010 when the first three seasons were airing. Given how successful the reboot was in both the US and UK, it’s safe to say that it’s very likely the reboot was popular with its target audience. When all the kids who watched the reboot hear about the movie, they’re gonna be really confused about why a total drama movie doesn’t have the total drama characters they’re familiar with in it. I know there’s plenty of people who grew up with gen 1 who are still active TD fans, but not a lot of adults care that much about shows they watched as kids and haven’t thought about in years. I’m an adult who loves cartoons (and there’s nothing wrong with that) but there’s def quite a few shows from my childhood that I haven’t thought about in a long time because I grew out of them and I certainly wouldn’t be opening my wallet to buy a movie ticket or streaming service subscription should I hear a movie was made about one of said shows. Again, there are plenty of people who grew up with the show who still care, but I don’t think the majority of the people who watched TD as kids who are well into their 20s now are gonna be all that excited about a movie. I could definitely be proven wrong on this one, don’t get me wrong, but still

As I said before I don’t think a TD movie is actually gonna happen and that tweet was just a rumor/misinformation, but if a TD movie does happen it needs to be about the reboot cast. It just doesn’t make sense for it to be about a cast that isn’t up to date with the standards of what is socially acceptable for children’s shows in the 2020s.

-🐈

[filmofhybe]

taking care of you from afar

🫶 pairing : Nishimura Riki x oc 💌 GENRE : Angst 907 wc

Warning : break up , cold Christmas

; AUTHORS NOTE : mixed up mixed up up up

Masterlist to my other works

"Y/n, I can't just stop caring for you," he insisted, his eyes reflecting the conflict within.

I sighed, realizing the complexity of our emotions. "Niki, it's going to be harder for both of us if we keep holding on. We need to move forward separately." We know we both don’t want this. But if only you knew why..

Two months before Christmas, Niki and I decided to part ways. We knew it was for the best, but the pain lingered in our hearts. I told him he should let me go, that holding on would only hurt him more with each passing day. Yet, Niki, stubborn and caring as ever, couldn't bring himself to release his grip on our relationship. It has very much affected my way on moving on from him because of his kind and caring gesture till this day. But nothing would ever change him or even stop him caring for me.

Christmas approached, and the bitter chill in the air mirrored the frostiness between us. I knew he couldn't stand seeing me suffer during the cold holiday season, especially knowing how much my seasonal depression intensified without him.

One day, as I sat alone in my room, I received an unexpected package. Inside were heat pads to keep me warm, some havd cream and lipbalm. With accompanied by a note that simply read, "Stay cozy and warm." Confused, I wondered who could have sent such a thoughtful gift.

Days passed, and the surprises continued. Warm, comforting meals arrived at my doorstep, sometimes even health care products and medicines, bringing a strange mix of gratitude and confusion - Niki, despite our breakup, was orchestrating these gestures from afar. He understood my struggles, even when I tried to convince him otherwise.

“I’m not struggling from my little seasonal depression..”

“Y/n i know you long enough to know you are.”

“Just stop sending stuff over.”

“Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”

Then came the day when I opened the door to find a box labeled "Snakes." My heart raced with anxiety until I noticed it was a typo – the intended word was "snacks." I chuckled at the mix-up, realizing Niki's efforts were not without their share of mishaps. Remember how he somehow can’t seem to spill snacks correctly makes my heart swell.

It became a routine. Each day of December, a new surprise arrived, is like a little advent calendar, ranging from handwritten notes to carefully chosen gifts that catered to my needs. I was touched by his unspoken care, yet torn by the knowledge that we had chosen separate paths. Was it really worth it?

One evening, unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I sent him a text. "Why are you doing this, Niki? We're not together anymore." His response was simple, yet it carried the weight of sincerity. "I care about you, Y/n. I can't stop that, even if we're not together anymore. I’ll never break the promise I made with your mother.”

I pondered his words, conflicted between appreciating his gestures and urging him to let go. I replied, "You need to move on, Niki. We both do.", “fine. I’ll stop soon.” His messages became more sporadic, but the surprises persisted. I found solace in his warmth, even if it was delivered from a distance. It was as if he aimed to heal the wounds he couldn't see.

As Christmas neared, I felt a mixture of gratitude and guilt. Gratitude for the kindness he continued to show, as he continues to deliver gifts to my front door despite telling him not to, and guilt for allowing him to hold on to a love that no longer had a place in our lives. I knew I had to confront him, for both our sakes.

One evening, I called him, the familiar sound of his voice stirring a whirlwind of emotions. "Niki, we can't keep going on like this. It's not healthy for either of us." He sighed on the other end of the line. "I know, Y/n. But I can't help it. I still believe in us, and I can't bear to see you suffer. Especially during this time. I know and we both know your struggling and I can’t stand that.. To me your still my precious Angel that i care for everyday..”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered, "You have to let me go, Niki. It's the only way we can truly heal." He fell silent for a moment, then reluctantly agreed. "I'll try, Y/n. But promise me you'll take care of yourself."

As Christmas Eve arrived, I braced myself for the solitude that awaited. To my surprise, a final package arrived, adorned with a ribbon and a note that read, "Merry Christmas, Y/n. Take care of yourself, that’s all I ask for.”

Inside was a beautifully pink crafted blanket, a symbol of warmth and comfort. Despite the pain, I couldn't help but appreciate the bittersweet beauty of his gesture. As I wrapped myself in the blanket, I whispered a silent thank you to the universe for the love that had once been, and the strength to move forward into a new year, alone but not entirely lonely.

“thank you for the gift. Take care.”

“Your welcome, and I’ll always take care of you from afar.”

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

[thebiscuiteternal]

Could you explain more about the WIC shrinkflation issue? I was advised to apply for the program and now I'm worried about the complications.

Sure thing.

For starters, while WIC is a national program, states can and do implement certain aspects of it differently, so disclaimer that this is coming from a Tennessee viewpoint.

Okay, so.

WIC (Women Infants Children) vouchers are designed to help make sure that babies and toddlers are getting enough nutrition during early development. It usually runs alongside food stamps, but sometimes someone might be eligible for food stamps, but not WIC, or vise versa.

For infants -> pre-solid-food toddlers, it covers formula and baby food, and for pregnant mothers and/or toddlers eating solid foods, it usually covers fruits, vegetables, and certain staple foods.

WIC vouchers are very specific about what you can get with them, especially when it comes to baby food. They will label

Brands (Usually Gerber, Beech Nut, or other approved affiliate brands)

Formula varieties (usually high-vitamin)

Food type (Typically no mixed flavors, i.e. you can get jars of spinach and jars of turkey, but not a jar of blended spinach and turkey. This also trips up a lot of first-timers.)

Age (Baby foods typically come in development stages, so the vouchers will usually say whether you can have Stage 1, stage 2, etc)

Packaging (Whether it has to be glass jars or you can substitute with the mini plastic tubs. Usually pouch foods are not allowed)

Number (i.e. 12 jars of pureed meats or what have you)

Weight (boxes of baby cereals like oatmeal or rice, the size of the formula cans, or the size of the jars)

Some foods will specify whether or not it has to be organic

(Note: The local WIC offices used to send a pamphlet with the vouchers that included pictures of particular packaging to help ESL recipients, but with companies changing the look of their packaging too frequently, this has stopped in a lot of places.)

So, already a lot to look out for, yeah? And weight is usually where things get fucked. As I said in the previous post, companies (especially Gerber) have a really irritating habit where they will up and change the actual weight of the product without informing the WIC office of the change in time for the next round of vouchers (if they bother to inform them at all, instead of the WIC office having to contact them due to complaints). But of course the store knows about the change due to their inventory programs.

As a result, you'll either get:

A: The parent who has already been through this shit and now tries to verify the labels and is upset because they can't find the box with the correct ounce amount anymore (because it no longer exists).

B: The parent who hasn't been through this shit yet and grabbed the same box they got the month previously and is unaware it's now the wrong box until the register refuses to apply it to their monthly voucher.

C: The cashier who has to deal with this day in and day out and is just as frustrated as the parents, especially if they don't have enough experience to know this is the companies' fault, not the parents'.

I should also note that this has been a problem for a long time. It was already happening back when I was still working. But at least back then, you could count on at least 8 months (or even a couple of years) between sizing incidents, whereas Post-Covid, it's accelerated to practically a fuckup (or more) a month. If this month, it's the cereal, next month, it's the formula, etc. A neverending carousel of corporate bullshit. And the companies don't care, because they've already gotten their government subsidy for participating in the program at all, and if the parents have to pay out of pocket for the things the vouchers no longer cover that month, that's just more profit for the company.

[limbus-limousine]

Keep saying this but I loooove how relationships are talked about and portrayed in Demian (1919). Like. To an insane degree that I can barely put into words. It bothers me how overlooked it is sometimes? People always have a tendency to shove fictional relationships into very cramped, defined little boxes and then fight over the plastic label.

The way relationships are seen in Demian is one of the main reasons why I hold this book so close to my heart, because it was the first time I saw my thoughts put into words that I could analyze and study. That and the whole premise of how growing up in a religiously oppressive environment disguised with love and purity will inevitably affect how you process your feelings toward others... Makes me relate to Sinclair a lot. And it feels like a gross oversimplification to restrict his feelings as platonic or romantic.

I've talked about how I see Demian and Eva as extremely related entities before, how they are essentially the same. But I think their distinction as physical characters is very useful for the storytelling and symbolism. As I see it, Demian (the book) is all about love. It's not just about finding love in someone else but also finding love in yourself, in what you do and where you are in your life. This might be more of a personal interpretation, but to me, Eva represents a very, very specific feeling, in a way it's a culmination, a point where you finally stop to think and say to yourself "maybe I am okay. This is what okay feels like to me". Freudian influence aside... The motherly themes hit me really hard for this very reason:

When I read how Sinclair slowly fell out with his family, it spoke of a very specific experience. A very specific realization. "This deal isn't that of a bad friendship or acquaintance. I won't have a second chance. Simply because of how I was born, where I was born, there are human experiences that I'll never be able to know, and I am powerless to change that", you cannot choose your family, your mother, right? It's what you get, and you see around you what could've been but never was, and it makes you feel weak.

That's why Frau Eva is such an important figure. Because that is when Sinclair finds his family again, in a way. Why should blood matter so much? Sure, there's a biological connection, it's also been studied that romantic relationships reach their "high" during their earlier days due to hormones and neurotransmitters, right, "love at first sight", but those will eventually cease production as all does. It is your choice to nurture that relationship and to cherish it, to keep and to care for it. Blood does not matter, home is a person and it's right next to me, right now. I think that is what Frau Eva is, as a whole. And allowing that feeling to coexist with the platonic and the romantic is very important as I see it. One of the main problems of this motherly dynamic is the power difference, what makes Sinclair struggle in his childhood is the constant sensation of being watched, of being subjected to severe judgement. Frau Eva is supposed to remove that factor, she listens and she welcomes any thought or idea, there isn't fear of rejection or punishment, that's what makes it feel "like home". That was, kind of, the last step to reach the fulfillment Sinclair needed. I see Eva as the "destination" of this whole thing.

And Demian, he is the journey. One of the biggest mistakes one can make is to dismiss the process and work that goes into an achievement, because it is important. There is no Eva without Demian, they are intrinsic by nature. And journey is something that never leaves you. Even when Sinclair reaches his destination, he never stops caring about Demian. He visits Eva and he visits Demian, even if he has to walk through horrible weather, he speaks of his dreams to them, and he sits at the table and eats with them. Because during your journey you gain so many things you never expected, and at the end of the road, they become part of your fulfillment and needs as much as the main achievement is.

What Sinclair obtains from Demian and Eva, and everything in between them, is a unique relationship, deeply fulfilling, trusting, reassuring, a place where you know you can come to, even when you're at your lowest. Eva capitalizes on the genuine care, nurturing qualities, but Demian, too is a mentor, although I find falconer to be a better comparison. He helps the sparrowhawk grow its clipped wings, but in turn, he shall not stop it from flying, only the bird itself can choose to return the falconer's affections. But at the end of the day, all the falconer wishes for is to see him take flight. Sinclair obtains everything: friendship, camaraderie, acceptance, relief of a deep rooted guilt, no judgement for his human desires, the care and trust he lost from his mother, and something to look forward to after waking up in the mornings.

At the end of the book, Sinclair is separated from both of them, as I've said, they are intrinsic. But of course, they don't fully leave. As I see it, the kiss being from Eva means that your achievement is and will always be a sweet thought. Something you hold dear, that you can think of to comfort yourself. But Demian is there to deliver it and to fix Sinclair's wounds because journey is experience. It is what strengthens you and gives you the tools to face future endeavors. And it feels safe... You are finally safe within yourself.

But what about the scary factor, though? Because that is present too in both Demian and Eva (which I happen to really enjoy, as well). As always, I think it's a balance. It's good to know fear, it's a human emotion like any other. But the fear that radiates from them is more... Animal-like. The fear Sinclair once felt was a deep rooted terror that was born from something divine. You're being watched. You're being judged. You're wrong. You're a sinner. That's scary. Because it's telling you that the danger comes from yourself. When you see a beast staring into you, you don't feel self conscious, you don't feel repulsed, you feel the most natural shape that fear has. Beautiful things are scary. A snake can be scary. The stars can be scary. But it's not their fault, and it's not your fault either, it's just how it's meant to be. Because all feelings —love, anger, fear, sadness— and more, they are all important, they are all natural. But natural feelings can be beautiful. Artificial feelings make you fear something you've never witnessed, they make your stomach churn at the thought of yourself and they make you cry for something you haven't done. And most people around you live holding onto relationships that are, fundamentally, held by artificial feelings.

That is... Most of what I interpret from this book. And, god. It feels more like the book read me and not the other way around. I think I've truly found a bigger respite in art thanks to this novel. I have wanted to see the same beauty in the naturally grotesque... Learn about myself until rotting, flesh, maggots become just as beautiful and full of meaning as spring rivers and flowering plains, and for anger and fear to turn into something I can love and cherish like I do my inner child. Although they, too, have surely grown up.

That's it. I wanna play toysssss

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hero

found u on AO3 and loved u immediately, your writing style is incredible and i’ve binged all your stories :) crack request popped into my mind the other day and i thought i’d share—> the pinocchio phenomenon about “my nose will grow” (i’m sure you’re familiar) except for its the sides (prob logan bc experiment) trying it on janus- “janus will be summoned” or something to that effect idk ily please never stop writing <3 – bumblebea2712

Okay, so I've been thinking about something for a while. In your fic, Silver Box, where Roman has that box labeled 'Ego' with all the positive reinforcement in it? What if one of the things that gets whispered from it is when c!Thomas told Roman "you're my hero"? Like, especially with the angst from POF/SvS Redux. Thinking about how Roman misinterpret Janus' nod as 'Thomas is lying' when he actually meant that Thomas was still the truth when calling Roman his hero again. I wanna see Janus trying to correct him and be like "that nod meant he was telling the truth, he still thinks of you as his hero, he still cares about you", etc. Just some Roman, Janus, and c!Thomas angst all bundled up with hurt/comfort. I have THOUGHTS, and so I wanted to share :3 – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

If you're up to requests rn, could we have a Sanders Sides fic where Thomas himself is actually present maybe? – anon

Hey, would you be interested in perhaps writing a story where Logan assumes Roman is stupid because he isn’t articulate, and one day Roman has enough and is trying so hard to explain to Logan why he’s wrong but he doesn’t know the right way to phrase things so he just ends up getting more and more upset while Logan isn’t listening? – anon

Hey! I love your work (I’m definitely a Roman angst enjoyer 😅, but all of it’s good!!). If you’re open to requests, I was thinking about the control that Patton has over Roman because like,, a prince fights for honor. For good. And who decides what those concepts mean? Patton does. In some way, he controls Roman’s narrative. Anyways, h/c with Roman and potentially protective Remus. Thank you for considering!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self esteem issues, self doubt, slightly unsympathetic logan and patton

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5984

"What honor is there that I can find now? What—how do I know what is right anymore? I've been behind a sword for so long, I fear…I fear I'm forgetting who I am without it." His breath comes out shakier. "And I fear…if I were to ever try to explain this to someone who wasn't you, my words would come out so clumsy they would impale me on their rusted edges." "There is nothing wrong with the way you speak, Roman. Nothing at all." "If only it were something that would be listened to."

Thomas sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, I think—is that all we're gonna be able to get done today?"

"I have no qualms about continuing, but I do not think it would be productive."

"I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you go around in circles again and again," Virgil groans, long ago giving up the pretense of standing and paying attention, his forehead pressed against the stairs railing, "just call it here and let us go."

"Now, kiddo, that's not a very sporting attitude!" Patton puts his hands on his hips. "If Thomas thinks we're all involved in this discussion, then there's no point if trying to discount your own importance."

"I'm not discounting my own importance, I'm questioning my relevance." He glares through a gap in the bars at Logan. "This whole thing isn't gonna make me think it's not worth being cautious about, no matter how much L tries to talk me out of it. I'm Anxiety. Literally it's my job to be irrational sometimes. By definition—"

"But we've previously established that you do have some semblance of logical reasoning at points, and this could very well be one of those points—"

"Okay." Thomas cuts Logan off with a wave of his hand. "I think—yeah, I think we're done. I'm sorry, Logan, but I don't—we're kind of at an impasse."

"Here's an idea." Virgil's hand flops lazily up in a parody of raising his hand. "Why don't we ask someone whose literal job it is to come up with ideas?"

Logan's nose wrinkles momentarily and he sighs. "I do not see the value in asking either Roman or Remus to weigh in on this discussion when it has nothing to do with them."

"Uh-huh, so you wanna try to do the create-an-idea thing without the Sides whose job it is to do that?"

"We are all capable of coming up with ideas, Virgil, Roman and Remus simply represent Thomas's Creativity."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil heaves himself up onto an elbow. "When's the last time you came up with an idea for an experiment on your own?"

"Preposterous. I'm perfectly capable of coming up with my own experiments."

"Do it. Right now."

"We are in the middle of discussing—"

"No, no," Thomas says, "please, I could use a break from thinking about this."

Logan's mouth works for a second. "Very well. Let's see…ah. A spin on the Pinocchio paradox."

"The what?"

"The Pinocchio paradox. A simple thought experiment on what would happen if the character, Pinocchio, uttered the words: 'My nose will grow now.' An interesting thought, given that—"

"That his nose grows when he lies and if it does grow then he told the truth which means it wouldn't grow which means he lies, sure, sure, sure, what does that have to do with anything?"

Logan adjusts his ties and raises a finger. "Janus will now appear."

Everyone in the room pauses, listening for the telltale whoosh of a Side appearing. Which it does, a few seconds later, and Logan gets cuffed on the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"I'm not an experiment," Janus says, a bit too amused to be an indictment, "and am perfectly capable of showing up to slap you for being an idiot."

"See? Experiment successful."

"That's not—okay." Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose. "Janus, while you're here, you might as well weigh in on this."

'"Being arbitrarily asked to choose a side with little to no context as to what the options are? My favorite." He claps his hands a few times. "What am I choosing between?"

"Would it be better if I responded to this email now, saying that I'm not available for a call for the rest of the day, or should I wait and just call back tomorrow when I am free?"

"Ooh, what an interesting dilemma. How badly will your life be impacted by a negative outcome to this call?"

"Don't fucking start with me, J," Virgil warns, studiously ignoring Patton's language, "I know you've been listening this whole time."

"Oh, you're no fun." Virgil tips him a lazy two-fingered salute and he sighs. "Very well. Thomas, do you want to respond to this now?"

Thomas frowns. "What? Isn't that what you all are here for?"

"We can manifest different parts of you trying to figure something out, but that doesn't mean you don't have your own thoughts about it that aren't us. What do you want to do?"

"This line of questioning is pointless. Thomas has established that he doesn't know what he wants and he's asked us—well, I suppose that now includes you—what to do."

Janus slides his gaze to Logan, eyes narrowing slightly. "That's awfully presumptuous of you, Logan."

"Thomas? Is that an inaccurate conclusion?"

"…I mean, not really."

Logan gestures at him. "See? There you are. Now, either we are agreeing to call the meeting here and simply wait until tomorrow, or we are going to rehash the same arguments from the past hour and quite frankly, I think there is a better use of our time."

"Why are the twins not here?"

"Excuse me?"

"The twins. The ones who are good at coming up with solutions to problems." Janus glances around. "They seem conspicuously absent from this meeting where we are trying to come up with a solution to something."

"That's what I was saying."

Logan sighs, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Alright, if you insist. I do not see what sort of valuable insight they will be able to give us, but if you all want to hear what they have to say, then I suppose I cannot object."

Thomas smiles and reaches out to summon Creativity. A moment later, Roman appears in front of the TV, wincing.

"Thomas?"

"Hey, Roman, we, uh, we were hoping you could help us out."

Roman rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the room. "Uh, sure. What, uh, what with?"

"Thomas is struggling to choose between responding to a missed phone call and voicemail with either an email today apologizing and explaining his availability tomorrow, or simply calling back tomorrow when he is immediately available," Logan says smoothly. "Which option do you think is preferable?"

Roman just blinks at him for a long second. When Logan raises his eyebrows expectantly, his shoulders hunch a little and he curls in on himself. "I, um, I don't know."

"Just as I suspected. Very well, thank you Roman, you may go."

"Wait, what?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Virgil says, sitting up, "that's not fair, he's been here, what, all of two seconds?"

"Yes, and has just admitted that he doesn't have an answer to us, which is not a productive way to continue this conversation, therefore he can go."

"Wait, Logan—" Thomas holds his hand out, silently asking Roman to stay, "can't we just—how's he gonna be able to actually give his opinion if he doesn't have time to make one?"

"Roman, are the facts I've given to you unclear?"

"Huh? N-no—"

"Do you believe you have a firm enough grasp of the situation to form a conclusion?"

"I mean, yeah, I get it, but—"

"And you still don't know what option you prefer?"

Roman's quiet for a moment, his outstretched hand slowly returning to his side. "…no."

Logan nods. "Settled, then."

"Come on, Logan," Janus says, frowning a little now, "just because you didn't want him here doesn't mean you can throw him away as soon as he's said one thing that vaguely aligns with what you wanted."

"First off, that's an incredible level of irony coming from you—" both Janus and Roman flinch— "and secondly, Roman, would you like to be part of this meeting?"

They all turn to look at Roman, who shuffles under their gazes. He keeps flicking his eyes up to Thomas, then to Patton, then to Janus, before staring back down at his hands. The buzzing of the fridge becomes oppressive. He winces and rubs the back of his neck again.

"Roman?"

"…not really."

"Then it's settled, then. Thank you for your input."

Roman glances once more at Thomas with something almost like longing before he sinks out again. Virgil, who'd been watching him closely, turns to frown at Logan. Logan adjusts his tie.

"If that's all, then, Thomas, would you still like to end the meeting here?"

"Yeah, let's…let's call it."

"Very well. I shall be available if you need me further." He sinks out.

Patton sinks out next, giving Thomas a quick thumbs-up before disappearing. Janus exchanges a brief look with Virgil before he's vanishing too, leaving just the two of them alone in the living room. Thomas puts his hands on his hips, staring at the spot where Roman was.

"So that was weird, right?"

"Yeah." Virgil grunts as he sits up, hands balled up in the pocket of his hoodie. "That…I've never seen them…do that before."

"Did Roman and Logan have a fight or something?"

"I don't think so? I mean, I've seen them argue about stuff, but they always do that and it didn't seem like it was any more, like, intense than usual, so I don't…I don't know why that happened." He shuffles. "I've also never seen Logan be that…short with Roman before."

"Yeah, like, he was here for literally, like—"

"Like two seconds—"

"And then Logan was telling him to go again. And did you notice how he kept looking—"

"At you?"

"At me, yeah, did—did I do something?"

"What? Shit, no, Thomas, I don't think that's it. I think—" he sighs— "look, he's not gonna be happy I'm telling you this, but Princey's been going through some stuff lately and I'm not sure exactly what it is but I know it's been weighing on him a lot."

Thomas frowns. "How so?"

"Well, let me put it this way: have you been daydreaming a lot more lately?"

He thinks. "Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess so, but I haven't been doing that much recently, which kind of makes sense, I guess?"

"Yeah, well, that's Princey in the Imagination." Thomas nods and Virgil gives him a pointed look. "I'm telling you that Princey's been going into the Imagination more."

"Yeah, that's—isn't that what he does?"

Virgil scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, it is, but not like this. Normally when he goes in, he's doing it to come up with ideas or work something out, or…something. But recently…"

"But recently that doesn't feel like what he's doing," Thomas finishes, chewing on his lip, "yeah, actually, now that you mention it, it does kind of feel…different. Like—like they're…"

"Comfort," Virgil finishes quietly when he can't quite put his finger on it, "it feels like a comfort."

"Roman's going into the Imagination to comfort himself?" Virgil shrugs. "Why?"

"Like I said, he's going through some stuff. It's not—I'm not all up on how the Imagination translates to whatever your daydreams end up being, but I don't think—Princey's not even telling us what he gets up to in there."

Thomas sucks in a breath. If there's one thing he's learned after listening to them talk about whatever goes on in the Mindscape when they're not with him, it's that Roman loves to regale them with tales of his adventures in the Imagination, even if it comes at the expense of whatever else they're doing. To hear that Roman's been going off more than usual and he isn't telling them about it? Worrying, to say the least.

"When did this start?"

Virgil blows out a breath. "After the wedding."

"Shit, that's…probably not good."

"Yeah."

They both stare at the black TV. A bit of dust gets caught in a gust from the vent and sticks to the corner.

"…he's my hero," Thomas says quietly.

"Huh?"

"He's my hero. Maybe he's…maybe he's going to the Imagination to do the things heroes don't get to do."

"Okay, you gotta break that down for me a little more."

"The heroes don't get to be vulnerable. They don't get to…to actually stop and rest, not really. They have to keep going, they have to…" Thomas swallows. When did this lump in his throat get here? "They're not—oh, god, am I gonna cry?"

"Shit, shit, shit, uh—do you want me to get Patton back?"

"N-no, no, don't—" for some reason the thought of Patton reappearing sends a bolt of fear straight through his chest and he knows Virgil feels it too, shooting to his feet and watching as Thomas stumbles back to the couch— "I—oh, god."

"Hey, hey, hey, buddy," Virgil says, voice soft and low as Thomas buries his face in his hands, "take it easy, okay? You're okay, you're safe in the house, everything's okay. I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Just a nice, deep breath, you're okay, that's it, good, now let it out…nice, do it again…"

Virgil helps talk him slowly through the well of emotion suddenly bubbling just at the base of his throat, the breaths coming out shaky but steady. Absentmindedly, he puts a hand to his chest and starts rubbing in slow, firm circles. The pressure does something to the frantic and flighty part of him, helping to soothe him back from whatever brink he hadn't realized he'd walked to.

"Hey," Virgil calls a few minutes later, "you with me again?"

"Yeah, I think so." He takes a couple more seconds just to breathe it out. "Roman's—Roman's my hero, and I don't know if he knows that I…that I still want to listen to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Afterwards. When I—when we were all—when the stuff happened. He said that he thought he was my hero and I told him he was and then he…"

"Freaked," Virgil finishes when he can't, "yeah, I remember."

"I don't…I don't know why that made him so upset."

"Well, hey," he says when that lump starts to come back to his throat, "let's not have you worry about that right now, okay? You—let's go do something else that'll get your mind off of it. Go rewatch the Office bloopers again, that always works."

"Will you—can you keep an eye on him for me?"

"Yeah, Thomas, I can do that. Now c'mon, those bloopers aren't going to rewatch themselves."

***

Roman walks slowly through the woods as the fireflies twinkle around him. He lifts a hand to push aside a branch, stepping through the shadows to emerge onto the thin dirt path that winds through the base of the trees. As the darkness falls, the thin blue lines grow deeper, darker, blending together to weave across the grass as little critters scurry back and forth. The whistle of the wind accompanies the crunch of his footsteps as he makes his way toward the cabin.

Movement from around the side and the man emerges, wiping dirt from his hands with a rag. He looks up and smiles as Roman approaches.

"Roman," he greets, with his voice warm, "how good it is to see you."

"I see I'm a bit too late to help with the chores." He nods to the rag. "I don't mean to impose on you."

"Nonsense, old friend, nothing you do could possibly be an imposition. As it happens, I have a stew on that I won't be able to finish by myself and it would be a great favor to me if you were to help me."

Roman chuckles. "How could I refuse?"

The man holds a hand out to him as he nears, settling it on the curve of Roman's neck and pulling him close for a brief hug of sorts. Roman turns his cheek to rest against the curve of his jaw, breathing out shakily. The man lets out a comforting noise and his fingers card through the delicate hairs at the base of his head.

"Come inside, dear friend, let the fire warm you."

"The night is warm already."

"It is young still, and will grow cold," he says as he begins to lead them up the stairs, "and you look to be the type of cold that does not thaw even in the hottest sun."

"I worry for the state of the realm sometimes, if I am truly so transparent."

"Only to me, dear friend, and only because you have seen fit to allow yourself to be so with me." He's coaxed inside a modest cabin, sat at a simple hewn table as a rich smell fills the room. He closes his eyes to breathe it in, opening them again when the low thud of a bowl and tankard draws his attention. "Eat, please. You know I can't bear a less-than-full stomach under my roof."

"You're too kind to me."

"Nonsense." The hand fits itself around his head once more. "You are worth being kind to, and even more worth allowing me to care for you. Now, come on."

The stew is simple, hearty, and as filling as he could ever want. Under the table, their legs press together, boots against boots, knee against knee. The fire crackles in the hearth as the last of the light fades from outside. He can feel his shoulders beginning to relax, the line of his body growing looser, more languid.

When they've both eaten their fill and the dishes have been set away to deal with later, he sits on the floor near the hearth and stares into the flames. A warm hand lands on his shoulder and brings his head to rest against another, light touch trailing over the bare skin under his sleeve.

"What troubles you tonight, dear friend?"

"I don't want to impose—"

"Shh, none of that now. It's an honor to be troubled by your worries."

He turns his head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of clean sweat, of spiced apple, of wood smoke. "I struggle to remember what it is I fight for."

Gentle nails along his scalp. "How so?"

"What honor is there that I can find now? What—how do I know what is right anymore? I've been behind a sword for so long, I fear…I fear I'm forgetting who I am without it." His breath comes out shakier. "And I fear…if I were to ever try to explain this to someone who wasn't you, my words would come out so clumsy they would impale me on their rusted edges."

"There is nothing wrong with the way you speak, Roman. Nothing at all."

"If only it were something that would be listened to."

"Hey." He's nudged until he can look up at the man's face. "You once told me that all you wanted to fight for was this. For the chance for one to sit, in the peace and safety, with those they care for, and have that be alright. Is this still true?"

"Yes. But I don't—I no longer know how to do that."

The man goes quiet, contemplative, running his fingers gently over the edge of Roman's face. The touch coaxes a lump to his throat, a tear to his eye, and the man lets out another comforting noise, pulling him closer.

"Rest for the night, please, dear friend. My bed is warm, my touch willing. You fear losing who you are without your sword? Put it down for the night, stay. Remind yourself of how to enjoy the thing you fight for."

"If only I could be as persuasive as you," he mumbles, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of the touch, "then I might never need a sword again."

He chuckles. "Well, I don't know if I can do all that much, but I have learned how to persuade you, my dear, and that will serve me well enough."

***

"Roman?"

Roman turns, spotting Janus as he trudges back from the Imagination. "What're you doing awake?"

"I was waiting for you."

He winces. "Sorry, I, um, did we have something planned?"

"What? No, no, sweetie, nothing like that, I only—I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

A chill works its way up Roman's spine and he suppresses a shudder, walking slowly to his room and opening the door. Janus follows him in, carefully closing it behind them and waiting while Roman tucks something into a drawer on his desk and sitting down.

"What's up?"

"Are you…are you okay?"

He flinches slightly. "Why, um, why?"

Janus looks pained. He glances around and seemingly comes to a decision before sinking down to the floor, crossing his legs and sighing. "You…seemed very upset after earlier, and I wanted to come and ask you about it."

"Oh, no, I'm fine, I wasn't—Logan was right, I wasn't going to be useful in that conversation."

"The one you were in for all of three seconds before you were being shunted out of it again?"

Roman narrows his eyes. "You know, it is kind of ironic that you of all people are worrying about that right now."

Janus barely has time to process how he feels about that sentence before Roman's eyes are widening and he's leaning back.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, that came out really rude, I didn't mean that."

"You did, and that's okay. No, no—really, it is okay, Roman, you don't have to pretend like I didn't hurt you—that I'm not hurting you when I do things like that. No, no—" he stands as Roman covers his face with his hands— "please, sweetie, just—just listen to me for a second, okay?"

Roman nods, his face still hidden. Janus hesitates for a moment before gloved hands come down to rest on his shoulders. He leans down and carefully, carefully presses his chin to the top of Roman's head. Roman shudders a little under the contact but stays still.

"You've been distant lately," Janus whispers, as though afraid of breaking the silence, "and that's not a bad thing, sweetie, but it's…it seems like it's hurting you. And I'm worried because Thomas isn't—I don't know what Thomas would do without you."

Roman stiffens and immediately he knows it was the wrong thing to say. "I won't let Thomas down again, I know what I'm doing. I'm just—I'm sorry I haven't been very present lately, but I'm—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant—wait, what do you mean, 'again?'"

Roman hunches his shoulders. "I know I'm not Thomas's hero anymore, okay? You don't need to keep acting like I'm—"

"Wait, wait, sweetie." Janus crouches down, cupping Roman's face in his hands. "What do you mean, you're not Thomas's hero anymore?"

"That's what you said! After the wedding, when he said—when I said—and you nodded! Like it was a lie!" He jerks away. "We don't need to pretend that didn't happen, okay? I remember, it's not like I could forget something like that."

"No, no, Roman—no, that's not what I meant, I didn't—it wasn't a lie."

Roman goes still. He stares at Janus for a long moment, long enough for a bit of a smile to come to his face, like Roman's actually listening to him. Then Roman's expression darkens and the voice that comes out of him is darker and more venomous than anything Janus has ever heard.

"Do not lie to me."

"R-Roman—"

"No." Roman pulls away, standing up, towering over him. "You will not lie to me. Not about that, not about anything like that. Use me as your puppet all you want, everyone knows I can't stop you, but I won't let you lie to me about this. Ever."

He's already fumbling to get his gloves off, surging up and grabbing Roman in a tight hug, so close he couldn't hope to get an inch of distance between them. "I'm not lying," he hisses, almost into Roman's nose, "I'm not lying about this, Roman, I'm not. Thomas wasn't lying. You're his hero. You still are."

"Stop it—"

"My gloves are off! I can't lie with my gloves off, Thomas loves you—you're his hero—"

"Stop it!" The words leave Roman in a breathless cry and Janus is left struggling to heft his weight as his knees buckle. "Stop it, stop it—stop it, it's not true, it can't be true, it's a lie—it—it has to be—"

"Why does it have to be, sweetie?" They're back on the floor, Janus smoothing hair back from Roman's flushed face, awkwardly holding him in his lap. "Why did it have to be a lie?"

"Because—because—" he sniffles— "nothing makes sense anymore. I don't—I can't—I can't do anything."

He frowns. "What do you mean you can't do anything?"

Hands come up to circle his wrists, not to push him away, just to have somewhere else to hold onto. "Princes fight for honor, for what's good. I can't—I can't fight anymore."

Not much can break Janus's heart like hearing Roman admit something like that, fewer things still can threaten tears at the corners of his eyes like the ones badly concealed in Roman's voice. "What do you mean, sweetie? Why can't you fight anymore?"

"I don't know anything! I don't know what's good, what's honorable, what's—what's right, I can't…I'm wrong, Janus, I'm just wrong and I don't—I don't know how to be right again."

"Shh, shh, shh, easy, now, sweetie, shh…" Janus hauls him closer, pressing his mouth to his flushed cheek, still murmuring comfort. "Shh…that's it, just stay here with me a moment, okay?"

"J-Janus—"

"I'm here, sweetie, I'm right here."

Roman's stifled sobs land like mines in the room, creating a mess around them as he curls up tighter, tighter still. The door to the Imagination glistens softly and he can almost hear the distant crackle of a fireplace and that alone sends him further into the fit. Janus's hands remain gentle, holding him close, but everything keeps spinning and nothing, nothing makes sense except the hurt in his chest.

He's going to cry himself to sleep again, he realizes faintly as exhaustion starts to seep through him, but then Janus is kissing his forehead again and gently shaking him awake.

"Sweetie, listen to me: no one knows what you fight for better than you, okay? You're Thomas's Hopes and Dreams, his hero—" Roman whimpers— "you do know what's right."

"N-no, I don't."

"Then who does know?"

"Patton."

Janus's blood runs cold. "Patton? Why Patton?"

"Patton's the Heart, he's M—he's Morality. He knows—he decides. I'm—I just follow." He sniffles. "And Logan—Logan, he's right, I don't—I'm so stupid—"

"That's enough, now." He runs a hand through his hair again. "That's enough, sweetie. You're not stupid. No—shh, shh, you're not. You know you're not."

"I am. I can't—I can't talk right and I don't know what I'm doing and—an' I'm just gonna mess everything up again."

Janus closes his eyes, bowing his head and taking a deep breath of his own. Cradling Roman's head to his chest, he leans down and kisses both his forehead and his cheeks, just staying there for a long, long moment. Roman's soft sobs echo gently in his ear and he tucks a stray piece of hair back from his face.

"You're not stupid," he murmurs, "you're not going to mess everything up again. You're okay. You're okay, sweetie."

Roman sniffles and shakes his head. "No, it's not. It's not okay."

"…no," Janus concedes, pulling Roman close, "I suppose it's not."

***

Not many things can happen in the Mindscape without Remus noticing, and almost nothing can happen to his brother without him showing up to knock some heads.

Case in point: when there's a tug in his gut telling him that Roman is upset, he grabs his Morningstar and sinks out without hesitating.

When he rises up in the living room, it takes less than two seconds for him to determine one: that Logan is picking on his brother, two: Patton isn't doing anything to stop him, and three: Roman is crying.

"Remus, not now," Logan sighs, "we're in the middle of something."

"You're in the middle of hurting my brother."

"R-Re?" He's got his arm around Roman's shoulders in the next moment. "W-wait, I need to—I have to—I gotta explain."

"Explain what, Roro?"

Logan sighs. "Roman has been trying, unsuccessfully, to explain that we are at fault for—"

"Ah, no." Remus throws a knife at Logan. "I didn't ask you. Shush."

"Remus! Throwing knives at people isn't nice!"

"Neither is making them cry! We're all in agreement." He tucks his head against Roman's, gentling his voice. "What're you trying to explain, Roro?"

"The—" he sniffles— "Janus said I should try—try talking to them and I said it wouldn't work but he—he insisted an' I—"

"Shh, shh, take your time, Ro, you're doing great."

"Heart. Morality. Prince. Logic."

Remus's little black heart breaks in two and he wraps his arms tightly around his brother. "Oh, Ro, it's okay. It's gonna be okay, lemme get you somewhere safe and I'll do it for you, okay?"

"You don't have to—"

"Trust me, Ro-bro, I got this."

Roman sags in his arms. "O-okay."

Remus quickly bids the Imagination to open its doors and sinks Roman out, giving him a gentle push into the forest before reappearing in the living room. He cracks his knuckles and grins.

"Alright, where were we?"

Logan sighs. "Remus, I don't—"

"Ah, that's right!" Remus throws another knife at him. "You, not listening to people who can't articulate things as well as you can! Rude and ableist, Loganberry, not a good look on you."

"I am not—"

"Roman can't articulate his thoughts as well as you can and so you think you're better than him, smarter than him, and that he's not worth listening to, is that explicit enough?" Logan opens and closes his mouth a few times but doesn't say anything. "Mm. And you!"

Patton yelps as Remus throws something at him too.

"You have a nasty habit of making Roman feel like a helpless little kid! You have a lot of sway over things like Thomas's sense of right and wrong and when you don't talk to Roman like he's your equal, you really fuck him up!"

"Language—"

"Don't fucking talk to me about my language," Remus says with artificial cheeriness, "talk to yourself about how not to give my brother an identity crisis!"

He stops throwing things, mainly because the rest of them are exploding or things he knows Roman would rather he didn't throw at them, no matter how tempting it is. The two of them slowly get their shit together, each with a different amount of regret. He doesn't really care about that, though, so long as they're not going to hurt Roman like that again.

"Good chat!"

And he sinks out to tackle Roman into Ollie's pond so they can have fun playing and not crying.

God, he loves his brother.

***

"Hey, Thomas?"

Thomas looks up and sees Virgil on the stairs. "Oh, hey, Virge, what's up?"

"You, uh, you asked me to keep an eye on Princey."

He sits up straight. "Yeah, what's—what's going on?"

Virgil sighs, rubbing his hands together. "There was a…not a fight, but some stuff happened. Turns out that Roman, uh, didn't believe you when you said you still thought of him as your hero and it…got bad."

"Do I want to know how bad?"

"Like, bad enough that Roman wasn't—shit, Thomas, no, I don't think you wanna know. Let's just say it was bad enough that he wasn't just going to the Imagination for comfort, he was going there because it was the only place he felt safe."

"Oh, Roman…"

"The fight—the thing was about Roman trying to explain to Patton and Logan how it fucked him up really badly, and he wasn't—you know how Roman's not always the best at explaining himself?"

"Yeah?"

"It—it wasn't really going well. Remus had to step in and do it for him."

"Wait, Remus?"

"Yeah, they're brothers. Remus—shit, Remus is really protective of Roman sometimes and this time wasn't an exception. Everyone's fine now, but it's…" Virgil sighs. "Logan and Patton have apologized and everybody's working on it, but I thought you'd want to know."

"How much stuff happens with you guys that I don't know about?"

"Honestly? I don't think you want the answer to that either."

"Jesus." Thomas scrubs a hand over his face. "Alright, well, thanks for telling me, Virgil. If…if there's anything I can do, let me know?"

Virgil nods and sinks out. Thomas puts a hand to his chest, rubbing in slow circles. There's a part of him that feels cold, still. Maybe…maybe he can figure out some way to help warm it up.

***

Roman wakes up to the sound of a crackling fire. He hums, rolling over, reaching for the edge of the bed, only to stop when his hands meet the thick red comforter. He frowns. This…this is his bed. He didn't fall asleep in the Imagination. So then why…?

He looks over and his eyes widen.

Across the room, tucked into a neat little alcove that definitely wasn't there when he went to sleep, is a merrily crackling fireplace. Above it, mounted on a gold plaque, is a cardboard sword with the words you're my hero written on it in red ink.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[magicaltrash]

You've bought the Disney trash can holiday ornaments and keychain. You wanted something bigger so you picked up a few salt shakers. How do you feel about compost? Both Disneyland and Walt Disney World have introduced a new merchandise item that looks like a trash can. But what exactly is it? The label on this item reads:

Compost & More! Potential Uses For This Product: Compost Bin • Ice Bucket • Wastepaper Basket • Cookie Jar • Storage Container • Vase

The label feels like an afterthought, as if someone asked a few friends what they thought this item could be used for and then threw it on the shelf. The trailing bullets in what was clearly written as a single line of text then word wrapped add to the amusement. Officially, according to a source at WDW, this item rings up as a "Compost Bin" at merchandise locations. Made from plastic, it measures 10" H x 6" W x 6" D.

For Disney trash can enthusiasts, it's great to see Disney continue to give their iconic cans proper representation, allowing guests to take home a bit of the magic. (Not mentioning any names, but some dedicated weirdos have been building Disney trash can fandom for over 15 years, but I digress...)

The design itself features shades of light blue, teal, and aqua, accented by bright yellow. Like most trash can merchandise these days, the design patterns along the edge of the panels often illustrate can designs as they used to be, much like previous salt shakers and ornaments.

Hints of the interlocking boxes pattern can currently be seen in the Magic Kingdom near Casey's Corner and Crystal Palace. The small curved details are implemented near the Monorail Station and Ferry Docks. Both of these design aspects have also been used in the past on Disneyland's green/yellow Main Street U.S.A. cans, as well as on both the yellow and dark green can designs near the hub of the Magic Kingdom. (There was a time when the Magic Kingdom actually cared about trash can design on Main Street U.S.A. Disney Difference? Whatever.) The castle iconography is generic enough to represent either Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella's castles, while the Mickey with spatula seal hints at this being used in kitchen areas of your home.

Overall, it's great to see more trash can products, but it seems like they didn't put much thought into marketing this particular item. The labeling essentially admits, "we don't have a clue, why don't you figure it out?"

// Trash Can-Shaped Compost Bin, Disneyland Resort & Walt Disney World Resort, Merchandise, 2025

[Source: Disneyland on Film, Not Justin Orlando, and Laughing Place. Used by Permission.]

[icannot3]

Menstrual Dilemma

(Frat) Kyle Spencer x reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: talks of periods? Kyle buys you pads lmao. That's the plot.

Taglist: @taintandviolent (comment if you'd like to be added!)

....................

Excruciating pain was all you could feel. It left you doubled over, rolled in a tight ball and rocking around in agony. Your arms squeezed your abdomen tightly, short-lived waves of relief feeling like the holy grail before your ovaries once again continued their monthly, almost murderous routine. It was as if a knife had been stabbing you aggressively from the inside. The pain- along with other symptoms of inconvenience, such as headaches and nausea, had made you an uncrossable force not to be reckoned with. Being in far too much anguish to move, you'd sent Kyle to assist you.

Kyle deeply considered himself a gentleman. He'd do just about anything for his little lady. But when given the task of fetching you menstrual products, the job was perplexing - to say the least. Not only did he not have any deep knowledge about the use of these products, but he also had no idea where to find them. You'd told him to grab pads. After a painful amount of time scanning through the aisles of the nearest grocery store, refusing to ask for any help, he'd finally found the brightly lit women's care section. Before he entered, he did a quick loop around, making sure no one was close enough to see him enter. He felt a bit flustered being near the products in plain sight.

Finally, he'd made it in. His eyes scanned over the very large selection organized across the shelves. From what he'd gathered by looking at them, there were seemingly infinite options. The variety amazed him, really. The pads alone had so many sizes, but then there were just as many tampons up for selection. His hand trailed across the shelves, noticing a small box with bright purple packaging. The label read "menstrual cup", he'd flipped around the small cardboard box with curiosity. His eyebrow cocked up quizzically after seeing the product. Kyle's mind raced with endless questions. How did that even stay in there? Why would someone leave that inside of them? Did it hurt? Fairly astonished, he set the box back in its rightful place and made a mental note to ask you about that later. Regaining his original focus, he went back to the task at hand. He needed pads, right. He looked back at the intimidating selection, attempting to choose the best option.

He tried his hardest. He really did. But he truly had no clue what he was getting into when he accepted your request. He picked up one smaller package that seemed to lay in the middle flow-wise, gathering that it was the safest option. Kyle looked at the price tag from where it sat. Almost ten fucking dollars? For a medical necessity? His eyes widened like saucers, disturbed by the ridiculous cost of just a fancy cotton ball. He'd finally felt a small ounce of feminine rage and frustration over these matters. It was outrageous. Even the ones that weren't name brands were ridiculous. And the large packages for people with heavy flows? Screw that. Kyle gathered that if he had a period, at this rate, he'd shove a washcloth down there and call it a day.

His head snapped over, alarmed at the sound of a shopping cart. A mother had walked into the aisle with him. She had a small child in her cart as she browsed the selection. She looked at the prices, comparing them with her pointer finger whilst letting out a defeated sigh. Kyle understood, watching her try and look through the cheaper generic brands at the bottom. He still felt unsure about his choice. Putting all embarrassment aside, he got her attention.

"Is this stuff good? I'm here for my girlfriend." He showed her the pads he selected, desperate for help of some kind. She smiled kindly at him, nodding her head. "Yes, they don't have wings, though. You may want to ask her if that's what she prefers?" His brows furrow, he continues to grow confused over yet another technicality.

"What are wings?" He politely asks her. She giggles, pointing at another products photo. She gives a brief explanation, telling him about the benefits. Gratefully, he nods, grabbing that one as well. Just in case.

When he greeted you at his return to your shared apartment, just seeing you bundled up filled him with an immense amount of guilt. Not only did you have to deal with these ridiculous prices, but you were suffering. He set the bag next to you, pulling your exhausted form into his arms. You greeted him happily, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"How do you feel?" He inquires, rubbing small circles into the small of your back. You took a deep breath, soaking in his warmth. "Better, the cramps are starting to fade since I took my medicine. Were you able to find the pads?" He gives you a small smile, nodding his head in response. "A really nice woman helped me pick some out." You laughed, shaking your head at the thought of him getting advice on periods from a complete stranger. He found you precious, looking absolutely beautiful, snuggled into his chest. His fingers twirled through your hair and brushed your soft locs. Kyle, in that moment, vowed to always be as understanding and sympathetic towards you and any woman who complained about their monthly. He felt disgusted from his lack of knowledge alone.

He tapped your shoulder, silently asking you to face him. You hummed, eyes catching his own. "I have a question." He placed a kiss to your brow. You tilted your head, ready to answer whatever it was.

"Do you use menstrual cups?"

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 15)

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

- - - - - - - - - -

I move my character through the virtual landscape of Flower Forest, interacting with the townsfolk and continuing toward my goal of beautifying the town. This is of course on top of my other goals, like paying off my mortgage to the village's local snooty businessman Mr. Buck, and running my own little flower shop. I'm glad I have free time this weekend to play on my FlexPad, but shouldn't I be doing something a little more productive?

As I lay on my bed, immersed in the wonders of virtual gardening, an open box in the corner of my room catches my eye. It's the only box I haven't completely sorted through from the move, since it's full of things I don't exactly have a place for yet. I heave a sigh. I should at least try to get settled in before the end of Carmen.

I stand up with a stretch, setting down my FlexPad and walking towards the box. I peer inside to see a mess of contents ranging from junk drawer material to family keepsakes. I pull out a long, heavy metal object and examine it. It's a silver bowling trophy I won some time in stage 3. I got second place in an all-girls competition with a score of 116. Not that impressive, but a fun memory. Plus it's probably the only trophy I've ever won. I look around the room for a place to put it and decide the shelf beside my bed will do. I place the silver bowling pin beside a picture of Dad and me.

Returning to the box, I reach in and pull out a small, smooth object. It's a rock with a silly face drawn on in marker. 'Rocky' was his name, I believe. When I was little and wanted a pet, Dad made this thing for me to take care of since pets aren't allowed in the undercity. I was supposed to 'feed' it every day, 'play' with it, and do all the things you're supposed to do to care for an animal. Shockingly, playing with a rock turned out to be a bore, so I stopped taking care of Rocky. I have no use for this thing, but since Dad made it, I can't bring myself to throw it away. Especially not with that goofy expression it's making. Into my desk drawer it goes, I guess.

I continue going through the box like this, pulling out knick-knacks and heirlooms alike, finding places in my room for some things, and throwing out others until I've nearly reached the bottom of the box. One of the few items remaining is a cream-colored journal with blue morning glories adorning its glossy cover. It's bursting at the seams with papers and paper clippings, and is held together by a burgundy ribbon. I sigh. I remember when Dad first showed me this thing.

It was a few days before the move, and we were trying to get rid of as many things as possible so we wouldn't have to move so much. That proved a bit difficult, however, seeing as my dad had lived in that apartment in Maedri since before I was even born. Needless to say, he had a lot of stuff. The day came when we managed to clear out most of his unwanted and unneeded things, and all that remained was an unassuming box in the back of his closet with no label. It was a decent-sized box, but not too heavy. It wasn't closed all the way, and the top was covered in dust. I had asked about the box in the past, but Dad seemed to want to avoid it for whatever reason. That day, I would find out why.

Dad set the box down on the floor and sat down beside me with a sigh. He eyed the box for a moment before flipping open the cover and sending dust everywhere, which resulted in the two of us suffering through a coughing fit. Once we recovered, Dad reached into the box and pulled out a long, blue article of clothing, explaining that it was my mom's favorite cardigan. To my surprise, I still have a few vague memories of her wearing it.

Dad pulled out a few other things, all belonging to my mom. There was a scarf, some old art supplies, a poetry book, an indoor planter I decided I would keep, a few novels, and a flute to name a few. But what really caught my attention was a journal with flowers on it. I've always loved nature, and I know my mom did too, so I wondered what was inside. Upon retrieving the journal from the box, Dad looked it over for a moment. He had a smile on his face, but I could see him getting misty-eyed.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the book.

"This was your mom's art journal," Dad said. "This book contains nearly every drawing she made since before we were even together."

Dad flipped through the journal. Mom had doodled little flowers on napkins, and drawn elaborate portraits on scrap paper.

Dad handed me the journal. "I think your Mom would want you to have this," he said.

I took the book and turned the pages in awe. One page in particular was a watercolor piece, depicting a girl I could only assume was my mom with some enormous bluebells dangling above her. She looked up at them with wonder filling her eyes. I looked at the painting with the same wonder. How did she learn to draw flowers with such detail?

I turned a few more pages and was shocked at what I saw next. My mother painted herself, again in watercolor, dancing in the palm of a perthean's hand! One masculine hand held the twirling figure, while another held her hand from above, as if they were dancing together. I slammed the book shut.

I haven't opened the journal since then, although now I'm a bit curious as to what else is inside. I guess I'll leave it on my desk.

That leaves the planter. It's still a bit dusty, but it's nothing a damp cloth can't fix. I gaze at the planter's plug, its cord yellowed and worn with age. Could this thing really still work? I guess there's only one way to find out. I set the planter on my desk, and after a moment's hesitation, fit the plug into an outlet on the wall. There's a spark, which causes me to flinch back and let out a yelp, but to my surprise the light on the planter somehow manages to flicker to life when I press the power button.

I turn my eyes to a shopping tote beside my desk. My hand feels around the inside of the canvas bag until it finds and pulls out a small white envelope with a picture of my mom's favorite flower on it. I give the packet a gentle shake and listen as tiny pansy seeds rattle around inside. Sounds like there's more than enough to fill the planter. I feel around the inside of the tote again, absentmindedly nudging a receipt out of the way, and find a sturdy bag at the bottom. I lift the bag, which is rather heavy for its size, out of the tote and set it down on my desk with a small thud. I've never worked with soil before, and the only gardening I've ever done has been virtual. Since the planter is old, it doesn't have instructions with it anymore, but I'm sure I can figure out what to do. How hard can it be to fill pods with dirt, bury seeds, water them, and turn a light on? And after all, my mom definitely had a green thumb, so hopefully I inherited some gardening skills from her.

Upon tearing open the bag, the earthy scent of potting soil invades my nostrils. It has a note of sweetness to it, which I find strange. I'm reminded of the smell of moist dirt when it rains above ground. I carefully tip the bag over one of the empty pods on the planter until a steady stream of soil spills out. I must have tipped the bag a bit too far, though, since nearly half the contents spill out all over the planter, the desk, and my lap. I let out a sigh. I guess I'll have to vacuum. I try to collect the soil from my lap in my hands, but most of it manages to slip between my legs and onto the floor. Looking down at my last pair of good jeans, they're covered in dirt stains. I should probably wash them, along with the rest of the clothes I've been procrastinating on washing.

I look back at the dusty planter, covered in dirt. This definitely isn't going like I hoped. I wonder what my mom would say about my failed attempt at gardening. Maybe I should leave the gardening to Flower Forest.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I sit hunched over on the bench in the apartment's communal laundry room, my head down and my eyes fixed on my FlexPad. Flower Forest makes gardening seem so easy. How did I manage to mess things up so badly on my own?

The sound of another washing machine starting up catches my attention, and I look up to see a boy around my age nervously scanning the room for a free place to sit among everyone else doing their laundry this weekend. His green eyes and short black hair are familiar to me. I could almost swear I've seen him somewhere before. He pushes up his glasses as his gaze lands on me. His eyes widen, and he quickly looks away. I avert my gaze as my cheeks redden. I didn't mean to stare!

The boy finds a seat on the bench a few yards away from me when someone else leaves with their laundry basket. I try to focus on my game, but my mind keeps coming back to this boy. Really, where have I seen him before? Could I know him from school? Or have I just seen him around the apartment complex?

A pleasant melody ringing out alerts me that the dryer I'm using has completed its cycle. I set my FlexPad down beside me on the bench and stand with my basket to gather and fold my laundry.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Back so soon?" Dad asks when I close the door to our apartment behind me, not looking away from his laptop.

"I guess I got in early enough that there was a free washer," I say, adjusting my grip on the basket under my arm so it doesn't slip. "Are you... working? On a Restday?"

"Yeah," Dad sighs, "I told a client I'd have this ad ready by Firsday, and it's still not done."

"Yikes. Well, don't overwork yourself," I say, turning to my room.

Bing-bong!

"Could you get that?" Dad asks.

Anxiety swells in my gut as I set my laundry basket down and turn back to the door. We aren't expecting anyone, and we didn't order anything that I know of, so I'm a little nervous as I peer through the peephole in the door to see who's standing outside of the apartment. To my surprise, it's the boy I saw in the laundry room! Blood rushes to my face. What's he doing here? I take a deep breath and hold it in before opening the door.

"H-hello?" I ask.

"Hi," the boy answers, his voice deeper and sharper in tone than I expected. He looks around the outside of the apartment, avoiding eye contact with me. "Is... this yours?" he asks begrudgingly as he holds out a FlexPad covered in familiar stickers of Catmium from Stranded and Mr. Buck from Flower Forest.

I stand there speechless, taking the FlexPad in my hands. "Yes! How did you—"

"You left it in the laundry room," the boy says before I can finish my sentence. "Just be more careful next time, alright?"

With that, the boy turns and speeds down the hall.

"Wait!" I call out. "Don't we know each other from somewhere? Maybe school?"

The boy flinches, stopping in his tracks. He turns his head back toward me only slightly. "I don't know," he says, his voice softer now, and nearly cracking. He clears his throat. "I don't know, maybe."

"Well, thanks for bringing my FlexPad back, um...?" I trail off, expecting the boy to give me his name.

He looks down and sighs. "Sam," he finally says, his tone a little softer than before.

"Thanks, Sam," I say. "I didn't even notice it had gone missing—"

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Sam bolting down the hall away from me.

"Hey!" I call out again. "Where are you going?!"

As Sam disappears around the corner, I contemplate the bizarre encounter that just took place. Just who is this guy? And what's his problem?

"Was that a friend from school?" Dad asks as I reenter the apartment.

"Honestly?" I chuckle in disbelief. "I have no idea."