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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1 - AP Calculus BC

Long red hair swaying elegantly in the air with the gentle autumn breeze, as a young lady exited her car and walked down the school's parking lot, towards her classroom. Her passive smile was graced by a lovely shade of red as powerful as her hair, and the soft glitter of her pink eyeshadow made perfect combination with the dark eyeliner that highlighted her vibrant aquamarine eyes so lovely. Her school bag was hanging low down her shoulder, pressed down by a few lousy books, a notebook and some random crayons, making her outfit look a little disheveled, yet in no way less pretty - A pair of comfortable blue jeans and a black Tshirt sporting a grotesque imagery from one of Iron Maiden - The egyptian picture from the Powerslave album which had just come out. She couldn't name it her favourite album by far, but she had a soft spot for the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", which she was humming to herself.

She wondered what kind of curse was she put on to start her last highschool year, on a Monday morning no less, with Double Maths of all things - Not that she considered the subject to be difficult, but more like, particularly boring quite like the teacher himself. It was quite bothersome, but at least it meant having almost 2 whole hours to doodle around in her plant glossary. She loved going in the forest to collect plants, stick them in her glossary, then draw them later, making sure to add medicinal properties and fun trivia - A personal project of hers, encouraged by her wonderful biology teacher - What a lovely old lady that one!

As per usual, she sat down at her lonesome desk and took out both her notebook and her crayons, ready to doodle at her heart's content while the other idiots were struggling to figure out what 2+2 is without using a calculator. One by one, all students gathered in the classroom after the bell rang, and awaited the teacher amidst continuous chatter.

Once the old man arrived, he was followed by a fellow young man that Miss Kitty Kat hasn't seen before - He must be a new student, she thought to herself, admiring him - Billy Hargrove, he introduced himself, coming from California - He looked absolutely beautiful. Eyes light blue like crystals and his hair long and fluffy, a lovely mix between dirty blond and a tint of ginger; His muscular body was toned and tanned, he graced a few pretty freckles on his cheeks; But what intrigued her the most was his outfit - Blue jeans, boots, and a dark red plaid shirt over a black Tshirt printed with the logo of the German rock band Scorpions. A man of culture and wonderful taste in music. She couldn't help but smile, seeing someone like him around. A spark of hope in her heart that she would finally have a friend with whom to chat with all day and hangout, like she sees in movies and comic books... If it wasn't too much to ask, that is.

"Class, this is Billy, as you just heard - He'll be joining on for the remainder of this terminal highschool year. I advise you all to take your classes seriously and get your grades up - The final exams are approaching, and your chances of being accepted into the colleges and universities of your choice depend solely on your performances. I wish you all the best." old teacher Daniel Johnson croaked in a rather weak voice - It was his last year as a teacher before he was retiring. "Billy, for now, you can sit next to Miss Black right there - She is my brightest student, I dearly encourage you to seek her aid if you need help with anything."

"Ergh - Thanks, I guess." Billy swaggered in the seat next to her and let the bag fall on the ground.

"Alright class, I'm not going to lie to you, this year, AP Calculus BC is going to be difficult - Though imperative for those of you who want to pursue careers involving mathematics, such as Engineering, Physics or even the ever-growing Computer Science." the old man coughed a little as the students all groaned in unison. "Let's start with a simple exercise - A remainder, for what we've studied the previous year."

"Wait, it's the first day and we're starting the workload already?!" Billy's expression looked completely crestfallen - He hadn't brought a single school thing. "Ergh - We didn't usually do anything on the first day, back in Cali."

"It's fine - Miss Black can give you a pen and paper." the girl did as instructed, ripping a page from her notebook and giving him a pen. "Alright - Let's see..." the old man opened a book and began writing with chalk on the blackboard.

Differentiate the following function: f(x) = x3sin(x)

Billy sighed to himself - He wasn't mentally prepared to go through this shit. He didn't think maths was necessarily very difficult (mostly bothersome), but he still had some few lapses here and there; He was no genius, but he worked hard to get where he wants - Go back to Cali and study Engineering. That fuckass who calls himself a 'father' would never be able to touch him there ever again. He would be free, and back home, where he belongs.

He looked to his right and realised, to his surprise, that the red head next to him wasn't even bothering with the math problem - Instead, she was drawing some very realistic flowers in her glossary - What was she doing in this hellhole of advanced math, if she liked plants? Wouldn't biology fit her better?

"Billy, are you done with the exercise?" the teacher asked all of a sudden, naming the newcomer.

The poor boy remained blank faced, incredulous - What the hell was wrong with this old bag anyway? Calling him out on his first day - What was that about accommodating someone in a new place? How annoying. "Eergh, not entirely. Halfway there I guess." he looked down at his ripped page, filled with scribbles, doodles and more letters than numbers. Yeah, not even halfway there.

"That's alright - Come to the board and let's do it together. I'll guide you where you're stuck." the teacher urged the boy - Urgh, Billy hated being seen as a nerd, but it was far worse being seen as a dumbass like the vast majority of his peers.

During his hesitation, he noticed a small piece of paper had appeared in front of him - It contained the solution to the exercise. He looked with wide eyes at the unbothered girl who kept doodling her flowers. "Sure, I guess." sticking that paper in his sleeve, Billy grabbed the chalk and started writing down - At the same time as figuring out what he was doing wrong himself. How could he be so inattentive? It really wasn't that hard of a problem - He shouldn't have fumbled so easily. "We, uh - X^3 becomes 3x^2... And sin(x) becomes cos(x)... That means... The derivate of the function is... The derivate of x^3 multiplied with sin(x)... So 3x^2 sin(x)... and we add it to the original x^3 multiplied to the derivate of sin(x)... So x^3 cos(x)..." and Billy wrote the end result, the derivate of the original function.

f′(x) = 3x2sin(x) + x3cos(x)

"Very good, Billy, nicely done! You've got a promising future ahead." the teacher's praise surprised the student, even making him feel rather bashful. He never did have a fatherly figure to praise him - This was a weirdly nice change, though one he wasn't sure he could easily accept it.

"... Thanks." he muttered, digging his hands in his pockets, yet holding tightly onto that slip of paper. The praise was undeserved - He cheated shamelessly.

"What do you want to pursue in the future, Billy?" the ever existing question... And his ever shameful answer.

"Engineering... I guess." he found himself answering truthfully.

"It's a well sought-after career these days - I'm sure you'll have a bright future ahead of you, young man!" Billy couldn't look at the teacher anymore; He had a weak smile on his face before swaggering back to his desk and slumping down, waiting for the break like crazy.

Time passed by so slowly watching those idiots fumble around, unable to do simple calculus; How did they end up in this class was a mystery for him; Still, the long awaited lunch break came by after 2 very long hours of torture and boredom; The red head packed up her things and swung the bag over her shoulder, exiting the class like an invisible phantasm, unnoticed by any.

Blinking, Billy crumpled up that paper and threw it in his bag, dragging it along him and throwing the pen in his pocket, trailing for the girl - There was no trace of beautiful carmine hair anywhere, and he was just standing there, lost and standing in the middle of the corridor. It wasn't long before a bunch of guys and girls started flocking around him begging for the attention of the next hotshot of the school, dragging him towards the lunch cafeteria.

He had a pretty okay meal, and he was glad he was noticed so quickly - He had to make a quick reputation as the cool guy; The alpha male around the campus - Just as his father would want. Still, the constant smothering from his colleagues wasn't too bad - He was shown around the place and introduced to people and told what he had to know about the place - Even the hazing ritual, come in the form of drinking beer from a keg at Tina's Halloween party. It was the perfect opportunity for him to affirm himself as the #1 guy in Hawkins.

Just as the break was almost over, he caught a glimpse of the peculiar red haired beauty sitting at the foot of a large oak tree and eating lunch from a wooden box... With chopsticks? They weren't even regular chopsticks, they were pink. Shaking off the people, he walked in front of the girl, his towering shadow obstructing the warm sunlight.

"Hello, Billy." her voice was soft and calm, so serene that it almost sounded like a siren speaking to him. "How do you like the place? Have those guys presented you a nice first impression?" she took a small piece of a dumpling with those chopsticks and delicately brought it up to her mouth. "Oh, how rude of me - I am Katrina - You can call me Kat for short." she introduced herself with a small nod of her head. "Have you eaten lunch? I can share with you if you want." she patted the spot next to her.

"Ergh..." he was a little overwhelmed with how overly nice and polite she was. "Kat - Okay. Yeah, it's an okay place, but it can't compare to Cali. I miss the waves and the sun." he admitted, plopping down next to her. "What's cookin', good lookin' ?" he offered a charming smile, getting closer to her; But his dazzling self was successfully dismissed by the girl.

"These are beef dumplings, these are spring rolls, and this is some fried chicken with rice." she turned towards him and took a bit of rice and chicken in her chopsticks, raising them up to his mouth. "Open up." although hesitant, Billy opened his mouth to eat the bite given to him.

His eyes widened a little, and he started chewing more vigorously. "That's good - Did your mum make this?"

"I did." she smiled, quickly taking half a spring roll and offering it to the boy to savour. "What about this - Is it to your liking?"

"You're a very good cook; Mum never made these things - Where'd you get the recipes?" he asked, silently begging for more; Kat's cooking was flawless, compared to what his biological mum, foster mum and the cafeteria food he's had before.

"My dad said these were grandma's recipes from back home. She would always pack up lunches for him and grandpa. They were both intellectuals, and she believed that a good nutritious meal would help them with their work and studies." Kat smiled, giving him a taste of the beef dumpling.

"I don't know about that, but I can tell you, this is very good." he received one more bite. "At least one good thing when you're stuck in this dumpster fire."

"You don't like it here much, I take?" the girl asked, not even once erasing that serene smile from her face.

"Hate it." he grumped, slumping his back against the tree. "I miss my Cali. I want to feel the hot sand beneath my feet, and have the cool waves break against me. I want the sun to scorch my skin, and play the guitar by the camp fire, with the wind messing up my hair." he sighed, defeated, before turning his head to look at her - She was smiling so beautifully, and her eyes were sparkling with interest.

"That sounds like a reverie, Billy! I would love to experience that some day also! No wonder you loved home so much." she hummed softly. "Although, I think I know what to say that would make you tolerate this place a little." he huffed, as if he wasn't believing her, yet still urged her to go on. "The air is fresh, the breeze is soothing on your skin, and the smell of the evergreen forest, especially when it rains, is so calming. Strolling around offers you peace of mind, and the landscape is magnifying. You can play rock ballads by the camp fire and harmonise with the choir of crickets, toads and nightingales. You can swim in the lake, or play in the ice-cold river. You can hear the rusty leaves scrunch under your boots in autumn, or the snow in winter. And the flowers - Oh, Billy, you should see how many gorgeous flowers and butterflies appear in Spring! The whole place is filled with so many vibrant colours! It's like paradise!"

The boy looked down at her; The girl was twinkling, emanating so much love and beauty, she was radiant like the morning sun. Not even once had he met anyone as positive and... Absent, in a way. It was like she's never met any bad thing in the world, and she was still living in a dreamy bubble. He... He felt absolutely stupefied to see someone that wasn't completely jaded, like he and everyone around him was. For some very odd reason he felt... A faint sense of protection over her innocence and kindness. "...Sure, doll, whatever you say." his silence and dismissive nature didn't seem to influence her smile at all. "I'll let you show me that."

"I would be honoured to!" and he thought she couldn't twinkle even brighter than she already was.

"Right." he cleared his throat. "What about popularity? What's a guy gotta do around to get the spotlight?"

"I don't think I'm the right person to ask, Billy, forgive me." she offered a sympathetic smile.

"Whadya mean, girly? You must be the most popular babe around!" he leaned in closer, bumping his shoulder into her own.

"Oh no, hardly! My only friend is Nancy Wheeler, but we don't really share classes. We hardly see each other these days. She's very sweet though! And incredibly beautiful - I think she's the prettiest girl I've ever met - And she's very smart too!" a girl hyping up another girl? That's a new one. "Oh, Barbie was also very sweet with me, but unfortunately, she disappeared last year. Very tragic incident. It's a shame, they never found her body."

"You're one weird girl, doll." he couldn't help but chuckle leisurely, and worry-free. "A'ight, listen; Gimme some pointers, and I'm taking you out for a milkshake at the drive cinema."

"Really?! You'd do that?!" the boy offered a dazzling smirk, and nodded his hair, those pretty locks getting even messier. "Oh, I can't wait! This Friday is a horror-movie marathon, because it's Friday the 13th, y'know?! They're going to show Friday the 13th, and Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and the new Nightmare on Elm Street! I heard they have discounts for combo deals - Coke, milkshakes, pizza, burgers with fries and popcorn! It's gonna be so fun!" she clapped her hands together full excitement, though her voice remained as soft and lovely as before. What a quirky girl. No wonder she wasn't popular - Few people wanted to stray away from the popular norm; Everything else was catalogued as freaks, nerds, geeks and outcasts. Shame; He really liked her vibe. She was far above the others.

"Okay, doll, okay, we can do that." he chuckled, waving his hand dismissively, before placing his arm over her shoulder. "Now, gimme some tips and I've gotchu."

"I think I've got an idea." with a vixen-like mischievous smile, Katrina quickly ate the last bit of her meal, neatly packed it back before throwing it in her bag; She hopped up to her feet and pulled the surfer up with shocking strength, and dragged him to the large gym where some guys were playing basketball. "You see that shirtless guy with fluffy hair? His name is Steve Harrington. At this moment, he's the king of the highschool. He is the most popular kid here, he has good grades, is the leader of our basketball team, and is said to be a candidate for one of our scholarships." she cleared her throat. "Also, he is a massive douchebag. He humiliated my friend, Nancy - They were dating last year, but got angry she wouldn't make love to him, so he got his groupie to bully her - They even wrote mean things on the cinema front, can you believe that? What ever happened to decent people." she rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I would do anything to see this guy face the same humiliation he gave others."

"Oh, yeah? What a fuck ass." he scoffed, leaning forward. "Yeah, he looks like a cunt." he smirked in triumph. "King Steve is going down."

"Thank goodness!" she chimed in happily. "You know - I heard he even cheated on Nancy with many other girls. He's awful!" she approached him to gossip in a hushed tone. "But I'll tell you one thing - None of his groupies are loyal to him - He's a little bitch with fame, but if you take that away, he'll have nothing and no one." she delicately placed her hands on his face, tilting it to an angle before showing him another guy and a cheerleader. "See those two? They are Tommy and Tina, the current IT couple. Tina is the lead cheerleader, the most wanted girl around, and super rich - All the best parties are held at her house. And Tommy is super buff and works out publicly, so everyone surrounds him to gawk at his physique." he loved this kind of gossip - Girly earned that movie date, and more. "If you win Tommy over, you win the whole school; And it's really easy - You already work out, so he'll respect that. All you have to do is keep good grades, join the basketball team and play shirtless, win a few matches - And most of all, with the Keg King title at Tina's Halloween party." she looked at him with a wide grin. "If anyone can do it, it's you." she continued enthusiastically. "And you know who is the current Keg King?"

"That pussy Harrington, huh?" she nodded affirmatively.

"Well, babe, prepare for the fall of a monarchy, because I'm a usurper - And I look far better with a crown on my head, and a pretty girl by my side." he brought her in a side hug, smirking down at her; She didn't seem to react in any way, either positive or negative - She was as passive and serene as always. Was she... Deflecting his flirting? Or completely immune? Could it be that all the complimenting of Nancy meant she was into pretty girlies like her? "Say, dollface, you've got a boyfriend?" she shook her head. "How about a girlfriend?" she shook her head again. "Not interested? School above all? Or strict parents?"

Kat simply shrugged her shoulders. "Nobody asked me before." that perfectly simple and serene answer kinda derailed him. There was no way a girl like her didn't have guys flocking around her constantly, fighting for her attention.

"Nah, no way, I don't believe you." she nodded her head, as if to confirm again. "Really?!" she nodded again.

"I recommend you don't hang around me too often - Your reputation is going to plummet if people see you around freaky 'Kommie Kat'." she advised, without the least bit of sadness in her voice.

"... Freaky Kommie Kat? The hell is that?" he frowned, leaning back, completely lost.

"I am a foreigner. My dad was Chinese, my mum was Russian - Both are communist countries." she explained non-chalantly. "I moved in Hawkins six years ago, you see - And when highschool started, I tasted a bit of popularity for myself - How old was I... 13-14 or something. Anyway - Steve was my deskmate in History, and I let him cheat off of me at a test, so he could get A like me. We became friend, and he introduced me to Nancy afterwards - We were together in literature." she smiled sardonically. "Steve asked me on a date soon after, and I told him I would be more comfortable if we were just friends, because I thought I was too young to date, you know? It was a new experience in a new place - I wanted to meet new people and discover myself." she chuckled emptily. "And, you see, Steve took that like a rejection - He got very angry and pushed me into the locker - Said I would regret saying no to him. I told him - What's so bad about being friends? And he says friends are for losers." what a jerk, Billy thought to himself, imagining an even younger and smaller version of the girl before him, being slammed into the locker like that. It made his skin crawl, remembering the way his father would slam his mum into the walls. "It's been years, and he still hasn't gotten over that - What Steve says is law; And when Steve said I was 'Freaky Kommie Kat', I was just that, to just about everyone in the school, otherwise, they'd get bullied until they stopped interacting with me."

"All of them, except that Nancy girl?" her smile became happier at the mention of her friend.

"Yes, she's very lovely, don't you think? If I see her around, I'll introduce you two!" she was twinkling again. "I think she hangs around Jonathan Byers now; He's pretty introverted, but not a bad person."

"A'ight, all the more reason to teach that little punk a lesson not to mess with my doll." he slapped his thighs before getting up. "Well, thanks for the help, babe; You more than earned that movie date." he helped her get up. "I'll go enroll in the team - See you tomorrow in Physics." surprisingly for the both of them, he kissed her cheek before leaving the gym.

There were a myriad of things going through their minds - Why did he do that, Billy asked to himself; He didn't want to date, he just wanted to have fun and get the hell over this shit terminal highschool year; He wanted to be Keg King Billy, and win over everyone, and then run the hell back to Cali and study Engineering... So why was he so attracted to this pretty girl? Was it because she helped him in freaking Math? Or because she fed him such fantastic food? Or because she was so kind with him? He hasn't had anyone so nice to him, without him offering something back in some way; It was always about his good-looks and charm, granted, he worked hard to look the way he does, and he was more than happy with what he's done; He was pretty sure his weights weight more than Kat - He could exercise with her instead. Oh, no, those were such weird thoughts in his head - Though he couldn't help but wonder, if her cheek was so soft, and he was encaptured by her sweet perfume so much - How would her lips taste? What lip gloss is she using? Was it cherry? He dearly wanted to know - Many, many times over.

Kat, however, was rooted on the spot, blushing a little - She's never had a boy kiss her like that before, and Billy was so handsome, charming and fun! He was so intriguing, and she wanted to spend more time with him - Was he giving her a chance? Did he want to be her friend? Hopefully, he wouldn't cast her aside after he's gotten his popularity crown, that would be very sad. Almost as sad as Nancy taking Steve's side and still dating him, in spite of how much of a jerk he can be. Not that it was her problem at all, she didn't want to destroy their relationship, but she also didn't like seeing Nancy so upset.

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦

The next day went like any other day for Kat, with the exception that Billy sat next to her in Physics. This time, he had a single notebook and a pen - He knew Kat would be carrying the textbook for the both of them anyway, and he didn't want to bother too much; He would end up forgetting what class he has in which day regardless, that's how much he cares. Unfortunately, just like the previous day, they started with the more difficult stuff right away, and once again, the students groaned in exasperation. No one wanted to deal with those difficult problems - And that one unlucky loser who would be forced to step in front of the class and humiliate themselves by being unable to solve that idiocy.

Physics class was an absolute drag, more so than math, if you could believe it. The old man's croaky voice droned on about Newton's laws of motion, and the chalk squeaked painfully on the blackboard. Billy sat at his desk, trying his best to stay awake. His mind wandered back to the beach in California, the waves, the sun, the freedom. He couldn't understand how anyone could stay awake during these classes. Still, he was well aware, Physics was one of the core classes he needed to ace, to be properly prepared for University. How annoying.

Next to him, Kat was doodling away in her notebook again, her red hair forming a curtain around her face as she sketched what looked like a complex diagram of some plant. Her aquamarine eyes flicked up to the teacher every now and then, but it was clear she wasn't really paying attention. Billy sighed, shifting in his seat, and his eyes caught on a small piece of paper that had been nudged his way. Kat's handwriting was neat and small, each letter perfectly formed into a small yet adorable message addressed his way.

< Bored c: ? >it read, a tiny smiley face next to the question.

Billy smirked, glancing at her. She didn’t look up, her attention seemingly focused on her drawing. He scribbled back a quick reply and slid the paper back to her. < You have no idea. How do you stay awake in this place? >

Kat's eyes flickered to the note, and a soft, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. She quickly wrote something down and nudged the paper back. < Pretty flowers and daydreams. What about you? >

Billy leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch as he took the note and wrote back. < Thinking about Cali. The beach. The waves. I'd be out surfing now. >

Kat's eyebrows rose in curiosity as she read his response. She shook her head subtly, and Billy noticed the slight sparkle of interest in her eyes as she wrote her reply. < Surfing looked amazing on TV! I want to hear all about it! >

He chuckled softly, enjoying this small rebellion against the boredom of the class. He scribbled back quickly. < Imagine this: hot sand under your feet, cool waves crashing over you, and the sun setting on the horizon. >

Kat’s eyes shone with excitement as she read his words. She leaned a bit closer to him, the edge of her notebook brushing against his arm as she wrote back. < That sounds like paradise. Take me there someday? >

Billy felt a weird twist in his chest at her words. He hadn’t expected her to be so open, so genuinely interested. It was... Nice. He scratched out a quick reply, his usual confident smirk softening into something a bit more genuine. Why did he actually feel something when interacting to this complete stranger? This wasn't like him, not at all. He was the playboy, the casanova, he could have anything and everything he wants... So why...? < Maybe I will, doll. Just gotta get through this hellhole first. >

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Students hurried to pack their things and leave, but Billy and Kat lingered a moment longer, exchanging one last glance before standing up. "Hey, dollface, I've got basket practice after lunch. Wanna watch me destroy King Steve?" he hung back by her side, picking her bag and placing it over his shoulder.

"Oh, I would love to! Only - Forgive me, I have never watched a basketball match before, and I have no idea what the game even is about, except an orange ball that you have to throw through a hoop." she chuckled softly. "Thank you for holding my bag, Billy, but you really needn't!"

The boy simply flashed a smirk, guiding her out by the very same tree the previous day. "Got any more of that super delish food?"

Kat's smile widened into a grin as she buried her hands in the bag, revealing a small blanket and two lunch boxes. "I had hoped you wouldn't stop wanting to see me overnight, so I prepared lunch for you also - And brought a fork for you, of course. I can't expect King Billy to eat with pink chopsticks painted with tons of flowers." she chuckled, patting the spot next to her.

For some reason, Billy's heart sunk; Buried underneath that gorgeous, hopeful smile of hers, a deep loneliness was revealed mixed with such a sweet voice. Why did he care so much? Was it because she tried so hard to be kind to him? Although, for Billy, everything she was doing seemed natural; He felt as though everything she was doing came so naturally to her - Her kindness was natural. And he felt like a moth gravitating around the flame.

"Y'think I'm that much of a brain dead sheep, that I'd stop hanging around a pretty girl 'cause dumbass Harrington set the trend?" he slumped down next to her, digging in his fantastic lunch. "Harrington has no clue what he's been missing on these years - If not your pretty face, this damn food would keep a man from walking away." this comment seemed to make the red haired girl hide her mouth with her sleeve, stifling a very amused chuckle.

"You are being very kind to me, Billy, Thank you." she nodded her head bashfully. "I just hope you won't come to regret it." the young man threw her a shady look and scoffed.

"Are you comparing yourself to those stinky cows, KitKat?" the girl couldn't help but gasp and start laughing - For once, the nickname was so cute - She's never had anyone use a nickname with her! And, for second - Did Billy just call their classmates 'Stinky Cows'?

"Did you just call our classmates -- Stinky cows?!" even just repeating that made the girl laugh harder.

Billy muttered, digging into the food. “Most of the girls in Hawkins are so dull. All they care about is gossip and who’s dating who. No one has any real interests." he continued. "And yes, they stink of very bad cheap perfume." he leaned a little to the side, close to her neck. "Yours is very nice and feminine."

"Oh, thank you, I'm glad you liked it! I worked two years to buy it! I found it on sale, so I managed to get two bottles." two years of hard work to get a proper perfume, and all those trust fund bitches and silver spoon rich fucks can't even find a proper fashion sense. "And - Yeah, I guess our classmates can be annoying and... Pretty plain! But they aren't all that bad - I think! I mean, at least this is the last year we'll see them, right?"

Billy smirked, taking a bite of a dumpling. “Well, it’s true. And don’t even get me started on the guys. Dumb as bricks, most of them. The highlight of their day is probably belching the alphabet or winning a pissing contest."

Kat giggled, shaking her head. “You’re awful, Billy. But yeah, I get what you mean. Sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in this small-town bubble and no one wants to break out of it.” she looked up at the bright sky. "I hope to travel the world some day. It's my biggest dream."

Big dreams for the future, from a little person like them - But what can a man do but dream of a better future built if their own hands, with blood, sweat and tears? "That's a nice dream to have." he nodded to himself. "Keep on dreaming, KitKat."

"What about you, Billy? What's your big dream." what a wonderful question with no real answer.

"No clue." Billy found himself spewing. "Haven't thought that far yet. For now, my only dream is to get that damn scholarship, move back to Cali and get my fucking degree. If I get that far, I'll think of something for the future." he grumbled under his breath. "I just wanna get the fuck out of this god forsaken place."

"You really hate this place that much?" her voice became sympathetic and filled with compassion.

"Bullshit city, yeah." he huffed, stuffing himself with more food. "But not only."

"I understand what you're trying to say." the girl smiled softly. "If you need anything, I'm here for you. Until then - I'll try to help make this year more bearable for you. How's that sound?"

Billy looked right into her eyes; His crystal eyes peered in the depths of her soul, piercing aggressively - Yet he was met with resistance coming from a veil of genuine care and worry for him. What a fool this girl was. Girls like her always end up bad - Not because they do anything wrong, but because the world fails them. Billy picked her chin, leaning in closer to her face. "Don't change who you are, dollface." he said, before letting go and getting up to her feet. "Now come, I'll delight your eyes during practice. Be a nice girl and cheer for me, will ya?"

"If you wouldn't be embarrassed by me being there, then I would love to!" she looked cute - As cute as a little kitten would look, nestled in large blankets.

Billy nodded his head at her to pack everything and get up; They headed towards the gym, where they went separate ways. Kat took a seat in the bleachers, her eyes scanning the court as the players warmed up, with Billy there in the lead. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor and the thud of basketballs being dribbled filled the air. Billy and a few of his teammates were tossing the ball back and forth as they waited for practice to officially begin. He caught sight of Katrina in the stands, a confident smirk spreading across his face. He had planned to show off a bit, and he was determined to make a memorable impression.

When the whistle blew and practice started in earnest, Billy kicked into show-off mode, playing with swagger, his movements sharp and fluid. He dribbled, passed, and shot with impressive precision, each move showcasing his athletic prowess. Kat had no idea what she was watching, but seeing Billy playing so passionately made her smile brightly.

As the game progressed, Billy’s shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his well-defined muscles. He could feel Kat’s gaze on him, and he made sure to put on a show. With each dunk and fast break, he glanced over to see her reaction, enjoying the way her eyes followed his every move. He could almost feel her enthusiasm and see those sparkling gems, even though she was sitting still and had no clue what she was watching.

At one point, Billy executed a fantastic slam dunk, hanging from the rim for a moment before landing gracefully on his feet. He looked over at Katrina, catching her wide-eyed, slightly awestruck expression. He couldn’t help but grin, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief seeing her clap with such child-like glee.

During a brief break, Billy trotted over to the sidelines, his shirt discarded and his chest glistening with sweat dripping down his Adonis muscles. He wiped his face with a towel, his confident demeanor never wavering; He casually leaned against the bleachers where she was seated, his body language radiating both charm and casual arrogance.

“Hey, gorgeous. How’s the show so far? Living up to standards?” his hands were balled in fists against his hips, making sure his body was perfectly flexed. If even his body that had the appeal of a Greek God statue by Michelangelo couldn't make her at least blush a little, than he was sure, this girl was a lost cause.

Much to his pride and joy, however, he saw the girl smiling at him - And her cheeks were just a hue pink, like two beautiful peonies. Success. "I think you were fantastic! You totally threw Steve in your shadow!" she admitted, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide her admiration.

Billy’s grin widened, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Figured I’d give you a little private show.” he gave her a playful wink, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Is that so?” Katrina replied, her tone light and teasing. “And here I thought you were just a show-off.”

Billy chuckled, his eyes lingering on her pretty face and that glowing smile of hers. “Maybe a little.” he straightened up, his confidence unwavering.

"Then are we leaving the private show for some other time?" the girl's mischievous comment was hiding a most teasing innuendo that wasn't lost on the boy - In fact, Billy was quite shocked to see her completely natural and serene flirting with him. Did she even know she was flirting, or did she think it was purely friendly teasing?

"For you? Any time, any day, sweet cheeks." with a wink, Billy jogged back to continue the second half of their match and completely piss on Harrington and his week game. He was feeling even more energetic thanks to the pretty girl's evident appreciation of his skills - And physique, of course. The way he played with effortless skill and charisma was meant to impress her, and he could tell that he was flawlessly succeeding.

By the end of practice, Billy’s teammates were buzzing with excitement, their high-fives and cheers a testament to the intensity of the session. He returned over to Katrina, his chest still bare and glistening with sweat, and plopped down beside her. "Want a hug, doll?" he couldn't help but grin in amusement hearing her soft squeak and seeing her jump away from him.

"Take a shower first, and then we'll talk about a hug!" she was giggling all giddy and cute.

Billy’s eyes softened with a touch of vulnerability, a rare moment of sincerity amidst his usual bravado. “Wanna join? All hot and steamy.”

"Sorry - Too much testosterone and magical wands fighting." she giggled jokingly. "I'm more of a hopelessly romantic kinda girl. Not quite the norm these days, huh?" yes, of course she would be that kinda girl. A sweet girl who daydreams of an endless happy love story, of a Prince Charming carrying her around like a Princess. That type of perfect girl, Daddy's sweet little angel, who should never hang around fucked up and broken bad boys like him.

But didn't all guys want the good girl to go bad just for them? "I'll keep that in mind while I humiliate Harrington with my magic wand." they were such dorks.

Classes pass by fast, basketball practice was going smoothly, and Billy was gaining traction; His popularity was up there, his grades were up, and finally, his date night with Princess KitKat was approach. He had to get all done up and looking as charming as ever, his Cali magic couldn't fail him. He could get bitches all he wanted, that was easy - But he promised her a nice date, and hopefully, he wasn't too broken and screwed up to provide at least this little. Lord knows she deserved something nice in that lonely life of hers.

Next Chapter >

#Heaven's on fire #stranger things #stranger things x oc #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x oc

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hccn-overseer · 1 year ago

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Issue 11, 6/28/2023 - The Overseer

This week’s news is once again accompanied by a PDF version of your latest news brought to us once again by the lovely Cheer! Pick it up right here for your viewing pleasure!

The Masquerade!

By Lydia

[Content Warning: Mask Imagery]

[Photographer: Erik Oqvist]

All Hermit Citizens were cordially invited to attend the first formal social event of the year, The Masquerade, hosted by The Garden Club. Depending on the location of each participant, this black-tie event began on either the 23rd or 24th of June, with the chosen venue being The Astral Library in The Nether. The event is still currently taking place and will do so for the remainder of the week, until the 29th or 30th of June, depending on each participant’s time zone. The attendance at The Masquerade rose quickly, with each guest arriving for a night of misdirection, intrigue, celebration, and revelry. Each Citizen seized the chance to show off the incredibly detailed designs of new costumes that many had never debuted before, with each design created by the hands of our exuberant participants.

The Astral Library is a Nether Hub built by Tango Tek, known often for his unsurpassed technical skill. Here, he demonstrates his abilities not only as a diligent engineer but an aesthetically well-versed builder, though he may not speak of it often. With a great number of floors and bookshelves lining the walls and a clear tone of fantasy-centered academic whimsy, The Nether Hub is an ideal choice for an event with a long history of high-society traditions. Sections of The Astral Library used for The Masquerade were divided into the North Gate, the East Gate, the South Gate, the West Gate, the Giant Warped Fungi, and the Purpur Pavillion. The North Gate served as a dimmed area for those sensitive to light, adorned with two misaligned stairs. The East Gate, marked by red stained glass, held a photography booth with amethyst buds to provide an ideal backdrop for Citizens to have their picture taken. The South Gate, marked with lime-stained glass, held the majority of food, as well as a bubbling lava pool for those who needed to stay warm. The West Gate, marked by yellow stained glass, held balconies, open floors, and jukeboxes for those who wished to share their dance moves. The center of the Astral Library held a twisted Giant Warped Fungi and two small pools. Finally, the Purpur Pavillion released its frozen stream to provide an excellent scenic view of the empty void.

The event featured high-end catering provided by many of the Citizen Shop owners who have perfected their culinary skills long before this grand task, one of them being Azelea, the owner of The Lush Cave. These included but weren’t limited to brownies, scones, flan, cupcakes, finger sandwiches, cheese boards, veggie platters, coffee, tea, fruit juices, and water. The event planning team constructed the pools around The Astral Library to accommodate Citizens who are aquatic dwellers, with specifications made for both saltwater and freshwater. Another potential candidate for The Masquerade was either Cub’s Museum or Cleo’s Museum, but neither was chosen due to the heavy preference by most participants for The Astral Library and for the accommodation hosting a party with more attendees than the museums are capable of holding.

While our modern Masquerade centers upon the current trends of fashion, music, and dance, it is known to everyone that Masquerades have a long and storied history. Masquerades are believed to have begun sometime during the Middle Ages as part of a set of Pagan practices, with this one specifically called “Carnival,” involving abbots and bishops cross-dressing and performing a mock Mass accompanied by dancing. The word “carnival” is derived from “carne,” meaning “meat,” denoting the celebration of pleasures related to the subject, both literally and metaphorically. After the ban on Carnival took place during the Protestant Reformation, a new form of Masquerades came to light in the Feast of Fools, a phenomenon that took place during several days leading up to Ash Wednesday, as it implied that for the next several weeks, those who were members of the Catholic religion would avoid any pleasures related to the “Carne” itself.

Masquerades from the Parisian Carnival are often the most sought-after versions in terms of imagery often seen in popular culture today, with references to Parisian theaters, dance halls, masked balls, and operas. Along with the Parisian Masquerades came the introduction of the lithographic process. The cost of printing more newspapers sank significantly due to the rotary press allowing the newspaper companies to print more papers with advertisements of this new invention. Masquerades also took place during the Revolution of 1848 in France, after having been banned during the French Revolution during the previous century, having been present during these various eras and further solidifying the traits of rejecting social hierarchies for its duration and dressing in striking clothing.

With the Hermit Citizen version of the Masquerade having been planned since April 24th, many participants had been creating their Citizen’s costumes and masquerade masks and sharing them in the artistic areas of the Servers before the event took place. These costumes, designed with innovative artistic visions, included many variations upon the classic masquerade masks made in the style of the Venetian Carnival masks, as well as an abundant collection of self-designed gowns, suits, and combinations of both. Participants sent their Citizens strutting down the famed Red Carpet during The Masquerade to demonstrate their handiwork. For those Citizens who are still searching for a hand-made Masquerade costume, two of the Citizen Shops, Raidne’s Tailor Shop and Spider & Co. Clothing Store, are more than ready to assist any patrons of fashion design. An article written by Nes further covers the many outfits worn by your fellow Hermit Citizens.

Our Head of Staff, Roo, debuted their costume first on the Red Carpet, kicking off the event for the rest of the Hermit Citizen Hub. Z, Jax and Ash, Alistair, Phantom Irene, Cirrus, City, Golden, Winter, Nerd, KP, Erina, and Flayre followed. The rest of the attending Hermit Citizens also gracefully debuted the craftsmanship of their respective Server Participants, eagerly searching for their companions of the past few months. The Masquerade provided the perfect opportunity for new Citizens to acclimate themselves to the Server Community, and for older Citizens to meet new friends.

Some who had met for the first time had not always been far from each other and took on the chance to familiarize themselves with former unknown neighbors as well as fellow members of their species. Z and KP had previously both lived in Chromia, but had not met until the event had begun. KP had recognized Z’s artistic talent and penchant for baking sweets. Emi and Cirrus, who had both visited The Birdhouse but had not crossed paths until The Masquerade, waltzed together in the first two-person dance of the event. Faces that had been hidden from the view of the Server for an extended period also made appearances at the soiree in their most sophisticated manners. Terra decided to create an illusion and use her magic to bring a familiar into being, earning her a small red dragon companion named Ares as her newfound pet. During the party, Caspian also provided on-the-move catering, offering drinks and sandwiches to the partygoers. We are certain all of the attendees appreciate your help, Caspian!

Some of the guests came intending to stir up the other attendees, such as Victor the Spider, who seized the opportunity to lightly scare two other guests, Z and Terra, shortly after arriving. He did, however, attempt to make nice afterwards with the group and with other guests, including Amethy and Twist. A mysterious Hummingbird Avian also attended and attempted to seduce Raven, much to the chagrin of her partner, Pen. On a humorous note, both the Hummingbird and Raven were created by the same Hermit Citizen Hub participant, allowing her to show off her mischievous side.

A night of revelry had simply become a temporary stage for The Sculkers and the continuation of their attempts to work through the troubles with The Watchers. While Ender welcomed Avid by bringing him to The Masquerade, Avid’s apprehensiveness was not unwarranted as many of the Sculkers are still reluctant to forgive him after he had caused an immense catastrophe, including mutilation and psychological trauma to the Sculkers over the past month before The Masquerade, and his attempt at redemption in their eyes. Whether he will be able to make amends in the future remains to be unseen, but he and Ender remain stalwart in their efforts to do so.

The more secluded corner of the Purpur Pavilion was used for tarot readings, with Cara demonstrating for a small group, inadvertently providing some much-needed emotional support for Pen. Speaking of sentimentality, Pen took a great step in their relationship with Raven, offering a promise ring to her to declare their undying devotion. The Purpur Pavilion also proved to be an excellent getaway spot for the romantic duos of the party, initially beginning as a place for anyone seeking a bit of privacy to becoming the perfect place to express their deepest affection for their romantic partners away from potentially prying eyes.

The Masquerade has become an elaborate backdrop for many to show off the current developments of their Hermit Citizens, and to capture in this moment their states of mind in the middle of many, many character arcs. The Overseer staff has greatly enjoyed being privy to such an enthralling first social gathering for the entire community. The staff hopes that all of our fellow Hermit Citizens have a wonderful time throughout the rest of the week, and wishes the best of luck to everyone in creating future events!

Now onto other news under the cut!

Weekly Weather Report

By Nes

Temperature will be presented in Celsius format, sorry Americans!

Thursday - Light rain is expected to last throughout the day with a high of 21. Wind should be moderate, and the night sky should be prime for stargazing with a lovely look at the moon which is in a waxing phase! Be sure to bring a rain jacket if you’re doing work outside.

Friday - The rain continues into early morning before clearing up into cloudy skies in the afternoon, with a high of 18. Tonight, the sky will be obstructed by clouds, making it difficult to see stars and the moon. There should be no issues with outdoor activity today!

Saturday - Beginning the day with a bit of dew and fog that will clear up by noon and let way to clear skies, there is a dry atmosphere with a high of 20. The sky will remain clear into the evening and the stars are expected to be quite bright. Due to the rather dry weather, it’s suggested you hydrate!

Sunday - Clear skies continue into Sunday and will last all day with a high of 28. Winds will return, giving a moderate breeze and there is a chance of summer showers in the afternoon as clouds move in to cover the sky. The night sky will be cloudy. It is a decent day to do work outside, just be careful of those showers!

Monday - Cloudy skies with high winds and a high of 16 are expected to last throughout the day, and the chances of the sun or moon peaking through the thick clouds is low. Not ideal building conditions, make sure to strap down anything lightweight to be safe!

Tuesday - Cloudy skies and high winds continue with a high of 18, it is likely this will develop into a category 2 hurricane by the evening. The Overseer advises you not to go outside, strap down any valuables, bring animals inside, ensure you have enough food and water in case power goes out, and stay safe!

Wednesday - Light rains will carry over to Wednesday before clearing up in the mid morning and revealing clear skies with a high of 21. The moon is expected to be visible in the evening and rather large. Not a terrible day to clean up any mess the hurricane made.

Throwback #2 Electric Boogaloo

By Ilea

Welcome back to the little trivia corner once again. I am once again Il and I am here to talk about the amazing trivia in the world of Hermits and Crafting. This time a story I have is about ecological horror, plans gone wrong and just the general story of the Goopy Geyser.

On the server, there is an amazing area called the Donut. It can be seen from spawn, firstly, and was meant to be Mumbo’s base, then a shopping district, but now, it is the Empires Christmas area. However, when it was meant to be the shopping district, the specific place where all the shops were meant to be was a huge cave. We all know and love Joe Hills, and this story revolves around him just wanting to make a bubble elevator.

The cave was a lush cave, which meant that tropical fish would spawn in it, and that the bubble elevator made for the convenience of Hermits started spitting out massive amounts of tropical fish. Naturally, Joe made an attraction out of it and for some time, the nature in the donut was healing.

Sadly, it was taken from us with the update, but if you ever wish to experience the true nature noises, I could not recommend this video more.

Goopy Geyser, you will be missed and hopefully remembered by the random coordinate fishes that are found in weird places on the server to this day.

Astrology Corner

By Corundumcat

Have you been feeling without guidance? Do you look at your birthday and look up your star sign and wonder, “Have I eaten enough cake this week?” “Will I be cake-assigned this week?” Don’t worry, here at The Overseer, we can help you.*

Aries: a cake made up of cheese ( sorry to folk who are lactose intolerant)

Taurus: lemon drizzle cake

Gemini: ice cream cake

Cancer: blackforest cake

Leo: lane cake

Virgo: chocolate crepe cake

Libra: cinnamon mocha cake

Scorpio: cherry blossom and strawberry mousse

Sagittarius: chocolate orange cake

Capricorn: Overseer cake

Aquarius: matcha cake

Pisces: brownie cake

All star signs: Don’t worry, eat cake.

*Ignore how blatantly specific these are. Nothing bad will happen to you.

Lost and Found

By Lydia

All of the following items have been brought to The Overseer staff’s office for safekeeping until they are claimed. If you recognize one of these items as yours, please visit us to receive your items, or contact us at [email protected]. Thank you! *Not a real email address.

Item 1: Several Stray Cats These cats include two Tabby cats, one Maine Coon, three Norwegian Forest cats, and one Turkish Angora. All of these cats are being well-cared for by our staff members who have an affinity for these creatures, which is the majority of those working here at The Overseer. If any of these cats are yours, please be careful when attempting to pry them out of the hands of our staff members. While the cats may not bite, the staff members may do so, as they have grown very attached to them.

Item 2: A dark magenta and gold Battle Hammer This battle hammer is almost as tall as the average Player and features an ornate design on its head plated in gold. The handle, in a dark magenta color, is meticulously painted, and the bottom of the handle is also plated in gold. The craftsmanship of this hammer appears forged from many years of carefully practiced skills, and we commend the creator for such excellently executed work!

[This Minecraft Battle Hammer was created by Berry, who posted a photograph of it in the Media channel.]

Item 3: Posters advertising Sheriff Jimmy Solidarity-themed Popsicles Posters created and distributed by Azure were given to many Citizens looking for a tasty treat on Thursday morning, although some of these posters were found scattered around both Grian’s Base and Decked Out, but were not hung up. If you would like to pick up a poster, please visit The Overseer Headquarters and follow the directions to find yourself the perfect remedy on a hot summer day!

Item 4: Several photographs of The Astral Library during preparations for The Masquerade These photographs depict several areas of The Astral Library with decor set for The Masquerade, including pictures of the Giant Warped Fungi, several stories of library floors, the Purpur Pavillion, a set of open balconies, jukeboxes, a photography booth, and an open waterfall pouring down into the Void below it. No Citizens were depicted in these photographs.

Item 5: A pair of red high-heeled shoes and makeup A pair of very bright candy apple red stilettos in size 9 in women’s shoes were found in The Astral Library near the photography booth between the East Gate and the South Gate. A makeup set including dark red lipstick, smoky eye shadow, and liquid eyeliner was also found next to these shoes without anything to hold them. If these items are yours, we hope you had a glamorous night at The Masquerade, and commend your taste in both fashion and makeup.

Item 6: A men’s dress shoe partially covered with sculk A men’s brown leather dress shoe in a size 14 was found in the Purpur Pavilion. No one wanted to touch it without using a claw grabber as it appeared that the sculk could have been still active, shifting in various directions. The Overseer staff has kept it in a glass case and has been watching the Sculk slowly spread to overtake the entire shoe. Those in its vicinity have noted that they feel an overwhelming desire to try it on, but none have attempted to do so for fear of the sculk spreading further, and no one wants to make contact with it. If this shoe is yours, we will pay you several diamonds to take it away from us!

ADVERTISEMENTS

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Treat yourself today with two full stacks of Enchantea’s special tea for only one diamond! Buy one get one free for a limited time only! Located across the water from the Shopping District in a Birch tea cup!

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Looking for more tasty treats? Maybe a quick snack before your next big adventure? Well head on down to the Lush Cave bakery in the Shopping district to find a lovely shop with even lovlier treats!

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Please remember to fill out the Citizen Census form as it closes on the 28th! Don’t forget to fill out one form per citizen!

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Fun and Games

This week's fun and games are brought to you by Lydia and Azure!

Word Search and Crossword by Lydia

Brain Teasers by Azure

And that's all for this week's news folks! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week.

#issue #hermitcitizen #pdf issue #hccn weather #hccn astrology corner #hccn lost and found #hccn advertisements #hccn fun and games

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michaelgruberfan · 1 year ago

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Michael helping with the show “Fruit Fly” in 2015! Taken from the facebook album (X) Michael did the composing for this show while Max Wojtanowicz and Sheena Janson wrote the lyrics and starred in it, this show has been put on twice I believe. You can read a review from “Talkin’ Broadway” here (X) “the questions raised in Fruit Fly: the Musical are worth considering. Is friendship that offers everything but sex enough? If not, how do friends maintain their powerful friendship while they also turning outside to develop a healthy, committed sexual relationship? These questions are not only the province of a Fruit and his Fruit Fly, to use the play's jargon. They are part of the challenge, mystery, and special joy of deep friendships, no matter the gender of sexual orientation.“ You can also read the entire article here below the cut

If you have ever been in the company of two life-long friends who regale you with their account of how they met, how their friendship grew, changed, suffered, and endured over the years, you have the gist of

Fruit Fly: the Musical

, a production of The Catalysts being presented at Illusion Theater. Of course, your friends may not be quite as charming as Sheena Janson and Max Wojtanowicz, may not tell their tale with so much wit or poignancy, or punctuated with snappy songs. Sheena and Max are in fact life-long friends who have written and now star in this musical about their friendship, with music composed by Michael Gruber. The specific nature of their friendship is the close bond between a gay man and a straight woman who adore one another, and share all the makings of an awesome heterosexual relationship except for sex.

The narrative is mapped out on a white board, center stage, along with a list of cultural references to be included along the way, and a space to tally the multiple Stephen Sondheim references. With this graphic organizer we can see at any point during the show's ninety minutes where we are and where we will be going—conflict, bliss, Sheena's big number, Max's big number, etc., all leading up to the big finish. This might remove the element of surprise from the occasion, but really, what surprise can there be? Here they are, Max and Sheena, both on stage performing the show they wrote together about their amazing friendship. Of course we know how it will end.

We first see Sheena and Max in their high school years, when they have already been friends as long as they can remember (having met through participation in regional children's theater) and Sheena has a hope of moving from a platonic to a romantic relationship. Gradually she acknowledges the reality that Max is gay, but their friendship charges right along. We see them still as best of friends in college, and again as they set out on careers. All very nice, lots of cute moments, but not much changes—until Sheena falls in love with a heterosexual man, and Max feels abandoned as Sheena invests her time and energy into this new relationship. The remainder of the show represents the push-pull of their friendship as they each work to acknowledge and appreciate its importance in the context of their wider lives.

This is a slender story. Its joy can be appreciated by anyone who has had a joined-at-the-hip friendship, its pain felt by anyone who has had this friendship challenged by the arrival of a new friend, or even more threatening, a romantic partner. Whether or not a friendship survives those challenges depends on many factors. Max and Sheena illustrate numerous ways in which they come close to blowing their friendship, but in the end the love for one another that had drawn and kept them together for so long prevails, and we can celebrate with them their good fortune.

Both Max and Sheena are exceedingly cute, and their chemistry with one another is obviously the real thing. To their credit, the scenes were they are angry and hurt by one another are very believably played, even as we know that they will find their way back to each other. Sheena has the more melodious singing voice, along with a capacity to display her feelings at all times. Max has the capacity to suppress his feelings, acting out in ways contrary to what we know is really going on within him. That duality is actually a more complex kind of performance than might first meet the eye. Both of these actors clearly are talented. Even as they play themselves, they are creating full-bodied characters.

The lyrics written by Sheena and Max are extensions of their dialogue so that they come across as authentic, if not necessarily lyrical. As the songs are not listed in the program, I am not sure of their titles, but Max's song about drinking alone on Tuesdays (after Sheena breaks their standing TV date to spend time with boyfriend Sam) is particularly effective. Michael Gruber's music adds emotional shading to the lyrics, peppy, rueful, or determined as called for. None are particularly memorable, but they work well enough within the context of the show. Jill Dawe, Fruit Fly's music director, provides piano accompaniment, ranging from lovely to jaunty, as fits the songs.

The show is staged by director Nikki Swoboda with constant movement and clever use of the several performing areas set out on the stage, maintaining visual interest even with just two actors, no costume changes, and no scenery to speak of, save the looming white board mentioned above. At times the story seems to repeat its themes, or a particular moment feels stretched out, but these two likeable and energetic actors are always interesting to watch.

Fruit Fly: the Musical was first performed as a shorter work at the Minnesota Fringe Festival. Having not seen it then, I wonder if it might have played with more punch and vitality with its narrative more compressed. As it is, at ninety minutes, it feels like it takes longer than needed to arrive at its conclusion, especially as the conclusion is never in doubt.

While it plays as light entertainment, the questions raised in Fruit Fly: the Musical are worth considering. Is friendship that offers everything but sex enough? If not, how do friends maintain their powerful friendship while they also turning outside to develop a healthy, committed sexual relationship? These questions are not only the province of a Fruit and his Fruit Fly, to use the play's jargon. They are part of the challenge, mystery, and special joy of deep friendships, no matter the gender of sexual orientation.

The Catalysts' production of Fruit Fly: the Musical continues through April 11, 2015, at the Illusion Theater, 528 Hennepin Avenue, Minneapolis, MN. Tickets are $18.00 - $25.00. For tickets call 612-339-4944 or go to illusiontheater.org.

Written by Sheena Janson and Max Wojtanowicz; Music: Michael Gruber; Director: Nikki Swoboda; Musical Direction: Jill Dawe; Set Design: Dean Holzman; Lighting Designer: Mike Wangen; Costume and Prop Designs: Nikki Swoboda; Wigs: Robert Dunn; Voice-overs: Beth Desotelle and Melissa O'Neill; Stage manager: Kate O'Connell Jandric; Production manager: Per Greibrok and Kevin Opatz.

Cast: Sheena Janson (Sheena), Max Wojtanowicz (Max), Jill Dawe (Pianist)

#Fruit Fly #2015 #Max Wojtanowicz #Michael Gruber #Sheena Janson #2010s

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news365timesindia · 1 month ago

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[ad_1] KL Rahul caught in the moment Atreyo Mukhopadhyay in Bengaluru There are concerns over the participation of Rishabh Pant in the second Test against New Zealand. In the match to take place in Pune from October 24, there is no doubt about the absence of someone else, who has also handled wicket-keeping responsibilities for India. If Shubhman Gill recovers from a stiff neck, Sarfaraz Khan will retain his place in the XI at the expense of KL Rahul. This doesn’t cast a long-term shadow on Rahul’s future. Neither does it make him uncertain for the Australia tour. What it ensures is he will not add to his number of Test caps in the remainder of this three-match series. Unless, of course, in unforeseen circumstances. From Rahul’s point of view, this isn’t the best of plots. Having belted a Test century while also donning the big gloves in South Africa last December, he was not doing badly at No. 6. This is not his natural position and yet, in the only Test he played against England earlier this year, he made 86 and 22. Rahul wasn’t a failure in the recent Bangladesh series either. Irrespective of that, if the team management doesn’t hand him back the duty behind the stumps — which is unlikely — the player who has taken part in 53 Tests will lose out to someone with the experience of four. Sarfaraz has muscled his way in with that 150 in the first Test against New Zealand in Bengaluru. Rahul couldn’t rise to the occasion when the team needed him. Rahul, who has a pleasing style of play and centuries in Australia, England and South Africa, performed starkly in contrast to his immediate competitor. It was their first Test together. Both were out without scoring in the first-innings of 46 all out. Sarfaraz redeemed himself in the second, while Rahul failed when it came to build on the fourth-wicket partnership. That made the difference between a thin lead like 106 and something more challenging. Rahul was the last specialist batter. The five before him had all got starts. It was crucial from the team’s point of view for him to stick around after Sarfaraz and Pant. India needed two partnerships of 35-40 each to reach a stronger position. Considering Rahul’s role in the team, his dismissal for 12 off a sharp one from William O’Rourke made a big difference. This is not to undermine his potential. That’s why he is persisted with despite having an average below 35. This reflects inconsistency. Failure with such figures, even to a good delivery, becomes prominent in situations when the fate of the team is dependent on a player during a particular passage of play. Class not in question, it’s steel that Rahul is found short of. When a player’s Test average is 33.87 over a span of 10 years, then it’s clear that he has failed to live up to his potential. Having said this, there is no reason to link this possible exclusion from the XI to the selection of the squad for Australia. That’s a different story and this is only for the two Tests against New Zealand. Sarfaraz is untested abroad and Rahul has made runs in most of the countries he has been to. For the moment though, the 32-year-old has to go back to the bench, and probably to the drawing board. IND vs NZ | Day 5: New Zealand only needs 107 runs to win but will rain play spoilsport? https://t.co/p89Q22v0td — RevSportz Global (@RevSportzGlobal) October 20, 2024 For more sports content: https://revsportz.in/ The post No room for Rahul in XI after Sarfaraz success appeared first on Sports News Portal | Latest Sports Articles | Revsports. [ad_2] Source link

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news365times · 1 month ago

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whirling-fangs · 2 years ago

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@fallesto || cont.

DRIP, DRIP, DRIP.

Now was not the right time.

To offer up excuses to her.

Now was not the right time.

To say anything that would … displease her.

Rui was dead.

KILLED HUNTED DOWN LIKE SOME KIND OF ANIMAL. MURDERED!!

It did not matter that he was a lower moon or not. He had been given special permission, to perform his own unique experiment within the mountains. He remaindered her, so much … of herself.

NEVER GIVEN A CHANCE. NEVER ONCE BELIEVED IN. NEVER KNOWING WHAT IT WAS LIKE … TO LIVE.

The lower moons, had become nothing more than a cruel joke. Five hundred years and this is what they have become, kneeling before her as she gripped tighter upon the head of the fool who tried to turn and run like a coward. Afraid of any confrontation, afraid of slayers, afraid of putting themselves at risk, to kill her enemies.,

Rui had killed more slayers in a handful of nights compared to the pitiful amount all of them have slaughtered, combined.

They where all a disgrace in her eyes.

Five hundred years and this, this was what the lower moons have become. Nothing more than sport. A right of passage. It was insulting enough, that the slayers had final selection, where they had trapped demons upon that mountain and hunted them down for those days and nights, but this.

Lower moons represented her, carried her fair mark upon their eyes, marking them as one of the twelve chosen to work directly under her. and yet she cannot recall, in over a hundred years the last time a lower moon, dropped down a blade of a pillar at her feet, the last time a lower moon, did something, anything at all to capture her attention, it seems that lower moons where good for only one thing.

DYING.

As she squeezed the head of the lower moon a little bit tighter, to let her blood! The blood she had gifted each and every single one of them, the blood that she had used to make them into so much more, as she took it all back, letting it flow back to splash onto the ground under them all. as she was tired of excuses, tired of lies, tired of them merely agreeing with her and then, doing nothing with the tasks and chances she had given them all. no more of this, no more of the games they play.

Being a lower moon, meant something … once, a long time ago, but of the moons here, she could not recall, anything any single one of them have done that came anywhere close to the actions of a upper moon. It was disgusting, to see them all here and knowing hundreds of years ago, lower moons, where feared, slayers would not approach them, pillars would die to their fangs and claws and now.

THEY RAN FROM BATTLE., THEY COWERED AT THE SHADOWS OF SLAYERS. THEY WHERE SO PITIFUL.

“There is only one being, you are meant to impress … me.”

As she raised the head a little bit higher. No regeneration. No ability to speak, no screams, nothing. this demon would die, a slow, and painful death and the same would befall each and every single demon gathered her before her, unless they said something, that would change her mind. she was beyond mere sugar-coated words, beyond bargains and attempting to offer something in exchange, they had centuries to do something and none of them, did a single thing to prove themselves worthy of the title’s, upper moons, she could see it clearly now, where the only six demons within the world, that she could depend on, the only demons who never … let her down.

LOWER MOONS. SHE WAS GOING TO CULL THE RANKS. HERE AND NOW.

As her crimson eyes would scan the platform as she was reading their minds, seeing if they thought as foolishly as this demon here, that they could run from her, escape her within … her own fortress. There was nowhere for them to go, nowhere for them to run too, they where all going to die here and now, unless they had something they could offer her, something to be said, anything at all to change her mind.

“I am the only person that is worth impressing and … you have all failed to do that.”

Kiba wasn’t one for sugarcoating. He had never been taught to tell a lie, or to make the truth sound just a little bit better. He didn’t know how to mold reality in order to make it look better for himself.

He only knew facts. And he knew another thing for certain: the master was furious.

At no point did Kiba fear for his life. His pride clouded his vision, as he eyed the rest of the lower moons with visible contempt. He was better than the rest of them. He was special. The Lord had said so herself! She had gathered them all, but she wasn’t mad at him! Why would he be running away?

He had something to back his claims. While the other lower moons had been cowering away, the pathetic weaklings, he had been working hard.

“Since we last met, I’ve killed 76 slayers. And I’ve found this.”

The demon kept his head low in respect, but his gaze did flicker upwards as he spoke, to make sure that he’d caught the Lord’s attention. He reached into the pockets of his torn slayer pants, and produced two pieces of white fabric. The biggest one he unfolded, revealing a series of dots and lines. Each one was written in blood – the blood of the slayer he had just felled. All 76 of them.

The meaning of the other fabric was even more obscure. It contained a scrawny, brown item... a wilted petal.

“I saw it. The blue flower you talked about. It was right there, in the sun, but when the sun set and I went to pick it, it turned to this.”

It was probably nothing to be proud about, that pieces of torn foliage. Kiba could have picked up any wilted strand of grass, but the Lord would probably feel his honesty. Never would Kiba tell a lie, especially not to the only creatured he revered beside himself.

“The other ones are useless, but I’m different. I’ll find that flower again. I don’t care if I have to step into the sun to grab it, I can just eat more humans to recover. You gave me goals, and I’m gonna complete them.”

#fallesto #the boar bares its fangs / demon!AU

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pillowfort-social · 4 years ago

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Hi Pillowfolks! It’s time for a Pillowfort Community Update. It has been quite a while since we’ve done one of these. If this is your first time here: The Community Update is where we let you know what Staff have been doing behind the scenes, happenings within the community, and a preview of what’s in store for the platform.

Community Stats:

As of May 11 2021, Pillowfort currently has over 118,000 registered users and 8,600 Communities.

Welcome New Users!

Welcome to Pillowfort. We are so glad you are part of our community. If you haven’t yet, check out the Pillowfort101 Getting Started Guide.

Public Release Update

It's so good to be back. We missed you so much. Please check out the 4/29 Site Update for a complete list of Security Revisions & Improvements.

Despite opening free public registrations in January, our team has decided not to re-open unlimited free registrations again for now. Instead, we will be introducing an automated rolling waitlist in the upcoming months. What this means is we will allow a certain number of new registrations per day and anyone who signs up for this waitlist will receive a free Pillowfort registration key when space is available. The ability to join via paid keys & user invitations will also still be available. This is simply a third option for people wanting to join that allows our site to grow in a more controlled manner. By switching to an automated rolling waitlist we can allow the Pillowfort community to stay fresh and active while also ensuring our team can keep pace with the demands of maintaining & providing for our growing user base. Our developers also want to focus on optimizing our site during the remainder of the year. Further details are available in the Developer Update below. Finally, we want to take the time to rebuild trust with the Pillowfort Community that our platform is reliable. First impressions are important and we’re aware we let a lot of users down. Nonetheless, we are encouraged by the enthusiasm we’ve seen for the site’s return, and we appreciate everyone who still believes in us.

Developer Update

After a successful re-launch of our platform at the end of April, our team held a meeting to discuss our current developer pipeline and what we would like to complete by the end of the year.

In the interest of continuing to create a positive experience for both current and prospective users, we are going to continue to focus on the site’s long-term success by refining our existing features and making structural improvements to the site that will improve performance. Going forward, this means more of the updates pushed to the site will go towards the platform’s structural integrity and these changes might not be visible to front-end users, but we will be doing a lot of work behind the scenes to set the site up for long-term success. The good news is that when this work is finished, it will allow us to begin the initial preparations of exploring the possibility of a mobile application to be released in 2022.

The exploration of a possible mobile application does not replace our priority into making Pillowfort more mobile browser friendly. We're not going to compromise out content policy for an app store.

In addition, we do still have some exciting things coming up for users to enjoy, such as the site-wide UI redesign which is nearing completion! Our goal is to have it live on Pillowfort sometime during this summer. The other features scheduled to be developed & released in the next few months include: improved blocking options, two-factor account authorization, multiple account linking, post queue & drafts, and organizational improvements to Communities.

Bug Bounty Update

We are still offering a Bug Bounty. If you find a bug on the site, particularly one that could pose a threat to the security or functionality of the site, contact Staff through our Contact form or directly at [email protected]. If you are unsure if we received your report, send us a DM to the Staff account here, or DM one of our social media channels to check on the status.

Note: We sometimes do not receive all notifications from users on other social media. DMing the Staff account on Pillowfort to check on the status is the preferred method.

The first individual to notify us of a certain issue will be eligible for monetary compensation, depending on the severity of the issue found and the information provided.

We will be updating our Terms of Service within the next few days to add more formal details about our Bug Bounty program

Help Us Keep the Lights On!

At Pillowfort, we do not receive any funding from venture capital or other outside investors because we are committed to keeping our user experience a priority, and not being beholden to outside interests. Pillowfort has been entirely user funded since the beginning. Because users are no longer required to pay for a registration link, we are largely dependent on donations to help us pay the bills. If you would like to support us, you can make a one-time or recurring monthly payment to Pillowfort to help keep the lights on here. Any money donated to us now will be applied as a credit to your account when we release paid features & benefits in the future.

Interact with Pillowfort Staff, ask questions, plus learn about upcoming features and more on social media.

Pillowfort: Staff

Facebook: Pillowfortsocial

Twitter: @pillowfort_soc

Tumblr: pillowfort-social

Instagram: pillowfort.social

Coming Soon

Here is a look at the new features scheduled to be released sometime in 2021. The following list is not in any particular order.

Improved Blocking Options

Complete Site-Wide UI Redesign

Queue & Drafts

2 Factor Authentication

Linked Account Management

A Special Thanks

Thank you for your support the last several months. We express our gratitude every chance we get because this platform wouldn’t exist without your help. Pillowfort does not seek corporate investments, so it is entirely due to the generous financial support of our users that we were able to hire a consultant and keep paying our developers & fees while the site has been down. No amount of words written here can convey how wonderful of a feeling it is to return to working on developing a safe space for our entire community to share & create the content they want to create.

We’re going to do everything we can to rebuild trust with our community in the upcoming months with more transparency, more focus on improving Pillowfort’s current features, and improved communication with our user base. Stay tuned.

Best, Pillowfort Staff

#pillowfort #pillowfort updates #pfcommunityupdate #pillowfort community update #pillowfort.social #pillowfort.soc

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wdwmarveldisney · 3 years ago

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could you write one with a modern au where the reader is a dancer and doesn’t have the typical dancer body like everyone else and is really insecure but race is there to comfort them?

Love?

Racetrack Higgins x chubby!reader

Summary: Three girls make your escape a little less freeing but a confession from Race brings back a little confidence and let’s a small dream come true.

Masterlist

A/N: So as a chubby girl who does musical theatre classes, this was a good outlet. Thank you so much for requesting, it honestly makes my day.

GIF isn’t mine

It had always been your thing. Something you had relied on since before you could walk. The amount of videos of you dancing was unreal. As soon as you were old enough, there you were in classes and on stage, light on your little toes. And slowly as you got older, you joined more classes and spent more of your spare time perfecting form and practicing every minute you could. It was an escape, one you had become so dependant on that it killed you when you missed a class. But things happen when you get older, you start to notice how judgemental people are and how pressuring they can be too. You may dance every day but you didn't have a typical perfect dancer body. You were slightly chubby and people noticed. And they weren't exactly quiet about it.

There was this group of girls in your dance class, the three were your basic bullies. They all found it hilarious when you danced, giggling and whispering behind their hands. It pissed you off. How could they deem you worthy of that treatment just because you were slightly bigger? You'd seen them whisper to others, point out little things and you tried your hardest not to let it get to you. But of course it did. And you had tried everything you could to lose weight but nothing ever worked and you had learned to just try to deal with it. You couldn't but every class, you tried. It had caused you to hate your dance clothes, to lose your confidence, to watch everyone as you hugged yourself to make sure they weren't looking. You were scared of people, everyone judging you.

Today, you were performing on stage in front of this massive crowd. you'd already done the tap number and the jazz and next you had your ballet solo. You were already uncomfortable enough over your leotard and your hair looked a little messy but you only had a minute until you were on so there was no time to fix it. As you slipped on your ballet shoes, there was a knock at the door. Glancing over, you saw Race there in his all his glory. Bright blue eyes, blonde curls and cheeky grin. You had known Race for a while now, being in similar classes at school and getting paired together sometimes in dance. You hadn't actually talked to him, like full conversation talk to him, until a year or so ago. You had both been paired in history and had to do a project over a two week period and you two became quick friends. Of course you had a small crush on him but so did like half the school. And he flirted with plenty of girls so you were just fine to keep the status quo. You were sure he had what those girls had said anyway, probably wouldn't ever go for you and maybe even agreed with them.

He grinned as he leant against the frame of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just came by to wish ya luck. Break a leg," you smiled back, eyes drifting back to your feet as you tugged the shoe on. You knew he was still there so you sent another smile over your shoulder, "Thanks Racer, means a lot," you replied as you got up and jumped to make sure they were on properly. You heard him laugh and felt your stomach drop, arms coming up cross over your stomach. "Gotta go," you muttered to him as you made your way past and to the left wing of the stage. Shaking out your hands, you bounced on your heels as a smile took its rightful place on your face. It soon faded however when you remembered he laughed. He laughed. You knew it, he agreed with them. He agreed that you shouldn't be dancing, that you looked ridiculous out on stage and that you might as well give up. He agreed that you were pathetic for ever thinking that you looked good dancing, that you would ever make it.

You heard the song they were currently performing to end and watched them rush off to the right wing. You slowly headed to your mark and when the music started to play, all thoughts dissipating as you danced. The dance was one you had been practicing for months, you could do it with your eyes closed and you could had it perfectly timed even with you did it no music. It was practically engraved into your muscle memory and didn't need much thought to what you did next. You were glad the lights were so bright, always happy with the way the audience's faces were blocked out. As you turned, you caught gazes with a certain blue pair that reminded you of what you didn't what to think right of at that moment. Trying to suppress the thoughts, you carried on with the leap. As you went, you could feel everything you were doing wrong and immediately went to point your toes more but that seemed to throw you off as you landed. You twisted your ankle as your foot touched the ground and you tumbled. The music faded as they realised what had happened and the lights dimmed for them to get you off without much without much hassle. You could to see the faces, people whispering one another and you felt the tears begin to well as you immediately got up and tried to walk off stage but it hurt too bad. You fell forward again but this time you grabbed ahold of two arms that happened to belong to a certain blonde beauty.

Oh great, not only did all those people see but also the boy you had a massive crush and was also one of your closet friends had had a front row seat. You looked to eyes, expecting amusement and maybe disgust but the only thing you saw was concern. You would've been confused if you hadn't been in so much pain. You barely registered him lifting your arm over his head and placing it over his shoulders as your dance teacher helped him help you off stage. They sat you down in the dressing room and you saw the three girls leave, giggling to themselves as they went. The tears seemed to get worse as your teacher left to get a first aid kit and an ice pack. Race stayed right by your side, holding your hand as he checked your ankle and completely oblivious to the tears that fell down your cheeks. Sniffling a bit, you caught his attention and quickly you wiped away the tears as you spoke, "I'm fine, you can go," the look he gave you was priceless, the complete disbelief enough to make you laugh a little even with how you were. Race shook his head as he stood and grabbed a seat and putting a cushion there for you to rest your ankle on. "You'se know when I said 'break a leg', I'se didn't mean it literally, right?" You giggled again, making him smile at you all goofily but the worry never went away.

He watched you shift and fiddled his thumbs before finally asking the question on the tip of his tongue, "What happened?" You stared at him, baffled by the words and you shifted again as you winced but still managed to say, "I got hurt," he gave you a look that clearly showed his frustration with the answer before he shook his head and rephrased. He met your eyes as he spoke, a sincerity in his voice that unsettled you, "I mean, I'se seen you do that dance a hundred times and you'se never done that before, what happened?" You scoffed and sunk into your seat as you stared at your swelling ankle. Like he cared. Why would he care about you? He liked dancers, people who were actually good looking dancers and everyone knew that wasn’t you. “I tripped, it happens,” you excused and this time he scoffed whilst moving to grab your hand again. He frowned and his eyes twinkled in the light and you felt your heart stop for just a second. “Not to you. You’se perfect at dancing,”

“Yeah right,”

“What’s that mean?” You avoided eye contact and began to pick at your leotard as you stayed in silence. Knowing he was waiting, you gave a small shrug and bit your lip, teeth digging in as hard as they could and you were worried you may bleed. Race moved his head slightly so he was in your eye sight and you huffed like a sulking child, “Just some stuff. I- There’s these girls-” Race sighed and you looked up at him, brows drawing together in confusion. He changed how he held your hand, grabbing it tightly in both of his and you placed your other hand on his in worry. Why was he looking at you all sad puppy like? “I’se heard what they was saying. It’s not true, you’se gotta know that! You are perfect, ya work hard, ya do anythink ya want, ya funny and sweet and kind and I loves you’se just the way ya are. Who cares ‘bout a little chub, I’se think it’s beautiful and cute,” you heard him laugh as your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped as you registered what he said. He meant as friends, right?

“Love? You, um, you said love? Did you know you said love?” He chuckled at that, moving slightly closer and reaching to wipe away any remainder of your tears whilst still holding your hand tightly. “Yeah, I‘se know. I loves ya,” you watch the smile falter as he glanced down and his shoulders tensed, “Would I, Uh, could I kiss you’se?” You grinned at how nervous he seemed, you made the Racer nervous. You couldn’t believe it. Deciding to mess with him a little, you shrug and pretend to think about it whilst pretending to not notice the growing smile and blush on his face. “Yeah, I think that’d be okay,” his grin matched yours quicker than you could process, loving and goofy. He shifted slightly and reached up to hold your cheeks before he leant in most of the way. You scoffed at the cheeky grin on his lips and he breathed out a laugh at that. “Just kiss me you idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he stroked his thumb across your cheek. You could see the mischief swirling amongst the blue and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh confident now, are we?” With that, you pressed your lips to his and you couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss when you heard the surprised noise from him. Slowly he melted into the kiss, one hand moving to your neck as yours went to his hair, fingers twirling the curls. After a little while, you pulled back from Race and you couldn’t help but giggle at the way he chased your lips. You were both so caught up in each other, you didn’t notice your teacher walk through the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry- Wait, are you two-? Finally!”

#newsies #newsies x reader #racetrack newsies #racetrack x reader #racetrack higgins #racetrack x chubby!reader #racetrack x dancer!reader #racetrack imagine #modern au

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multimetaverse · 3 years ago

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HSMTMTS 2x08 Review

Most Likely To was the best ep of S2 so far and ended one ship while launching another. Let’s dig in!

Gaston was super fun, a very nice showcase for both Larry and Matt. This is the kind of energy that early S2 was lacking. Also feels like the first ep where East High might actually have a shot at beating North High. Covid restrictions played a role but we really needed to see more rehearsal scenes and scenes of the wildcats just being theatre kids. This also may be one of the last times we see EJ perform as a student in the musical so I’m glad we got this.

EJ has been criminally underused for most of S2, he’s marketed as part of the big 4 along with Nini, Ricky, and Gina and Matt Cornett’s name is listed 3rd in the credits but in the early eps of S2 you’d think he was guest star. Lately he’s started to become more important and tonight was an excellent showcase of why he’s such an interesting character. I’m not gonna check but this feels like it’s the most EJ screen time in a single ep that we’ve gotten all season long.

Of course, the main reason for EJ’s increased screen time is because of Portwell. I’ve been neutral on them but tonight they really won me over’ their scenes were so sweet that they warmed even my cold black heart. Matt and Sofia are good friends irl and that shines through in their easy rapport and great chemistry. Gina snorting at EJ’s joke was cute and I loved the shot of Gina accidentally walking into the shot for EJ’s confessional. As an aside, they’ve been doing some fun stuff with the confessionals lately which helps add a bit of the metaness that helped make S1 so great.

The real big Portwell scene tonight was EJ and Gina talking on the couch at Ashlyn’s. Lot’s to love there. Gina’s speech to EJ about what she sees when she thinks of him was sweet and her saying that EJ tried to do the right thing and often failed but kept trying echoes what she said of herself during her confession to Ricky. Also when EJ asked Gina if she understood the feeling of having her life mapped out she replied, ‘’not really’’ which is almost certainly the inspiration for Gina asking a question to EJ and him responding ‘’not really’’ in their pre S2 face time call on the hsmtmts instagram.

EJ is still wracked with guilt for the guy he used to be but Gina reminds him that he’s grown and is a good guy which leads to her slip up about her seeing him that way vs the rest of the gang hinting that she’s beginning to catch feelings for EJ. Which leads to EJ complimenting her and them having a moment that could well have led to a kiss if Ashlyn hadn’t come home. And they cap it off with Gina falling asleep and EJ covering her with his Duke sweater.

It’s been nice not seeing Gina upset over Ricky these past two eps and it’s a damning indictment of the poor writing and pacing of S2 that her story in the first 6 eps can be summed up as Gina being upset over something Ricky said or did. Not only has Portwell allowed EJ to rise in prominence but also it’s allowed Gina to escape the rut her character was stuck in pining for Ricky.

I hope after S2 is over that we get an interview where Tim explains how the Portwell plot came to be. The S1 finale set up some possible interest between them as did the pre S2 face time call but nothing came of it during the first 4 eps, they stood next to each other a lot but barely interacted otherwise. Notably in 2x01, which Tim himself wrote, EJ tries to grow a beard and tells Ashlyn that he says her as so young which is extremely jarring now that we know that EJ is crushing on Gina who is Ashlyn’s age.

Was Tim not set on doing Portwell until he realized he needed to give Gina something else to do other than hopelessly pine for Ricky? Narratively, it made sense after Rini got together in S1 to put the other two Big 4 characters together in S2 but did Tim not want it to seem so obvious to the audience so he deliberately kept Portwell apart until 2x05 where EJ’s feelings make for a nice plot twist? Was he just reluctant to plug EJ back into the love square due to how much more complicated it would make things but later felt he had no other options? Or was it just plain old bad pacing and writing?

Of course, I wish that there wasn’t such a large age gap between Sofia and Matt but there are no Gina ships that avoid that problem, there’s also an age gap between Sofia and Joshua, just as there was between Olivia and Joshua and Matt in S1. Depending on when they film S3 there’s a good chance that most of it will be finished before Sofia even turns 18 which is deeply unfortunate. There’s a broader issue of teen girls being cast in mostly age appropriate roles while their male love interests are older adults and in particular it often affects female characters of colour. Netflix has a really bad track record with those kind of age gaps but Disney has problems too as we’ve seen on HSMTMTS and on GMW where by the end of S3 they had 18 year old Peyton Meyer as the boyfriend of 14 year old Rowan Blanchard’s character (not to mention canon Joshaya which didn’t have such a bad age gap between the actors but was problematic regarding the ages of the characters themselves).

A knock I’ve seen on Portwell is that EJ is just gonna leave for university next year but that was never gonna happen, Matt’s under the same 4 season contract as all the other mains and he’ll be sticking around in some capacity much like Sharpay ended up doing in the movies. It is true that EJ will probably have to move on at the end of S4 while Gina still has her senior year left but that will also happen with her and Ricky since he’ll be graduating at the end of S4. It was a big mistake to make EJ a senior but it also may end up being a big mistake to make Gina a sophomore. It would have been too messy to retcon EJ to be a junior but Tim probably should have taken the chance to retcon Gina into being a junior in S2.

That Rini breakup was so sad (missed opportunity for gotta go my own way). They managed to get in a Troyella reference with the treehouse. This was inevitable they just have not been communicating well though now that we know that Ricky thought Nini left YAC for him some of his desperation to spend as much time together as possible makes more sense. I think Rini is endgame if the series has 4 seasons but it wouldn't shock me if we never seem them dating again and they only get back together in the series finale. It also wouldn’t surprise me if Nini never dates anyone else for the remainder of the series or at least not seriously.

We’re not even halfway through the series so it’s way too early to permanently slam the door on Rini though this time apart will probably help Joshua and Olivia move on from their own bitter break up before it bleeds too much into their performances. I do wonder if Tim really has a clue what he's gonna do with them for the remaining 24-28 eps of the series, assuming S3 and S4 have 10-12 eps each.

Roman Banks killed If I Can’t Love Her and the montage of all the couples or ex couples was great.

It was nice to finally meets some parents other than the Bowen’s and Salazar-Roberts’. Kourtney’s mom was played by Dara’s actual mother and their dynamic was great as expected. It seems from their conversation that Kourtney's father is dead which I don’t believe has been mentioned before. Cash Caswell.... well it gets what the character is about across. He really looks and sounds like a rich Utah republican, I bet he knows Mitt Romney personally. I liked EJ going to tell his father that he’s not going to Duke and recognizing that he wants to build his own life on his own merits.

We saw a bit of that S1 Miss Jenn energy tonight which was fun though I didn't like how curt she was with Seb nor did I like how rude Carlos was to Seb although we know that blows up in 2x10.

Jazzara rising! I really liked how Jazzara and Portwell are sort of mirroring each other and since Mazzara knows about EJ’s feelings for Gina it wouldn’t shock me if helping EJ out is part of him showing a softer side in 2x12.

Of course Ashlyn is VP of the Nostradamus society. It's clear her family has some kooky new age beliefs (her parents are probably members of some naturopathic medicine group on Facebook that doubles as a gateway into Qanon)

It was nice to see Big Red being such a good friend to Ricky and the return of Ricky’s infamous pillow hugs. Lmao at Ashlyn just chilling while Big Red is comforting Ricky

Also Miss Jenn saying sexy and Big Red referring to pillow talk, the writers are adding a bit of spice when cooking up these scripts.

Looking Ahead:

Looks like Gina may be wearing EJ's duke sweater next ep according to some posts I saw. Jack presumably is there to somehow help Gina decide what she wants with Ricky and EJ though him having wanderlust might also feed into Gina’s thoughts on settling down in SLC or moving with her mom around the country.

Let's see what mom of the year, Lynne Bowen, has up her sleeves. Ricky’s bedroom at her place in Chicago looks much nicer than the apartment Mike Bowen has so perhaps she makes a lot more money than he does.

Not looking forward to the Zoom portions of the ep but I guess it was inevitable.

There’s only two paths for Gina’s story to go in the remainder of this season; either she decides to move on from Ricky and give EJ a chance or she decides that Ricky is worth trying again and squelches her budding feelings for EJ. The former looks much more likely after tonight’s ep but either way it needs to be handled with care. Inevitably Gina and Ricky need to talk about what happened between them but if Tim really wants Ricky to continue being a viable love interest or even a good friend to Gina then he needs to really have Ricky apologize and show a thoughtful, kinder side of him that’s largely been missing this season.

What I think Tim is doing is setting up Portwell getting together in 2x12 but Ricky pining over Gina until Portwell break up late S3 and Rina get together in the S3 finale before they break up later in S4 and Ricky gets back with Nini near the end of the series. If I had Tim’s ear I would tell him that he should pick which ship he wants to do, Rina or Portwell, but don’t do both. He wants canon Rina? Great then end Portwell before it starts and have Rina happen in S3 and introduce other obstacles to them getting together rather than having to damage EJ’s character and make him lose another girl he likes to Ricky. He wants canon Portwell? Great then have Gina and Ricky’s conversation be closure for the both of them and have Gina and EJ get together and break them up without Ricky being a cause of it or waiting in the wings to get with Gina soon afterwards. Doing both will be a disaster and I truly hope that Tim Federle carefully thinks over his mistakes in S2 and really plans out the remaining 2 seasons of the series while there’s still time to prevent things from going really off the rails like GMW and AM did thanks to the bad decisions of Michael Jacobs and Terri Minsky.

Until next week wildcats.

#HSMTMTS #Portwell #Rini #Gina Porter #EJ Caswell #Ricky Bowen #Nini Salazar-Roberts #Kourtney Greene #HSMTMTS Reviews

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years ago

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Prompt #16 ~ Arcade

A cataloging book of aves was given closure from the Crow's Nest. The dweller resident who occupied it held a huge fascination as if everything was richly new in experience. But the hobby didn't entirely prevent her from losing motivation. She had felt unaccomplished in her abilities with things out of her depths from being countered hardly by a formidable enemy who froze her only means of weaponry in her rifle preventing the shot along with suffering a gashing wound she kept the souvenir scar to thrive better. Furthermore the Captain had forfeited and sacrificed his arsenal of relics acquired over many painstaking years. To her perspective, it seemed she had made him lose more than gain. Everything she felt was about to be purified. The feline Captain had strong senses, and it aided in not only getting a prediction on the weather shifts, but also utilizing his numerous experience, there was a feeling aboard of morale being startled. As he took claim of the dawn, by loudly making his presence known, he clung to the ladder and gave ascent, he knocked to hatch since she had made the nest her quarters, "Oi' Shelah, c'mon we're going training." She had taped already hand's appendages from trying to learn the art of melee. It saddened her that little progression was made in improving. It gave ark memento, to how she was upon her islander days, always being the runt alongside far behind her fellow sisterhood. "What's the point? Quartermaster and First Crewmate already tried." Regardless she exhaled and opened up for him to scale the remainder. "Aye, I do hear. Although my methods may garner favor." Her personality type and foreign bringing made her a stranger to badgering. Which didn't always show results depending on the person teaching and tutoring.

Captain flashed a cheek and infectious grin. "Put that aim t' me this evening', I assure ye it'll be fun. I'll wait fer a decision below." He'd give her opportunity and room to choose. He hadn't done anything despite her island and beliefs against what she was fated and forewarned as an omen of ill. She contemplated before following pursuit. His lead brought her before clanking and rotating automatic machines, bright over abundance lights, ringing sounds of gil. Noises that shouted 'winner', overall a bustling and booming populated place unlike anything accustomed. "This is th' Gold Saucer, if ye think I'm a cheat or swindler, this place encapsulates it. Sometimes t' learn and progress, you have to make memories, and those that are fun, impact us more personally. Now we're going to play a mini-games, with this MGP wallet I borrowed from a fancy high-roller." Taking in leading her by arm as she didn't know initially how to consume all this scenery. "This is a Cuff-A-Cur machine, objective is to swing hard." She saw another demonstration before he activated for her to give a whirl, she gave a weak performance as the machine mocked her fist and punch and barely moved. "Though most like t' punch ole' Giga' lad. Striking force is what matters, although ye may struggle punching. Doesn't mean you can't kick th' difference either. N' combat, sometimes it matters using all we are or can be surrounded with in survival." She focused her long Duskwight leg's did provide range and advantage. Glancing at him briefly, doing a demo round kick. He transformed not only basic games of normality of arcade into actual serious regimen. Then she scored a much higher rating. It's compliment gave her a breathe of undefinable air. The Seeker sparked up ecstatically. He would navigate her across to the Moogle's Paw teaching her coordination and also as it tried scamming them from attaining their prize despite having it as the crane unhooked and it wedged between the exit barely clinging on. She was recommended and used to cover him while he shook the machine and wouldn't be weaseled out for the acclaim. The games all but continued even into Monster's Toss where they competed with another and overall defeated him in every round. It played to her strengths as a sharpshooter. These enactments were boisterously redefining her morale and even confidence, which although felt hindered and dampened, Captain saw to rectify. As energy was nearly sapped, "Well, I lost all th' MGP and overall my credit. Ye b' a mighty pirate... Listen, just cause we may lose some-days, or fall short, doesn't mean we can't seize th' next wave. This goes for everything n' one-day, we'll even go hunt ourselves some assassins, and prevail over that. We're on a path to grow together and use our coverage fer each other, weaknesses aren't nearly as troublesome. Much you've proven t' this started day, you b' more than enough." His nonchalant and vow as she was carrying a handful of stuffies and assortment of prizes clung to her waist. A massive amount beyond all his simple recognition. This was her first memory of treasure.

#Prompt - Crane #FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #Shelah #Creative Writing #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Crew buildin' still #Tales of the Goldbrand #The Sniper #FFxiv #Seeker of the Sun #Duskwight

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wecandoit · 2 years ago

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i just started 11th grade and also my medical entrance exam preparations like other students in my country. my last school is very good academically but the friends i made there are emotionally exhausting. i recently ended things with them and now i am considering changing schools to a school that's closer to my house, because i want time for self study and i feel suffocated with my old friends and i barely talk to anyone else apart from them there . but the school I'm considering to transfer to, has a mixed enviornment i.e. not as studious as my previous school. I'm iin an all girls catholic school rn, and my new school is a co-ed catholic school, so thered be a huge change in the enviornment too.e I'm extremely confused. and have no idea what to do. Do you think it'd be okay for me to switch schools or try making new friends at my old school?

Hi! Obviously, ultimately this decision is up to you but I can tell you some things from my experience that may help:

a co-ed catholic school: I actually attended a catholic co-ed school myself and a LOT of girls transferred there from a particular all-girls school and I think they adjusted really well. I’m sure that you won’t struggle to fit in there bc of the fact that it’s co-ed. Obviously I don’t know what kind of people who attend the school and that’s always a consideration too.

moving schools: I’ll also mention my own experience moving schools. keep in mind that this was in fifth grade when my social life was far more important to me than my grades or individual space. At the time I was just excited for the experience but it ended up being the main trigger for a series of mental health issues. I advise that if you decide to move schools, you ensure you are emotionally and mentally prepared for it (ofc if you have your friends numbers and socials you may still be able to connect with them which may help mental health wise)

old friends: The way you worded it, that your old friends are suffocating you, makes me feel like there are other things you are having to compromise, not just studies, for your friends. which is a major red flag 🚩remember that losing old friends (and making new ones) is an inevitable part of life.

new friends/prioritisation: Despite my last point, if you’re like me, you may find it hard to make friends very easily and may find it hard to separate from your existing friends. This is where prioritisation is key. You need to decide whether for the remainder of your school life, you prioritise forming friendships VS academic success. It sounds like you’re prioritising your studies over socialisation and if you’re old school is getting in the way of studies it’s clearly a reasonable decision to move even if it means that making new friends may be difficult (but not impossible! i’m sure there will be lots of groups and people you can fit in with)

cost + efficiency: You may also find it useful to look into the cost of the school and the efficiency they provide. I obviously don’t know if costs are something that is important to you but efficiency is always important in studies. A school closer to home provides opportunities to stay back for special classes etc. while this may be difficult attending schools further away. But then again, if you are the kind of person who gets to work as soon as they get home, a longer ride home provides a much need break from studying.

academic resources: Now the most important thing, in my opinion, is the quality of resources the school provides. Something a lot of people forget is that the school does not make the students successful, rather the students make the school successful. Ultimately, how well you perform depends on the resources and help provided to you, not necessarily what ranking your school had that year. Ask around and find out whether the teachers are patient and willing to spare time giving you extra support if needed. If the classes are comprehensive and easy to understand. If I didn’t have such helpful teachers for 11th and 12th grade, I don’t know what I would have done.

Remember that a change of scenery and breaking routine may be refreshing, but consider whether it is what you need and can afford (financially, mentally, academically) right now. I’m sure that you can make the right decision, often in these situations, you already know what you want in your heart. Good luck!!!

#ask #anon #moving schools #tips #💌

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himbodjarin · 4 years ago

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LUNAR; CH11

18+ Explicit Content: Graphic descriptions of gore, violence, and smut; oral sex (male recieving), vaginal sex. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. Chapter Word Count: 12,951 holy fuck Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER ELEVEN: STORM BOY

Tense. That’s the only word to describe the atmosphere—maybe a little suffocating, too—in Peli’s hangar; she’s been highly adaptable in regards to the Mandalorian’s extended stay, though he suspects she doesn’t mind one bit when the Child is in her arms. Speaking of which, he had eventually reawakened in the earlier hours of the morning when the twin suns were making their reappearance over the town. He hadn’t been acting like his usual self—hadn’t demanded attention nor nutrients all day and the Mandalorian doesn’t know how to restore his regular demeanour.

Mando isn’t a caretaker—he’s uneducated and inexperienced in regards to performing as someone’s guardian. It’s discouraging not being informed on what to do and there’s not a soul alive that can provide their insight into this situation. There isn’t exactly a whole lot of people in the galaxy who might understand the Child’s abilities, much less the side effects that come with it such as his recent behaviour changes.

Not to forget the Girl.

The Girl—the source of the leaps in his heart, twitching in his fingertips, and the harassing ache in his head. She’s impeccable in contrast to him, beautiful and soft and sweet but dank farrik if she doesn’t know how to invade his thoughts as if they were her own; splayed out in the midst of his consciousness serving as a constant reminder of everything he desires.

Between needing to prioritise the Child and wanting to surrender himself to the Girl, he’s going stir-crazy being confined in such small spaces surrounded by them, which brings him straight back here—pinned down by blaster fire and frantic screams in Huttese. It’s as though he likes it; enjoys the adrenaline coursing through his veins at every laser shot his way. It gives him an edge and provides a distraction from his thoughts, or it used to but since he took in the foundling his mind hasn’t had a chance to take a break—the arrival of the Girl only made matters harder for him. How’s he supposed to focus when all he can envision is her laying bare underneath him or wearing his shirt, only his shirt. It sends him numb from the waist down.

A twinkle of red flies overhead Mando as he army crawls along the metre-high wall to alternate positions, allowing him to gain an upper hand against the cluster of enemies defending their post. There’s a lot of them, fifteen at the least, all equipped with weapons ranging from vibroblades to flame projectors—he hadn’t prepared himself adequately for such a hefty job only armed with his handheld blaster alongside his amban rifle, though he’s running short on cartridges and decides to save them for when he’s in a pinch. Amongst his blasters he’s low on fuel for the flames in his vambrace, having used a vast majority of it on a heavy-duty lurker mere minutes prior to this shootout.

Putting it simply, Mando was in a dilemma—forced between a rock and a hard place—a real catch-22. He’s reliant on his blasters and that alone as he hadn’t communicated to the Girl about his commission received nor his departure from the hangar. There’s nobody coming to aid him—nobody here to watch as he takes one too many blaster bolts—but he doesn’t mind; actually, he prefers it. It’s as though he’s returned to his earlier years of being a Mandalorian, dependent on himself and his tools and unafraid of death; equipped with nothing but the beskar on his back and the decades-worth of abilities fine-tuned to suit his combat style perfectly.

Mando won’t go down easy, it’s not in his blood; not the blood of his relatives, but his manufactured Mandalorian blood. He’s been taught to fight - survive and to die here from lousy Klatoonian troopers wouldn’t be warriorlike—especially not with his head wracked with stubbornness regarding his crewmates. Nevertheless, there’s a heaviness in his chest - deep and thick and pleading with him to turn around; to return to the Crest with the Girl and the kid. It’s warning him—the increased beating in his ribs suggesting things aren’t in his favour, but he can’t just leave, not without figuring out what he’s to do for the Child.

And if he was to die here on this scummy rock of a planet, surrounded by nothing but sand, heat, and blasters, it wouldn’t necessarily be all that bad—it’d salvage the Girl and the kid from having to see him die, see him take his last breath.

They’ll be okay in the long run. They’ll care for each other and the Crest will protect them; be their support anchor.

They don’t need to be there when his heart stops beating.

They don’t need to see that.

It’s a macabre series of thoughts. He sighs groggily and hoists himself up to peer over the barricade, observing two Klatoonian soldiers communing at the top of their post, neither of their eyes on the Mandalorian stealthily underneath—it’s a good opportunity, one with a short duration to act. Mando scans the area for any others on the lookout and climbs the wooden rungs carefully, ensuring he’s making minimal sound to not drag their attention to him.

At the peak of the tower, Mando fires a bolt at the back of the head to the one on the right and it drops stiffly, the left’s turning around sharply and thrusting a spear in his direction. Mando’s leathers wrap around the shaft and yank it from his clasp, turning it around and penetrating the Klatoonian in the chest above his heart plate. His body plummets to the surface with the spear lodged inside of his torso and Mando steps up towards the edge of the watchtower, counting the visible heads aimed at the barricade he’d been behind a few moments ago. There’s eight to his left, five with rifles and three with melee weapons, and six to his left, all equipped with short-ranged blasters, and another couple secured in the structure below him.

It’s way out of his comfort zone—there’s far too many for him to take down without receiving some new scars to paint his flesh; he’d already obtained one today. It’s small, not something to fret over, but the gash on his side pulses each time he raises his arm to fire a laser. He’d been distracted while in the midst of combat, his thoughts preoccupied with large green batwing ears, and one of the Klatoonian’s managed a nasty slash to his waist. The assailant was taken care of, of course, but the damage was done and now his movements had been slowed by a hairline fracture—not a lot, but every second counted when on the battlefield.

Mando unclasps the strap of his amban rifle and rests it on the trim of the watchtower’s partition, gazing through the scope as he assesses the situation. There are only three canisters left. Three opportunities to disintegrate and put an end to an overabundance of hostiles. He needs to play it smart; needs to ensure he doesn’t exhaust his ammunition needlessly.

His eyes lock on to an unscathed, ominous-looking canister perched upon a table beside one of their campfires where six of them have gathered around, devouring what looked to be a scorched womp rat. They’re confident in their abilities, not concerning themselves with patrolling the borders for the Mandalorian’s reappearance—a mistake they won’t live to regret. Mando twists the mid-section of the rifle’s scope, scaling in to focus on the canisters’ hazardous symbol painted into the sides.

Surely they’re not that foolish.

It’s worth a shot—Mando aims for the weakest point in the canister and squeezes the trigger, leather crunching underneath his force and he traces the bolt of red as it nestles a burning hole through the capsule and explodes abruptly upon impact, producing a very loud bang that echoes through the valley for klicks. So they are that stupid to leave out combustible materials, right beside an open flame no less. Four of the six instantly plummet to the ground from the explosion, while the other two attempt to fight off the suffocating flames engulfing their bodies. It’s no use and they, too, fall to a charred heap among the grit; it sticks to their melting flesh with vengeance.

The remainder of the adversaries stand in stunned silence as their heads frantically spin and twist, searching for any sign of the direction the bolt had originated. Mando pops out the empty cartridge from his rifle, listening to the satisfying tink as it bounces along the wooden surface beneath his boots and rolls to a stop beside a corpse. Heaving his leg upwards, he slips another cylinder out of his boot and slides it into the chamber. The nest of Klatoonians have scattered throughout the campgrounds, shielding behind walls of sandstone and supply crates where they blend into a mass of dark greens and browns—Mando activates his thermal vision in order to distinguish the bodies as they peer curious heads out from behind their positions.

His sight is isolated to stone-blue over the landscape except for a blush of orange-red jutting out from the top of a crate, the unsuspecting Klatoonian’s head twisting and turning wildly. Mando shouldn’t fire—shouldn’t waste a shell on a singular soldier, not when there’s still plenty left—but, perhaps, if he eliminates one that’s hiding, they might fall into hysteria and rush out of their concealments. There’s not a whole lot of options from this position—if the watchtower was on the opposing side then he’d be set; easily pick them off one by one with his blaster pistol, but that’s not a course of action now.

Mando flexes his finger against the small of his trigger but doesn’t get the chance to squeeze before there’s a weight on his pauldron—faint, but enough for him to blindly thrust his arm against the figure and knock them against the railings, his hand retrieving his blaster from the holster on his thigh and directing it at the orange heat. Its hands raise swiftly, empty, and the familiar soft, sweet voice he’s grown accustomed to fills his ears, “Hey, hey, it’s me!”

“What’re-”

“Peli told me you went out. Something about a kidnapped girl? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He huffs, returns his blaster to its sleeve and disengages his thermal; returning the colour and the Girl’s features to his vision. She’s eyeing at his side, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but decides not to ask. “It was a ploy. There’s no girl.”

She sighs in relief but notes down his dismissal to her questioning. “Okay, let’s go then. I took out three on my way here and there’s more coming. We’re sitting mynocks up here.”

“No.”

The Girl cocks an eyebrow at Mando and he returns to his scope to avoid her attention. “Let’s go,” she whispers through clenched teeth, digging her fingers into the soft of his shoulder where his pauldron couldn’t shield. She drops the appendage when he shrugs underneath her clutch, obviously peeved at something she couldn’t read on him. “Mando, come on. There’s no girl, there’s nothing to prove to these guys.”

His throat grumbles as he attempts to stifle the thoughts in his head, not wanting to implode at the Girl and potentially startle her, but it’s difficult keeping everything caged up all the time—from his miserable thoughts regarding himself to the domineering cravings deep within his core. It’s too fucking much. If there was a key to it all he’d surely have tossed on a desolate planet by now, somewhere nobody, not even himself, will discover it.

He snaps.

“I have something to prove—I need to know I’m still useful.” Mando involuntarily groans at his childish outburst. It’s on par with the Child’s when he doesn’t get his way.

He’s not someone to express his emotions and especially not to direct it at another; not the Girl.

“Of course you’re useful, Mando. What’re you talking about?”

Caf-coloured eyes flicker behind the visor and he squeezes them shut, discarding the threats below as he tries to focus on not derailing all of his insecurities at the Girl. He doesn’t want to confess all of the little nitpickings he’s accumulated throughout his life—he’s learned to keep them buried underneath the rubble of trauma that is his daily life—and he especially doesn’t want her to see him so….sensitive; it’s not an attractive feature on him.

Mando’s mouth moves on it’s own accord, suppressed beliefs regarding himself misdirecting at the Girl in surges of angry jeering, “I used to be feared, used to wear this armour with pride; represented the Creed with the beskar the artisans forged for me. Ever since you waltzed in my life, I’ve…” He sighs, his shoulders visibly sagging as he exhales. “My competence has crumbled to dust that resolves from a gentle wind. I’m getting hit, shot, stabbed because I can’t get you off my fucking mind.”

He unknowingly strokes a finger down the barrel of his rifle, as if to imply he’d been shot with one of the pellets—nothing more than mere particles left of him.

He doesn’t need to look at her to acknowledge he’s gone too far—gone and pushed her away—and the lack of noise she produces is mockingly deafening.

But then there’s that faint, gentle weight on his pauldron again, dragging him from his dissecting and to her eyes filled with reassurance and tenacity. Mando finds himself like an icy dessert underneath the twin suns; liquefying beneath her gaze.

There’s a lot on his plate right now with the Child’s current situation and the Guild still coming after them—she knows this, and he knows that she knows; she’s accommodating to the unavoidable bursts that may escape him occasionally. She doesn’t need to, but she’s willing to; volunteers as his subject until it’s all out in open air and they can proceed. Mando simultaneously respects that—that he’s allowed to vent even if it means she gets a little bit of venom splattered at her—and despises himself for his misguided resentment.

Mando doesn’t genuinely blame the Girl for his lacking; he’s well aware it’s his own negligence. It’s his responsibility to maintain the upkeep of his abilities, his responsibility to protect himself and his companions as a Mandalorian. It’s just easier to push the blame on another; to pretend it’s out of his reach—out of his control.

“Let’s go,” she repeats, slower. “Please, Mando.”.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. I don’t mean it.

He’s never been good with words.

Hands more experienced than his vocals, he draws a line with his thumb across the curve of her jaw and settles it on the tip of her chin to crane her head back just enough that enables his eyes to swallow the stretched skin of her neck. “Okay,” he murmurs and releases her, withdrawing the rifle from its perch.

She sighs when his leather retires from her face and stumbles over one of the corpses in her daze. She takes the lead down the ladder while he keeps watch from the top, ensuring no Klatoonian’s sneak up on her while vulnerable, and she reciprocates the favour when she’s at the bottom.

“There’s a speeder bike just beyond the walls,” the Girl says once his boots are on firm ground, the sand crunching underneath his weight.

“We won’t both fit on it.”

“Sure we will,” she chuckles. “It’ll be snug, is all.”

Mando scoffs to himself and peers around a sandstone corner, squinting as the suns disorient his vision, but he gets a quick glance at a stroke of red about a metre ahead of him—and then a familiar symbol: hazardous product.

“Get down!” he yells, but it’s not fast enough - not fucking fast enough - and he’s flung into the parallelled wall. There’s pressure in his neck and spine, his helmet reverberates against the sandstone, and he slips onto his shoulder in the grit; his lesion collecting the sand molecules and painting them red. Pain stretches from the heels of his feet to the back of his head but he hasn’t got the opportunity to examine himself over—the Girl, where is the Girl?

Mando hisses as his head flexes, searching through the cloud of dust and rubble for his companion; heart hurdling over the gaps of beating and his fists balling against the land to keep him off his side.

“Mesh’la,” he croaks. “Where-oh, are-”

She’s hastily beside him, unscathed besides a few grazes across her forehead and hands—hands that are trembling against his beskar, investigating his condition with manic eyes. “Shit, shit, sh-”

There’s an attempt to calm her nerves on his part, placing a stocky leather weight on top of her hand to indicate he’ll be okay, but she doesn’t believe him—he’s still on the ground, apprehensive of moving in fear of what he may discover.

He moans at a twinge in his neck and carefully scrambles to his feet with her aid, her hands submerging into the flight suit for leverage, but it’s a mistake; his legs are numb and can’t support his weight and he has to rely on the wall to remain perpendicular and not tumble on top of her small frame.

She navigates a hand to his throbbing lesion, covering it with her palm to protect it from further invasion of particles, and the other rests against the back of his neck for reinforcement.

It’s exhausting standing like he’s made of beskar and not just wearing it - anchoring him to the ground, and it’s even worse attempting to move, his legs hot and heavy as his soles drag through the terrain.

“I got you,” she mumbles to herself, tucking into his side.

There’s a warmth at the back of his neck, his head, underneath her hand; hot, scalding and threatening. It fucking hurts—this isn’t a concussion, he quickly realises, he’s had plenty of them to discern easily; this is different, worse, concerning. The adrenaline is doing very little to conceal the pain and he emits half-groans-half-exhales in protest to his body’s tensing. It’s something he hadn’t experienced before, something that he can’t prepare himself to face the facts.

His leather tugs at the hand on his neck and the Girl hesitantly complies with his request, removing it from the cowl and bringing it ahead of his visor for examination. “What’s the mat- Shit, is that from your head?” she asks, hand trembling. ”

Mando confirms his suspicions; a dark thick coating of the finest Mandalorian blood staining the Girl’s delicate fingers. It’s not good, not ideal, but he wasn’t dead yet and they couldn’t stay pinned down here. “It’s not that bad,” he professes.

“Not that b- your fucking head is bleeding! Fuck, okay, okay. Sit down, here.” She aids him to sink onto an underturned crate against the stone wall and removes a small satchel that rests among her hip. “There’s a medpac in there. Fix yourself up while I go take care of these assholes. Don’t go anywhere.”

“No, wait-” Mando slips his blaster out of his holster and into her free hand, his leathers discreetly caressing the backs of bruising skin before letting her retreat. She glances at him one last time, doing her best to convince herself he won’t bleed out before she makes it back. “You better return,” he whispers as she disappears behind the corner, dual blasters aimed high in her sights.

You better return to me.

Mando turns his attention to the pounding at the back of his neck, the blood pooling inside his helmet, seeping into the thick of his cowl, running beneath the material of his back. What good was a helmet if not to protect your head?

Tatooine’s desert is no match for his throat, it’s suns mere wisps of flames—he’s starting to go into shock and he strives to fight it, his fists clenching and relaxing rhythmically but he can only hold on for so long before it overcomes him. Fuck, he’s so exhausted, his legs numb and throbbing with short bursts of tension beneath the muscles.

The satchel is heavy like a bantha offspring in his lap - taunting and restricting - but he raids its contents in the hope it’ll distract him; it doesn’t. Mando can’t—won’t—dress the wound, not here, not when there’s Klatoonian’s running around with murder on their mind and the Girl in their sights. It can wait—he can wait.

But he’s no help in this condition and he’ll only be a nuisance if he were to go against the Girl’s orders—he’s not that foolish.

He groans, deep and scratchy that tickles his dry throat, and tosses his head back against the wall—prompting a red reservoir to leak from his wound, his vision fuzzy with black and piercing white spots. Fuck. Stupid. So stupid.

“Mando. Mando?”

There’s a tapping against his visor that triggers his ears to ring and his head to throb. His eyes open to see the Girl before him, her face contorted into unpleasant angles of concern; he misses her smile, how her eyes squinted when she laughs.

“Come on, there’s a gap. We need to go.”

“Can’t move,” he whines.

“Use me then.”

He’s apprehensive; she’s small and dainty compared to all the beskar and with his worsening condition his weight will only multiply each step they take.

“Mando!”

She’ll only continue to persist and, to avoid her casualty along with his, he fists the fabric of her shirt and drags himself to his feet, utilising her as a crutch as she navigates him through the narrow alleys of the encampment. They follow a trail of corpses, blood, and blaster holes that he hadn’t even heard ring throughout the desert, his senses so colourless. His boots are alike durasteel; heavy and tight around his feet, constricting and dragging through the sand behind him. He yearns to kick them off, stretch his toes.

“Left here,” she instructs, twisting his body to a breach in their wall that’ll serve as their escape route perfectly; out of sight, in the far back that’ll provide them enough time to head for the dunes before they’re on their tail—or not. A bolt tinks against Mando’s vambrace grappled around her shoulders, but she’s not messing around - not letting a foolhardy Klatoonian interrupt their evasion. She bends her body just enough to point her blaster at the soldier without disturbing Mando’s positioning and crushes the trigger against the hilt, a vibrant red shooting out of the barrel, skimming through the air and whistling as it burrows a burning hole into his chest—all without looking.

Mando groans, impressed, “Where - where’d you learn that?”

She scoffs in amusement and continues trudging to the hole in the wall. “Well, you’re always so quick to point blasters you never let me show off. Could’ve aided you if you weren’t so metalheaded all the time.”

“Is that so?” Mando huffs a breath as a laugh. “Might have to upgrade your blaster then.”

“I think you need more upgrading than me right now.”

“Not - not a droid.”

She chuckles and assists him in ducking through the hole. “No, but you do need some repairs.”

The speeder bike sits only a few metres away from them; small, dainty, not suitable for a passenger. “Won’t-” he gasps, “-fit.”

She pats his chest for reassurance. “Well, you’re gonna have to. Get on.”

Mando slings a leg over either side of the speeder and lowers onto the back of it, uncomfortable and awkwardly positioned but it’ll have to do. “I can’t drive.”

She teases, “Oh, I know, I’ve seen you pilot.” She seats herself between the handlebars and Mando’s hunched body, patting the side of his thigh to indicate him to scooch closer. “Come on, you’ll fall off back there.”

Mando obeys her commands, his inner thighs pressing against the outside of her frame and beskar squeezed between both of their bodies, an arm gingerly curves around her midsection for greater support and it permits him an opportunity to be close to her - to hold her even if it’s not exactly how he imagines it.

“Go,” he instructs, visor tilted at the influx of Klatoonians emerging from the exit way.

Speeder hums to life, repulsorlift engine vibrates underneath their bodies and sags the vehicle towards the ground at the additional weight of him. She flexes her fingers around the throttle and zips off in the opposite direction of the gathering army, zigging and zagging to dodge the incoming bolts that kick up the dust ahead of them, one of them just barely managing to skid against Mando’s pauldron from this distance. She’s a good driver—avoiding missable dunes and anything else that might jolt him off, but the constant sharp turns don’t assist with his increasing headache and he tucks the peak of his helmet between her shoulder blades, concentrating on the rise and fall of her lungs.

In, out, in, out; fast and shaky like a collapsing tree in a brutish storm.

“Passed by an abandoned cantina on my way here,” the Girl says, mostly to ensure he doesn’t fall unconscious. “We can set up there. Take care of you. Be back before nightfall. Sound good?”

“Nnngh,” he groans. “Out of fucking action, again.”

“There was no way to know they had explosives. Don’t blame yourself.”

“That’s not true - used it against them. Should’ve - should’ve figured they’d do the same.”

The Girl’s back flexes as she twists the handlebars and sharply turns behind a cluster of boulders, casting them in a thick shadow and providing a break in blaster fire. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mando. I’ll fix you up and we’ll go see the kid, yeah? He’ll be waiting for ya.” It falls on deaf ears, Mando too preoccupied with not passing out and sliding off the speeder—there’s so traction, nothing to support his weight, and he maneuvers his chin to rest against her shoulder questing for the cushioning of flesh to soothe the throbbing in his head.

Normally, the heat of Tatooine suns posed as a nuisance with all of the layers he donned, but now it’s comforting and Mando welcomes it with open arms—the heat equalising with that of his neck—like a temperate bath drawn just for him and he sinks his toes in the waters, moaning at the buoyancy and how light he feels - how unrestricted he is without the beskar.

The Girl slaps his thigh, though it does very little to draw him out of his daydreaming; perceptions desensitising as his weight gradually distributes to her, forcing her shoulders down so she’s almost laying on the speeder with him atop of her.

“Mando, fuck, come on. Get up, you’re heavy - we’re gonna crash.”

“Can’t.”

It’s all he can manage to slip out of the drought of his mouth, his lips catching on his teeth. He’s so heavy, blood converted into uncured duracrete that sags through his veins, thick and clumpy and asphyxiating.

“Just hang in there, all right? We’re almost there. Stay awake.”

She sounds so far away, so out of his reach, and his fingers subconsciously dig into the shirt—struggling to latch onto her as though she’ll disappear if he doesn’t—but it feels like he’s grasping at mist; the particles just floating through his digits as he clenches around nothing. He’s breathing it in, dense and cloudy with a taste like smoke and rotten flesh, coagulating in his lungs until he’s spluttering inside the helm at the assault.

Mando doesn’t feel the speeder come to an abrupt stop, doesn’t register he’s been relocated inside the cantina she spoke of until he’s on the floor propped up against a wall; beskar scraping against the stone as he fights off not collapsing to his side and welcome the duracrete as his eternal resting spot. She blocks the door with a bystanding chair, just in case, and returns to his side on her knees, hands frantic and gliding all over his heaving body; it’s oddly comforting - her touches crafted with the healing properties of bacta and his eyes slip closed to envision them slow and grazing along his skin, along his chest and neck, dainty fingers wiping away the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You didn’t dress the wound?” she questions, dipping her fingers into his cowl and amassing metallic crimson at the tips. “Stubborn son of a-”

“I won’t make it,” he interjects, helm twisting to admire her—memorising her beauty in hopes it’ll remain with him in the afterlife. Her lips raw from the onslaught of pearly whites, her eyebrows taut with concern, eyes shifty as she investigates his bodily injuries; it’s an unfortunate circumstance, yet her beauty knows no bounds—she’s in fear and shock of letting him slip through her fingers but she’s still so fucking breathtaking.

“You’re getting out of this.”

She files through the medpac stocked with minimal medical supplies, having used a vast sum of it on her the night prior. There’s not enough for both of them, her lashes still needing tending to, and Mando tries to stop her; tries to explain there’s a good chance the bacta won’t even make it to his system before he shuts down, but nothing but a soft groan flutters past his lips - his subconscious taking control over his obscurity. ”

The Girl’s scared, terrified, more than he’s ever seen her before, more than back on the spacecraft; more than when she speculated he would kill her. It shoves needles into his heart looking at her like this, looking at her be so fucking concerned for his health more than her own—she should leave, she needs to leave. They’ll be coming for him. This is why he came alone—why he didn’t want anybody around when his heart stops beating—why he’s been sidestepping around her.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so detached she’d be back safe in the Crest and he wouldn’t be slowly hemorrhaging to death.

She’s been around him too long; her brain picking up the most minute details he lets slip past his beskar walls. “I’m not leaving you,” she reassures, reading his mind.

“Need to.”

“I won’t.”

Mando whispers her name in short puffs, uttering the beautiful title that is solely her into the sand-buried cantina and strokes a delicate line across her cheekbone to her jaw where he rests his hand. It clenches underneath the leather - Mando swipes his thumb over the front of her chin sweetly, tenderly, just feeling her contours and arches. “Go.”

“Mando,” she forcibly smiles, “you’re an idiot if you think you’re dying here.”

She’s as stubborn as a Bluurg - he smiles.

He’s beginning to understand now—why the Girl hadn’t notified him of her past—or, then again, maybe he already figured it out and chose to ignore it, to replace desires with rationality. Perhaps that’s why, despite all of the suppressed emotions expanding against the confines of a metaphorical transparisteel bottle, he subconsciously found ways to distance himself from her. Utilising the Child’s priority, feigning resentment, straight-up leaving her in the dark—why he was still isolating himself even after their cin vhetin.

After all, it’s easier to care for a skeleton in the closet than the very alive passion in his chest. But it’s easier to neglect the corpse—forget the closet entirely—than the mania; that never stops, never allows him a brief moment to recuperate his thought process.

“I forgive you,” he mumbles with a smile, a smile she won’t get to see. “I forgive you, ner mesh’la.”

It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward.

That’s what he wants; to move forward.

If he doesn’t make it out alive, she deserves to know—she should know how he feels towards her, even if it’s not reciprocated.

She freezes, hands hovering over him with a tremble that matches his heart’s; her eyes sliding close—it’s for his benefit, he realises, she doesn’t want her pathetic sobbing to be the last thing he sees.

It’s not pathetic in the slightest; how could somebody so intangible ever be considered pathetic?

With quivering muscles, Mando presses his leather flat against her cheek to collect a stray tear. It rolls along the curve of his thumb and soaks into the wrist of his flight suit, the moisture felt against his skin and he moans in a blend of delight and pain; a drops worth of Her converging against his flesh, staining it with salt.

“I forgive you,” Mando repeats to himself.

Grief is etched into her eyes when she finally peels the thin lids back, her pupils flickering across the visor desperate to discover the eyes behind the cold blackness. There’s a pang in her heart that pulsates each time his chest collapses underneath her hands, counting down the rise and falls until it inevitably discontinues. “You’re not dying here.” Her lips are pulled taut against her teeth, cheeks wet with tears. “I won’t allow it. The kid needs you. I need you. End of discussion, all right?”

Mando’s head tilts, an overly enthusiastic tug in the corner of his mouth.

“All right,” he permits.

“Good.” The Girl wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the shirt; his shirt. “Sit forward, let me fix that head of yours.”

“Helmet,” he groans.

Oh, how his creed screws with him, obstructs him from the most basic aspects of life.

“It doesn’t need to come off.” She drives him forwards off the wall and wraps an arm across the front of his shoulders, a leg clipping behind him and another in front over his lap, snuggly positioning him between her legs so he doesn’t collapse either side. She’s tepid, pillowy, and he allows himself to lean into her, his pauldron squishing into her chest. “It’ll just be hard to tell if it’s sealed,” she narrates to herself as she digs through his cowl where it obscures the underneath of his helmet. “Is this okay?”

He nods, fingers itching in his gloves.

Delicate, smooth fingers trail beneath the rim of his helmet—his breath hitches—and slip through the gap. Mando swallows the moans and twitches she produces when she brushes around the wound, charting out its size, location, and severity. She’s so close to him, so fucking close; her hand is inside the helmet, inside his personal space, inside his Creed—fingers tangling with his overgrown locks, curls knotting around creeping digits dragging them in and holding them against his skull while blood cakes onto her skin.

Bacta spray expels from the flacon in her clutch and adheres to the wound, the properties immediately getting to work reconstructing the fractured cells. It’s sticky, burns against the sensitivity, the groaning is unavoidable but he centres on his breathing and slacking his muscles.

“That’s it,” she coos, patting his far-end pauldron, “relax.”

The consoling reminds him of the nights he’d spent staying up with the kid, murmuring reassuring words he’d plucked from the depths of his memories as a child and he hums at the bittersweet remembrances—they’re faded now with his age, as though he watched it through the eyes of a passerby in a dense crowd, too difficult to focus on the exact detailing but everything that mattered remained; the scratchiness of his father’s beard against his forehead each night, his mother’s subdued tone lulling him to sleep, both of their warmth encasing him on chilly nights surrounded by the village’s campfire.

Mando didn’t have the luxury of a rewarding life - the privilege - the right. There’s not much he remembers from his youth, much less than the average with the trauma he’s endured. He doesn’t want that for the kid, doesn’t want him to forget Mando; he means too much to him and it’d tear his heart beyond death if those memories were buried by the same trauma that keeps Mando awake—the same trauma that draws him right back to a battlefield as a coping mechanism.

Mando’s been living the way of Resol’nare for decades now—ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor - An vencuyan mhi, he recites the rhyme, obey the commands of Mandalore—his soul intact and a designated spot in Manda reserved just for him; it’s a great honour, one any dar’manda would be envious of, yet he’s uncertain - tentative of the afterlife. He’ll be alone again. Just like before the Child was placed into his care. Just like before he met the Girl. Nobody will be there to welcome him—no parents, no relatives, no friends, no-one.

Twitches coursing along his spine and the back of his neck does little to soothe his nerves regarding his mortality, his body tense and rigid as though he was already proceeding with rigour mortis. He mustn’t be concealing it well as the Girl draws him closer into her chest, his helmet resting against the side of her head as she continues administering the spray, a hand smoothing along the curve of his neck to rest there.

He’s positioned just like he had that night the Mandalorians rescued him, the same fear and panic pulling at his tendons and compressing his lungs, seeking comfort from his saviour—like a scared little boy.

It’s both humiliating and heartening; the Girl being so delicate with him despite being dipped in a coating of sharp, cold beskar head-to-toe. It’s committed to protecting him, to aid him when all else fails, and yet she’s the one he wants to surround himself with. She’s elastic-y and pliable—versatile for any situation he throws her way—made of exotic materials from the most desolate planets in the Outer Rim.

Mando wonders what her hands would feel like elsewhere; tending to the wounds he accumulates among his torso, rubbing at the aging lines of his face—always taking care of him. Mando forages underneath the stockiness that is his heart plate and cowl, leathers wrap around the small beskar pendant amidst his chest and rips the lace from around his neck. It’s shiny, rarely exposed to elements and harsh sunlight, but still worn with age and he runs a padded thumb along a steel tusk protruding from the skull.

The Girl pats him on the curvature of neck and shoulder one last time before retracting her hand from his helmet and returning him against the wall; he nearly mopes at the lack of her. “That’s that. I applied a thick coat so you should be okay, give it a moment to settle in.” She wipes her bloody hand against the thigh of her pants and clips the bottom of his helmet between a thumb and forefinger, twisting it to look at her. “How are you feeling?”

Mando considers. The majority of the pain had vanished, or numbed, and his senses are making a steady comeback but the whole ordeal has left him drained, too exhausted to even think about manipulating his muscles to utter a sentence in reply. He does, though, he doesn’t want her worrying more than she already is. “It’s an improvement. Thank you.”

“Let me take a look at this.” She lightly taps around the gash on his side to test his reactivity. It’s not a deep wound—no cauterising today—and he sighs with relief when she fingers through the medpac to recover a bacta patch. He’ll need proper care eventually but it’s all they possess way out here.

Mando flinches when she inches the flight suit out of the way, hissing.

She searches the satchel and retrieves an all-too-familiar pouch, his eyes hardening. “Why do you have that?”

“It can be used as medicine,” she mumbles, suddenly uncertain. “It helped me, it can numb the pain.”

Mando glares at the narcotics, shaking his head obstinately. “No -- no, it’s addictive. You shouldn’t have that. I don’t want you using it.” His muscles tense at his plea, hoping she doesn’t read into it and discover its underlying reasonings—how concerned he is. “It should - should be disposed of. It’ll only entice-”

“I’m not addicted to it, Mando. It was a one-time thing.”

“It’s-”

She cuts him off with a gentle sigh and shoves the pouch back into the satchel. “Was just trying to lessen the pain, ya know, guess you’ll have to endure it. Might teach you some manners.”

His eyes soften, his chest lax; he’s starting to make a habit of blowing things out of proportion—it’ll only drive the Girl away if he persists. His thumb assaults the surface of the pendant in his clutch, rubbing it raw, and folds his adjacent hand over hers poignantly. She understands his sentiment, offering him a small smile that puts his concerns at ease.

She’s too benevolent for her own good—too compliant to his immaturity.

She changes the subject. “This is all getting old real fast, you know. All this patching up we keep doing for each other. We oughta take a break somewhere. Could be good for the kid.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t take breaks, not when he’d been injured and definitely not when he’s a fugitive but hearing the Girl suggest one makes his thoughts run wild creating phony scenarios where the three of them could spend time somewhere secluded other than the Crest. Somewhere far away from all the fucking sand.

It could be good for the kid, could help him return to himself being out in free lands without the worry of a lurking Guild member aimed to either kill or capture him.

Mando parts his lips but he’s cut off before he’s even constructed a sentence in his mind; the rhythmic strums of speeder bikes nearing their quarters. He activates his sonic detectors and isolates the audio, concentrating on the alternating warbling while the Girl fists the hilt of her blaster instinctively in preparation. “There’s two,” he claims.

“Okay, wait here.”

“Wait, wait.” Mando catches her wrist as she stands to arrest her raring thoughts. He unclasps the strap across his chest and maneuvers the rifle around from his back and shoulders, gingerly pressing the wintry steel barrel into her palm. “There’s one cartridge loaded.” His hand snakes to his boot and retrieves the final cylinder, relinquishing his paramount foundation to survival.

She stares at him with wide eyes filled with wonder and questions he can’t pinpoint, hands examining the Amban-phase pulse rifle loosely clutched in her palms. A soft, genuine smile sketches into the curve of her lips and she gratefully accepts his offer, perching herself against a window to observe the vastness outside.

Mando can’t manage to see past her, the window too high from his angle, so he entitles himself to travel her frame; monitoring—recording—her posture, alternating foot and knee flat against the duracrete and her shoulders pulled taut where the stock rests in the crevice. The posture of a Sharpshooter.

She sucks in a shallow breath and slowly exhales, her lips curling into a smile as her eyes lock onto an unguarded Klatoonian through the lens.

Mando quietly chuckles underneath his beskar and subconsciously runs his thumb along the beskar pendant once more, his eyes never tearing away from the Girl—she’s like the Child when he’s given the knob of his control throttle; devilishly grinning with a mischievous glimmer in their eye.

He recounts how curious she had been regarding his rifle, how she used to pester him just to get a glimpse of the silver barrel. I’ll get my hands on it one day and I won’t be giving it back, she had said once and seeing that excitement in her eyes now only insisted on the claim.

A micro pellet shoots out the fork-tipped tubing, the sound reverberating inside the structure for a moment before it settles to silence. Assessing the expression on her face, she hits her mark. A surge of pride runs underneath Mando’s muscles—the Girl utilising his sniper as if it belongs in her arms, fashioned just for her hands and fingers—followed by an unrelenting tide of arousal through his veins and to his crotch; maybe she can keep the rifle.

The Mandalorian has only ever had material possessions, so seeing her exercise his tools of survival like her own—squeezing the trigger, hugging the stock, peering through the lens—pressing her body up against the exact rifle he’d press against - fuck, if it doesn’t stimulate dark, inappropriate, disturbing thoughts and a tingling sensation at the base of his stiffening cock.

Embarrassed from his condition—wounded and bloody and fucking horny—he droops his eyes to the opened bacta gel. It’s laughable. It seems each time he’s injured and she’s touching him, taking care of him, his arousal decides it’s time to awaken. She must think he gets off on it; that’s enough to make him cringe under his helm.

Another blast echoes the spacious room and this time he hears the pop of the second Klatoonian, followed by a soft exhale from the Girl at her accomplishments. “That’s taken care of,” she sighs. “Sorry, Mando, I don’t think you can have this back.”

Mando rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“How do you suppose you’ll use it without any more ammunition?”

She huffs and props the rifle against the wall beside him. “Oh, I’m sure you have plenty hidden away. I mean, why not gimme yours? I’m a better shot than you--”

“We don’t know that.”

“--and you did destroy mine, remember?”

Actually—he’d almost forgotten. It’s the entire circumstance that scripted their journey through the Outer Rim together, but with everything that’s happened within the past few days, he wasn’t exactly in the right mindset to be thinking about their agreed-upon reimbursement.

The Girl continues, “We should make a contest for it. Whoever's the better shot, gets to keep it. Sounds fair to me.”

Mando scoffs and reminds, “There’s no ammunition, mesh’la.”

“Come on, just admit you’re scared of losing.” She pauses to allow him to pipe up. He doesn’t. “Okay then. I’m getting you fixed up and then we’re going to the Crest to get ammunition and then I’m gonna kick your ass in this challenge.”

“I never agreed--”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily, Mando.”

He hums in feigned thought; she seems satisfied with herself and lowers to her knees beside him once more, hands uncorking a canister of water to flush the lesion of grit and administer a clump of soothing gel. She’s astonishingly fast and precise; she’s not joking about this competition—he’ll be in trouble if she proceeds. Nevertheless, having her hands so close to—fuck—he jolts abruptly and repositions himself so he’s concealing the bulge in his lap, extracting a concerned yet confused glare from her.

“It’s sensitive,” he lies through his teeth, but she nods her head with the allegation.

Her hands smooth over a bacta patch underneath his flight suit—another ripped garment alongside his cloak—and he moans as the patch pulses a soothing burst that numbs the slash and lessens the tenderness.

“Okay, you’re all set. How’s that head of yours feeling?”

Always taking care of him; always so concerned.

Beskar is weighted in his palm and he returns his attention to the pendant, shimmering in the sunlight cascading through the windows and reflecting onto the ceiling above them. Mando’s head angles to the side as he slips the torn threads through his fingers and pries them apart, the beskar dangling in the middle of the lace, to slide his knuckles along the sides of the Girl’s neck until he’s at the rear. She gazes down at the pendant stowed against her sternum as he secures a taut knot, mindful of the strands of hair as to not entangle them together.

Pulling away, he hooks a forefinger along the thread and collects the beskar at the bottom where he rubs a thumb along the face of the skull.

His vocoder whirrs a humming sound, “Better, mesh’la, much better. Thank you.”

“What’s this for?” she questions, examining the necklace incredulously.

“You.” It’s simple - sweet - truthful; it’s all hers. She doesn’t seem entirely content with his answer, her eyebrows stitching together as she mulls the symbolic gesture. He takes mercy on her rationalising, albeit awkwardly, “I can’t return a mutual connection. Can’t give you me - wholly. I received this necklace as part of my initiation to the Creed denoting my trust, my devotion, and it’s been with me since I was a boy.”

She lifts her eyes to the visor as he shares, her hands resting atop his still playing with the pendant.

“It’s a part of my Creed—a part of me. I want you to have it.”

“Mando,” she gasps. “You’re sure?”

He simply nods.

She leans into his personal space until her warmth invades the confines of his undershirt that puts Tatooine’s twin suns to shame. Mando’s throat bobs when a hand tunnels through his cowl to splay across the side of his neck and her face looms near the side of his helmet. He doesn’t twist to look at her—doesn’t want to unnerve her with the leering tint—but his shoulders sag at the vague tremor through the beskar; her lips weakly compressed against the curvature on his helmet.

He’s not one for words, but it seems he succeeded on that front.

It makes his heart flatten and swell in succession as though she was kneading the organ with her hands, the contact so placid and gradual - just taking her time tenderising the muscle.

Not to mention the boost of blood that flows through his abdomen and finalises below his waist, causing a twitch in his pants and she hadn’t even touched him except for a delicate hand on his cowl.

Mando really was like a boy—a pining, desperate, hormonal boy.

The Girl withdraws somewhat and trails the hand from his neck over the bump of his heart plate and seats it in the cushioning covering his stomach, her eyes bounce from his visor to his reviving arousal with her bottom lip clamped between rows of teeth. She softly snickers, “You don’t need to get shot at for me to touch you, Mando.”

He swallows, his helmet twisting on its axis to watch her expression—eyes darkening and tonguing crawling through her parted lips to apply a coating of saliva on them.

“Is that what you want?” she croons. “For me to touch you?”

He’s speechless—choking on his own spit—and she doesn’t help matters when she glides the hand lower, her fingers catching on the hem of his waistband and her palm enveloping the curve of his bulge.

Mando recollects all the instances he’d thought of the Girl like this—touching him so sweetly, pulling moans from his mouth—all the times he’s wanted more, needed more. Even with her hands down his pants he craved more, required her warmth—wanted to be buried in that warmth.

“Yes,” he musters up, his words coming out staticy through the modulator.

It’s all she needs to continue, r hand snaking beneath the hem and she wraps slender fingers around his length, sluggishly pumping twice that has his back arching off the wall and she smiles smugly in her endeavours.

His heart is in his throat, his stomach, his crotch—everywhere.

The Girl tightens her grip some, her fingers catching on his skin without any form of lubricant but it reminds him of being back on the Crest in the pilot's chair and he has no criticism of that. She drags her hand to the top and gradually slides back down, her thumb following a pulsating vein back to the base. It has his muscles tensing, constricting underneath his layers, but his fingers dig into the cloak underneath him.

He greedily whines, “Need more.”

She seems to understand his request and reaches for the hem with her other hand, scrambling to yank his trousers down and he assists by lifting his weight off the ground with his forearm until the hem rests at his mid-thigh; the beskar cuisse preventing the fabric from lowering any further but he couldn’t give a shit. It’s enough.

She hums at the sight of his cock—large, hard, and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. Digits contract at the base, eliciting a groan from deep within his throat, and the Girl tosses a flirty smile at him as she gradually dips her head down for her lips to meet the tip.

“Fu-ck,” he moans, his eyes widening as she flicks her tongue to collect the drop of white and it just melts into her tastebuds; brands them with his cum. She teases him, just barely making contact with a modest brush of her tongue against the head and he’s forced to restrain himself from bucking each time she spawns a coating of saliva that the hot air wipes dry in a matter of seconds.

Mando scrunches his fists against the duracrete and listens to the tinking his helmet produces each time he twitches his head against the sandstone, if it wasn’t made of beskar it'll surely be scraped to hell. He’s fortunate the bacta spray was so efficient—there’s no doubt in his mind he wouldn’t be able to enjoy this as much as he is without it working wonders on his wound. One of his hands occupies the back of her head and he unintentionally drives her downwards until her lips seal around the head of his cock and he’s gasping for air—the filters of his helmet breathing violently to supply the oxygen he’s lacking.

It’s exhilarating being inside of her mouth—albeit very little of him—and he lifts his hips to delve deeper, exploring the uncharted territory of her tongue and throat; so fucking soft, like her gums are fabricated out of clouds and her tongue a bed prepared just for him to rest on. “Gods,” he chokes. “Such a — pretty little mouth, mesh’la.”

She half-moans around his length, sending pulsations that makes his knees weak and toes curl. She bobs her head up and down rhythmically, her hand stroking what she can’t fit inside, and his gloved fingers twirl around a cluster of strands at the nape of her neck just to hold her - to feel the muscles stretch and loosen each movement she makes.

Mando is gluttonous for her—so fucking desperate to quicken the pace or attain new limits—and he experimentally sinks her head lower onto his shaft, slowly but with some level of authority that makes the Girl moan and comply with his proposal.

The curve of her nose brushes against the flock of unkempt bristles at the base—it’d been a while since he last tamed them, though he suspects the Girl doesn’t mind—and her sharp hot exhales through her nose can be felt dancing along the soft flesh of his groin, the head of his cock nudging against the back of her mouth before it slips past and eases down her throat an inch. Along with the newfound pressure around his length, the Girl flattens her tongue on his underside and sucks—generously hard, might he add.

There’s an ache in his abdomen, a crack in his knee as it jerks, and he’s forced to gnaw on his lips to refrain from spewing out shameful noises from deep within his throat. His sonic detectors pick up the faintest of audio; the squelching of his cock slipping in and out of her throat, her short puffs of exhales, and her cut-off gagging noises she makes each time he explores a little more than she can withstand. It’s unrighteous how turned on he’s getting from the noises alone, but she makes her presence well known when her lips glue around at the base just sits there taking in his entire length in her throat; tears brew in the corners of her eyes and she swallows a heap of saliva—consuming all of his rationality as her throat tightens around his width.

“Oh, f-fuck, shit. St-sto-op.”

He reflexively yanks her head up until only the head of his cock is situated in her mouth, twitching, leaving the remainder of his length sodden with stringy pools of her saliva that streak to the brown curls.

Mando observes the mess she’s made, mouth drowning with lust. As much as he could sit there and fuck her mouth like this, he aches for more contact—requires it like the oxygen he breathes.

“I want more, pretty girl, need you.”

His hand travels from the base of her neck along the curve of her spine and rests on the soft of her rear, indicating his proposition. She reluctantly pries her lips from his tip and glances up at him with filthy eyes to murmur, “Need me?” she swallows. “Need me to take care of you?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“Need me to ride you -- to fuck you?”

“Yes, mesh’la.” His fingers bite into the flesh of her ass and dip in the waistband at her tailbone, lazily tugging at the material but it fails to budge against the defence of her belt.

“Fucking so needy,” she sings.

Mando is needy—dehydrated and starving for her—utterly insatiable.

She unclasps her belt and unbuttons the two little dimes at her groin, but he beats her to the belt loops and slips either thumb on the farsides and tugs. His eyes soak in the exposed flesh; how cushiony her thighs look, how they must feel squeezing the sides of his head. There’s a rumble in his chest and it finds its exit through his filters, shooting straight to the Girl’s core.

The Girl guides a leg out from beneath her and he continues undressing her from the waist down until she’s only left in her undergarments, the length of her legs being explored by crunchy leather. She doesn’t allow him the opportunity to take initiative and remove his gloves—he wouldn’t be able to control where his hands led if he had—and tosses a leg on either side of his thighs, the underside of his cock rubbing against her clothed pelvis to evoke a muffled moan from his throat.

One of her hands rests on his side atop of the bacta patch and she gazes into his helmet, silently inquiring her concerns.

“I’m okay.” She continues eyeing him, her pupils flickering to the bottom side of the helmet his lesion laid in slumber. “Mesh’la, I’m good.” He proves it with a minor thrust of his hips that has her scooting against his lap, distributing her weight among his thighs.

She seems pleased with his condition, tearing her hands from his wound to bunch up the overhanging fabric. Mando stops her, clinging to the hem of the shirt. “No, keep - keep it on. Looks good on you.”

An imposing heat rises to her cheeks and paints them hues of reds and pinks at the implication Mando gets off on her wearing his clothing. He’s watching her, she feels the leer of his visor, and she bows her head and strokes his length in an attempt to hide away, to distract him from the mortifying blush gracing her cheeks and nose. Mando’s insistent, stubborn, refuses to look away from her ‘pretty little face’—his words, not hers—and just scouts as her features contort shyly.

He won’t look away.

Especially not when she lifts her thighs and hovers over his readying cock, the head nudging against her clothed sex; warm and damp from her secreting through the fabric. She wants this, he acknowledges, just as much as himself.

She dips her hips enough, just barely, so he’s firmly pressed against her; his twitches travelling through to her, sparking her fingers to dig into the pads of his shoulders in shock. Mando groans, powerless underneath her, and bucks his hips plenty to maintain a pleasant caress against the tip of his cock.

“You’re taunting, pretty girl.”

She smirks. “Why not do something about it?”

Oh, he will—he’ll make her applaud the ground he walks on if he has to.

With one foul swoop, Mando plunges his hand between her legs and eases the garment aside, positioning himself between her folds and collecting the slick with his head. It makes something erupt inside of him, in his abdomen, and he freezes like that; his cock scarcely pressing against her entrance - she flutters against him.

The throbbing at the back of his head pulls him out of his relishing but he’s not willing to interrupt—not when he’s waited so fucking long to feel her like this. “Sit down,” he breathes, lightly pushing on her thighs. “S-slowly.”

She abides by his commands and gradually sinks on his length—so fucking slowly. He asked for it, but she’s just torturing him at this point. His eyes tear from what lays between them back to her face, her eyes squeezed closed and her teeth latching onto the flesh of her poor hand. His muscles lack, his hands caressing her legs. “Sweet girl,” he coos, “you can do it.”

“Gods, what else are you hiding under all that beskar?” she moans and continues, stretching herself around his impressive size; Mando’s not small in the slightest.

His helmet inclines with a soft chuckle, clashing against the wall behind them—the wall he was ready to die on and now he’s fucking her against it - he hadn’t even cleaned himself of the blood soaked into his cowl and caking his hair - it’s fucking dirty.

He hums her name in reassurance. “Should’ve - should’ve prepared you with m-y fingers first.”

“Yes,” she winces. “You should’ve.”

“Doing so well, so good. That’s it. Nice and slow-ly.”

There’s a silence that fills the air once he’s completely sheathed inside her, the both of them tardily comprehending the reality of the situation—they won’t be able to return to normal after this, won’t be able to look at each other without thinking of the other naked. This is their new normal, at least for today, and they carefully descend back to the scene with clarity.

Her - his shirt’s hem rubs against his garbed stomach, loose and large on her, and he slithers his hands up the back of it to clamp down on her shoulders; holding her firmly against his pelvis so she’s restricted and refuses her the opportunity to move—he wants to savour the feeling of her stretched around him, the feeling of her warmth welcoming him. She hisses at the cold steel of his vambrace along the muscles of her back and arches on him.

Mando basks in her warmth, shifting his hips side-to-side to rub against the inside of her canals, and resting the peak of his helmet against her sternum above the pendant’s residence to breathe in her scent. It’s faint with the helm’s filters stripping the air of her but there’s a hint of sweetness that he jostles around among his tongue and a speck of her musk, alongside a whiff of his personal scents from his shirt—gun oil, leather, his own musk fusing together with hers.

“Mando, I got-ta move.”

The grip on her shoulders loosens, enabling her to move slightly but doesn’t allow her to take initiative this time; his ass flexes against the ground as he thrusts up into her, pulling soft gasps from her tongue. It’s so hot, so enticing, a sound he’s dreamt of hearing but actually triggering the noises from her is intoxicating. He could bury his face between her legs and listen to her all night if she’d allow it; if his Creed allowed it.

“Pretty girl.” His hips slam into hers. “Always - always taking care of me.”

“Fu--fuck, Mand-o,” she chokes, her breathing staggering each time his groin rolls into her pelvis. A delicate hand runs along the front to the back of his cowl and sweeps underneath the steely brim, never breaching his comfort zone until he imparts his consent with a faint nod. She inches her digits up till they disappear inside his helmet—there was a time he wouldn’t let anybody get within arm’s length of his helm and now the Girl was freely raiding the unexplored depths of his skull for the second time that day.

There’s a slight pang around his lesion when she tugs on the curls and it only roams upwards when she shoves her palm up as far it’ll reach in the cramped space, her fingers working out the tight knot. He jerks at the sensations, all so foreign, so new and exciting he’s struggling to withhold himself from doing something stupid.

“Been thinking about this for so lo-ng,” he whispers, quickening his pace to drive up and nudge against her cervix that has her flinging her head back. “Thought about fucking——fucking you over the control panel ea-ch night.”

“Maker,” she purrs. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Nearly crawled in your fuck-ing bunk with you.”

Mando groans. “Yeah? I’ll fuck you in my bunk whenever you want, mesh’la. Name the time.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Mando.”

“Din,” he slips, freezes, muscles stretched and tight—he went and did something stupid. The Girl notices his wavering, his thrusts having abruptly stopped, and joins his absence of movement. A layer of nervous sweat breaks out across his forehead, his heart paced faster than a Kaadu. Everything is distanced, the Girl seemingly klicks away, thoughts clouded with analysing his psyche’s outburst; a foolish slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment.

He hasn’t heard that name since he was a boy—hadn’t uttered it aloud since he became a foundling—so it’s a huge fucking shock when he hears the syllable trip past his lips.

And it’s an even bigger shock when the Girl repeats it back to him, “Din?”

It does sound nice coming from her, though. He can’t deny that. Like his name is made of nectar, sweet and thick that dribbles from her tongue and down her chin—he could just lick it up from her, catch the remnants before it plummets the duracrete.

She grinds herself against him to pull him back to reality, twirling a curl around her finger curiously; cloyingly.

“Din,” he repeats, firmer, with authority, “Say it, mesh’la, say it for me. Please.”

She tugs on his locks, forcing his helmet to tilt up to look at her and his heart misses a beat when she parts her lips and moans into his visor, “Din.”

Dank Farrik—she always knows just what to do to get his blood pumping. She doesn’t even know the significance of the word, just acknowledges how his cock quivers inside her from speaking it and then she’s a mewling mess muttering along a never-ending string of Din, Din, Din’s.

“Hold still,” he warns, a sturdy vambrace wrapping around her coccyx and propelling himself upwards and unto his knees with her below him, a gloved hand at the back of her head to protect it from slamming against the hard duracrete.

She’s even more sublime from this angle; spread out underneath him, the backs of her thighs pressed against his hip joints—purely on display for him and only him.��

Din can’t stand not being inside her, not feeling her slick walls hugging him so fucking tightly it drags pleasure through the core of his shaft, and he sheathes himself back into her quickly. Propping up his weight with a forearm beside her head, and pounding his hips into hers vigorously - the clap of their skin snapping through the air.

She grinds her hips upwards into his lap to massage the swollen nub of her clit against him, jerking at the sensitivity - though she’s so restricted between solid flooring and a just as solid beskar figure that she more-or-less humps into Din’s body - her fingers slither behind the beskar margins of his cuisse’s to stabilise herself.

The abandoned cantina air is hot, sweltering, thick with sweat and sex—versus the dry, dusty stench prior that left his lungs ticklish. They’re fucking each other so desperately they’re emitting a skyrocketing heat, it’s dumbfounding.

Her lips are pulled invertedly to force back the whiny incoherent moans. Beads of sweat along her forehead. Eyes glued close.

What a beautiful sight. All for him. It’s contrasting to the last time they were in a similar scenario—her hands on him, him sitting there licking every crumb off the plate of food she served him—but their positions had changed and now he’s the one working those noises out of her. A flurry of youthful pride rushes through him and he slips two fingers to touch where they connect, feeling the ridges and veins of his cock through the leather as he pulls out and slides back in - feeling what she’s feeling - memorising what she’ll memorise.

“I - I can’t…shit...Din,” she croons.

She’s close to her apex—her walls tighten around his cock even further. If she gets any tighter Din will come right here and now. He’s still not done - still needs more of her - thirsts for it.

“I know, mesh’la, I know. A - a little longer. Just a little longer.”

The digits between her thighs compile a coating of her slick seeping down the sides of her leg, applying it to her clit and drawing fast circles. She doesn’t complain about the scratchy leather on the sensitive bud, doesn’t gripe that he’s not allowing her the touch of his bare flesh—she thinks it’s fucking hot; he can’t take his hands off her for a fucking second to rid himself of the confines, can’t keep her waiting to inch his pants down past his thighs. He’s still completely clothed, permitting only his cock and thighs to spring free of his flight suit enough to fuck her into the ground—into the ground. It’s unadulterated filth through and through.

Din’s tattered and slashed cloak droops to the side of him and the Girl wads a horde of the scratchy fabric in her hand, tugging on it that brings him to meet with her hips like she’s coordinating his movements. “Oh, fu-ck. Right there, Mando, right there.”

“Din,” he growls a reminder all-while maintaining the pace and posture she’s arching into, her moaning of his name an addicting motivator, “my - my name is Din.”

If he wasn’t hitting something so unreachable—something so itchy she never knew existed—she might’ve wrapped her arm around his neck, pulled his helmet in for a kiss, and whisper sweet nothings in response to his confession. She can’t though - he doesn’t give her a second's worth of breaks. Unable to demonstrate her appreciation, she wrenches her head to the forearm beside her and administers a laden press of her lips to his leathered wrist; a small but incredibly sweet gesture that has his lungs tugging on his heartstrings.

She whispers his name as if testing it out on her tongue, this time with more sentiment. It’s a soft, short, and rounded-sounding name—everything he’s not—such a breathy syllable it doesn’t require much mouth manipulation and the Girl takes advantage of that; chorusing the word in sync with her pleasured writhing.

Din extracts his cock from her gradually and sharply slams back into her, shoving her spine across the ground that she jumps from her position an inch, the grip on his cloak tightening. “Fuck, Din!” Pearly whites sink into the leather surrounding his wrist and he grunts at the stimulation, his thrusts beginning to stagger as he reaches his climax. He won’t allow it - he’ll postpone his relief until she’s had hers if he has to; she deserves it.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You take care of me so-so well, let me feel you relax; come.”

She does relax, becomes nothing more than a boneless pool of flesh and blood beneath him that yelps at each smack of his hips, tingles at the squelching of his cock slipping through her lubricant and coating the base of his groin in a wet sheen of her.

Din’s fingers continue on her nub only periodically stopping to delve deeper and amass her juices. He hits a sweet spot and she writhes into his chest, ripping her teeth from the leather to sink them in the thick padding of his shoulder where she freely moans into the fabric—deliberately putting on a show for Din that makes the head of his cock twitch.

Din increases his pace, maintaining a speed that compensates for his lack of back with the explosion—delivering a steady tempo fit for a week's worth of workouts.

She’s so close to his ear, if the beskar wasn’t there she’d be pressed right up against the cartilage, her risque whining intruding the tunnels of his eardrums. It’s too much to consider, too fucking much.

She clamps down on his cock, tight and vice-like that he struggles to move inside of her. Her body rocks and jolts as she cums on his cock—he can feel the warmth dripping over the head and running along the sides like syrup sliding down his throat. “That’s it, pretty, do-ing so good.” She transmits a low drone from his words of praise, her bite deepening enough to leave a groove of her teeth in his muscle.

Din pinches her nub once, twice, savouring the impact of her chest against his with each jerk he pulls out of her. He aids her descent back to Tatooine, luring out the remainder of her orgasm with slow lazy circles until she politely relieves his hand from her clit—too sensitive and sore to continue.

The Girl shakes and trembles below him, feuding with the hot air that won’t stay in her lungs. She’s glazed in a gloss of sweat from her forehead all the way to her thighs; drained and overstimulated, but she extends a helping hand to the base of his cock and pumps the few inches not inside her.

“Can’t - can’t stay there all day, Din,” she teases.

It’s on the verge of abusive how she engages him, every inch of her knowing exactly what to touch and how to touch it as if he’s just constructed of mere text on a holorecord.

He disagrees; he could stay here for eternity.

Although, he takes her laboured breathing into consideration and rewards her with his sympathy; dragging out his own climax. Din experimentally rocks his pelvis, his cock pulling on the tightness of her channel—feeling all the grooves so distinctly, the gentle flow of warm cum trickling past his length—he’s managed his own undoing, his fingernails digging into the leather of his palm, cock rigid and violently palpitating.

She observes his shoulders tightening, his breathing shake, his thighs flexing as he anxiously pulls out of her sex—buries it somewhere safe in her memory for later—it’s a glorious experiencing watching a Mandalorian—The Mandalorian share something so vulnerable with her; like the after-effects of a meanspirited storm, all tranquil sounds and apprehensive touches. She seizes a hand and presses the leader against her cheek, mildly gnawing on the thumb that impishly slips past her lips, her remaining picking up the pace on his cock drawing out his high.

It’s so cordial watching her tear at his thumb, pull on his length, stare into the visor knowingly; too personal, too spellbinding. He takes the bait. “Fuck, fu-ck,” he moans, staggering on his knees and firing out a sticky white that pains the insides of her thighs—trademarking her.

She’s unrelenting, milking every drop out of him until he’s lagging and softening in her palm. When she’s finally conducted his orgasm, she presses a quick peck to his thumb and retreats her skull to the duracrete, officially out of stamina for anything more than a breathy: Shit, Din. That was-fuck.

Her thighs are wet with their combined juices—a shiny translucent mixing with the softening white. He gathers it up on the tips of his fingertips and lifts it to the Girl’s mouth, wiping the sex on her tongue she’s poked out in compliance. “So good to me. So pretty,” he strums. “How’s it taste? Did we do good?”

She nods, humming and rolling her tongue around inside her mouth to blend the liquids with her saliva.

“Sweet,” she exhales. “Salty.”

Din can only imagine the flavour they spawned together; a mouthwatering syrup that leaves a savoury aftertaste from the sweat laminating her thighs. He longs for a taste, salivating with need, but resolves.

The Girl’s slick coating his softening cock sticks to the insides of his pants as he fixes the hem back to his hips—rubbing the remnants on his thighs and gluing the short hairs to his flesh. Din reaches behind him to detach his cloak and uses the edge to wipe away the accumulated mess he’d created between her thighs, mindful of keeping the bloody end far away from her, taking his sweet time to cherish how the flesh judders in the direction of his digits and the muscles tense when he delves closer to her sex.

She props herself up with her elbows and observes him still firmly planted between her legs, a pink blush encroaching her cheekbones at the sight of her nakedness compared to the Mandalorian.

He notices her shyness and decides not to comment, simply places a hand on either of her knees and trails them up to her torso and across her arms where he interlocks his fingers with hers - bending down atop of her to tuck his helmet in the curve of her neck, shielding her from the prying eyes of the twin spheres peeking through the window.

She rests her cheek against the side of his helmet, murmuring soft praises. Fucked me so good, she whines, gonna leave me sore all night.

Din groans into the helm and settles his weight on her, too exhausted to move, but she welcomes his physique—invites the dense muscles to recuperate on her for as long as he requires—and she wraps an arm around the back of his helmet, cradling him into her sweat-slicked neck.

“So about that break…”

_____________

“ner” - my/mine “mesh’la” - beautiful “cin vhetin” - fresh start/clean slate “Resol’nare” - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life “Ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor- An vencuyan mhi” - Education and armour, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader, All help us to survive” “dar’manda” - one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @djarrex

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lol-jackles · 4 years ago

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Can you explain how residuals work? How long someone receives them and if the amount and time varies depending on contract? Would an actor/actress from a wildly successful show on one of the 3 major networks, let's use Friends or Seinfeld as an example, be able to make a living on their residuals?

Boy you really want me to lose readers by boring them into a coma.

Let’s make this super easy. For reruns in syndication, the actor is paid 40% of the minimum rate for the first rerun program, dropping to 30% for the second rerun, 25% for the third rerun, and so on until it reaches 5% of the original fee the actor was paid for their appearance if the episode for the 12th rerun and beyond. There are also residuals for foreign telecasts of the program; these are arrived at using an entirely different formula based upon the distributor's foreign gross.

Let’s use Gunther from Friends and make it super-super easy by saying the show is on it’s 13th rerun. In season 1, the actor earned $5,000 per episode and appeared in six episodes so his total salary was $30,000 and his residual is $1,500 every time season 1 airs. In season 2, the actor appeared in 16 episodes and earned $10,000 per episode so his total salary is $160,000 and his residual is $8,000 everytime season 2 airs. For seasons 3 and 4, he earned $20,000 per episode, earning $600,000 and earning $30,000 every time season 3 and 4 airs. For seasons 5 and 6, 37 episodes, he earned $30,000 per episode, $1.11 million for those seasons and his residual is $55,500 everytime season 5 and 6 airs. For the remainder of the series, 62 episodes in which he appeared, he earned $40,000 per episode. That's $2.48 million for the seasons and $124,000 everytime season 7,8,9, 10 airs. Add it all up and Gunther’s total residual is $220,000 everytime all 10 Friends seasons air per local station. So yes, Gunther can live off his residuals for the rest of his life.

Of course residual calculation is far more complex and gets really hairy when you throw in streaming and dvd sales and the foreign market.

Yes the residuals does vary by contract for big TV stars because they will have clauses in their contracts that allow them to earn far more money than the base amount covered by a SAG-AFTRA contract. Jared’s future Walker residuals are negotiated between him and Rideback production company at the time of when he signed onto the role.

My stupidly simplistic speculation for Supernatural cast --- everytime all 15 seasons of SPN airs on TNT.....

Jared gets $3 million total.

Jensen gets $2.2 million total.

Misha gets $120K total.

And remember kids, this is before tax, agent, lawyer, managers take their 50% total cut. Once TNT decreases airtime for SPN reruns or stops all together, then the residuals are drastically reduced or runs out.

All residuals will decrease over time because the rates are usually based upon the performer receiving decreasing fractions of their initial payments even after the amounts reach cents per episode. Drake was a cast member of Degrassi and twenty years later posted an image of his residuals paycheck on Instagram, it was $8.25. The Big Bang Theory Mayim Bialik wrote on her Instagram that she got a net pay of one cent for her guest appearance in Doogie Howser, M.D twenty five years earlier. Garrett Wang showed off his residual check for twenty four cents (X) on twitter thirteen years after Star Trek Voyager went off the air.

I’ve suspected for a long time that Jared gets percentage of Supernatural profits in syndication, so after his terms of residuals run out he will still be reaping syndication profits for, well, forever. I don’t think Jensen has the same deal partly because his old manager appears to be a tick and his former WME agent doesn’t appear to be any better. So Jensen makes up for some of the pay gap between him and Jared by directing episode so he can collect director residuals. Next, Jensen license his music to the show to get royalties in lieu of syndication percentages.

#supernatural #jared padalecki #residuals #jensen ackes #misha collins #salary

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saebyeog-i · 4 years ago

Text

a formal occasion | pcy (m)

“He could probably hear your muttering but not any specific words, so you waved your hands subtly in an attempt to reassure him that everything was fine, nothing unusual was happening, and your boyfriend definitely wasn’t talking about sex while seated in the third row pew of a church.”

genre | established relationship idolverse au, romance-ish?, softer than I intended this to be, half fluff/half smut, my attempt at humor, a mostly unedited one shot

warnings | uhhh inappropriate whispering during church, mentions of drinking and celebratory tequila shots, under the dinner table fingering does that count as exhibitionism, dirty talk on the dance floor, semi-public sex, I’m a slut for PCY in a suit (a soft, overly romantic and emotional slut, but a slut nonetheless).

word count | this is 6.66k because i’m going to hell

pairing | PCY x f!reader

—

“I wonder if they fucked in the last week,” he whispers in your ear, leaning over from his place next to you in the pew.

Your eyes bugged out, pupils the size of saucers as your brain caught up and processed. Did you hear him right? Did he actually just ask that? “Oh my god,” you muttered, not wanting to cause a scene or feed into his poorly timed query.

“The dress is really pretty, she looks good, though the white’s not really accurate given… you know,” he gestured his hands vaguely in front of him, low enough that only you could see. “Now that I think about it, I can’t even count the number of times he bailed on plans with me or the guys to go hang out with her in the last six months. But I guess now we know it wasn’t just hanging out as much as it was—”

“Chanyeol!” You hiss, eyes darting around to see if anyone heard him.

“What?” He jeers back in a hushed tone, “It’s not like it’s a secret— ow!”

Were this a conversation the two of you were having in private (namely, in your own apartment or bed), then maybe your reaction would be different other than you reaching under his suit coat and pinching the flesh of his oblique muscles harshly between your thumb and forefinger. But it wasn’t in private— you were in public, in a church no less, at Jongdae’s wedding.

“Shut. Up. Now,” you muttered lowly through gritted teeth. They were only on the first reading, so there was roughly another half hour before the ceremony would end, depending on how long each subsequent reading and the vows would take. Even if his mind was wandering somewhere slightly inappropriate, you were grateful that despite being a groomsman you were able to be seated next to your boyfriend for the duration of the ceremony. Chanyeol knew you well enough by now to know that you really didn’t like just being an accessory if you accompanied him somewhere specifically as his date. Maybe it was selfish, but truthfully it was more because you barely got to spend time with him as it was with his busy schedule, but you preferred when he could stay by your side like this.

You knew most of the boys’ partners, and you all got along well. Hell, it was even you and Jongae’s soon to be wife who had the idea for all of you to get together when the boys were on tour last and have a good ol’ fashioned ‘girls night’, whatever that meant. (Wine. It meant entirely too much wine and an hour of promising you were going to take turns cooking different snacking foods only to end up ordering delivery. Though instead of sappy romantic comedies, the lot of you watched some zombie apocalypse movies and a few comedy specials. All in all, a good night.)

Even though you’d been together for almost two years, you still felt slightly anxious any time you accompanied him to an event, public or private. Publicly, you were just among the throngs of ‘Guests of EXO’, usually not getting to spend any time close to him. Privately, however, you were able to be glued to his side— not that Chanyeol would have it any other way. You were more on the introverted side of the spectrum, and sometimes having such an extrovert for a boyfriend was downright exhausting. But he’d been so excited to bring you along to the wedding, saying that it was the first big happy life milestone for a member of the group, and he wanted you to be a part of it.

It didn’t take too long for him to convince you, either. Once it became clear how far their management would go to protect the details of the event and keep as much of it as private as possible, you felt more at ease about joining him. You had your fair share of qualms about the label, of which Chanyeol was well aware (let’s just say you didn’t have the tightest lips when you’d been drinking), but so far today was handled better than you’d expected.

“Seriously though—” he whispered, tilting his head towards you again.

“Zip. It. We are in a church,” you shot back, locking eyes with him. On his other side, you could see Junmyeon leaning slightly forward, eyebrows raised and giving you both a questioning look. He could probably hear your muttering but not any specific words, so you waved your hands subtly in an attempt to reassure him that everything was fine, nothing unusual was happening, and your boyfriend definitely wasn’t talking about sex while seated in the third row pew of a church.

Said boyfriend held his hands up defensively, shoulders shrugging as he muttered under his breath “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking! Everyone knows you can still have sex while you’re earlier on in a pregnancy—”

“Yeol!”

⬷ ❤ ⤐

Miraculously, you made it through the remainder of the ceremony without any mishaps and Chanyeol keeping any additional commentary to himself. The reception was held at a lovely partially outdoor venue with a garden and a large white tent, with plenty of room for dancing socializing. The number of invited guests was more than you’d anticipated, but then again, you guessed that Jongdae was a popular guy. You were seated at the head table with the rest of the bridal party, nursing a vodka soda while you watched the bridesmaids and groomsmen give their speeches.

And then it was time for the first dance of the newlywed couple.

Of course there was live music at this event— why wouldn’t there be? When the groom was a member of the nation’s boy group, it would have been near criminal not to have some nod to his livelihood. Chanyeol had been beaming with pride when he and Baekhyun had been asked to perform for their first dance, insisting that it was always their first choice, and not just because Kyungsoo was only able to get off base the day of the ceremony for leave from his enlistment and wouldn’t be able to rehearse at all. He also definitely didn’t count this as ‘sweet retribution’ for the tiny grudge he definitely didn’t still hold over his sister and the fact that Yoora had asked Kyungsoo to sing at her wedding for her first dance instead of him.

Watching Chanyeol perform on stage with the rest of his members or for his subunit with Sehun was always a treat, but there was something markedly special about watching him perform like this: playing an instrument, this time an acoustic guitar, side by side with Baekhyun on a pair of barstools. They were playing some love song you recognized but didn’t know the words to, and Baekhyun’s voice was doing a beautiful justice to the song. Every now and again, Chanyeol would lean forward into the mic angled in front of him and harmonize. They’d only rehearsed this a handful of times, what with busy schedules and each of them working on preparations for comebacks soon, but it still sounded heavenly to you. You watched appreciatively, even taking a moment to look around at the guests to see a number of cell phones out to film them.

For a while, it was if Chanyeol was in his own world that was just him, Baekhyun, Jongdae, and his now wife. But as the song approached its end, his eyes fluttered open and his gaze drifted to where you sat. You’d seen him through a plethora of different hair styles and colors in the time you’d been together, and while you loved his natural black hair, a different part of you was fond of the bleached blond hair he was currently sporting for filming a comeback music video. You smiled shyly, looking down at your glass for a moment before back up at him, the alcohol and the long day swirling together to make you feel just a little bit warm. He was the self proclaimed romantic of the group, the one who cried the most, and the one who talked about his feelings the most. Despite his stature and his sometimes intimidating persona when on stage, he was no more ferocious than a teddy bear, and you loved him all the more for it.

By the time the song had finished and he and Baekhyun had made their own rounds with the guests who wanted to say hello, compliment their performance, or ask for the occasional photo, you’d gotten just a little bit sleepy. You were chatting with Jongin, asking how his recent tour and promotions were going, and he was telling stories of their recent show in Paris and how it was very different from the last time he’d been when you felt a pressure on the top of your head.

“Can I help you? You’re going to ruin my hair.” You didn’t need any indication of who was leaning almost their entire bodyweight on top of you. He was getting restless, so of course he was getting clingy.

“Was I good? Tell me I was good. You liked it right? Gosh, I know I’m so talented and so handsome, you’re really lucky to have a boyfriend like me,” he went on and on, fishing for praise and you rolled your eyes, looking to Jongin for some kind of aid. He only laughed, holding up his phone to snap a photo before firing it off into some group chat or another. You made a mental note to file this moment away for reference if there ever came a future time when Jongin would make pleading eyes for you to come to his rescue as he had so kindly failed to do for you just now.

You whined as Chanyeol leaned further forward, going deadweight on top of you at your lack of response. “Yah! Too heavy, you’re gonna crush me!” Of course he started to laugh, and of course he relented finally, pulling out the chair next to you and settling down. He flipped over his phone which he’d left on the table and began scrolling through his unread notifications, left hand reaching over to rest on your knee but his focus staying on his screen, so you turned back to the others to continue polite conversation.

Chanyeol was a very physical person. He was very touchy feely. But he wasn’t exactly big on PDA, unless you were in trustworthy company. It was not unusual for him to keep a hand on your arm, your leg, your waist, even if his attention was focused elsewhere when you were in such company. It was a slightly possessive habit of his, but not one you minded all that much. It was comforting, really, a reminder that he was still right there.

You never really minded it all that much until, that is, you felt that slightly possessive hand snake its way under the skirt of your dress via the slit on your right leg and up your thigh. You were mid sentence answering a question from Yixing about your most recent vacation when you felt Chanyeol’s fingers making their way under the fabric of your underwear and drawing circles on your hip bone. That was all fine and dandy, until a moment later when you felt his hand reach further over towards your core and then the pad of his thumb rub two harsh circles over your clit in quick succession, causing you to inhale sharply at the sensation and choke on whatever unimportant words were coming out of your mouth at that moment. You were definitely more awake now than you were five minutes ago.

“Babe? You okay?” He had the audacity of asking you, feigned concern spread across his face.

You grimaced and nodded, inching your chair forward slightly so your lap was covered by more of the tablecloth. Chanyeol’s fingers retreated to your hip bone. “Mmm. Just uh, a cramp, that’s all,” you turned back to Yixing with a smile and finished your earlier sentence as your phone buzzed on the table in front of you.

Quickly, you pulled it into your lap to read the message.

찬열 20:04 I thought your period was last week?

You really never should have given him shared access to the health app data on your phone where you tracked your cycle. Seriously. But he had asked, insisted even, saying that he wanted to be aware so he couldn’t know when you needed a restock on tampons, or maybe when having some extra dark chocolate lying around the house would be appreciated.

20:06 It was, you’re just a monster and it was the first excuse I could think of.

찬열 20:07 But if you really didn’t like it, you’d tell me to stop, wouldn’t you?

You shot him a dirty look and had half a thought to step on his toes with the heel of your shoe under the table. As if he could read your mind and your intentions, he retaliated preemptively by slipping two fingers back under the fabric of your panties and between your folds. You bit down on the inside of your mouth, hard, unwilling to be caught by any of the people surrounding you.

But he was right. You didn’t really want him to stop. If you were being honest, you’d been just a little bit horny all day— something about everyone dressed up all dapper, specifically Chanyeol in a suit with his hair styled up on the top like it was now. You felt the slightest hesitation in the movements of Chanyeol’s hand, and you knew it was in slight surprise to the amount of moisture he found. Eyes still focused on his phone screen, his fingers found their way inside of you and curled as he gave two drawn out pumps, placing pressure right where you felt it the most.

찬열 20:11 You’re so wet… have you been thinking about this all night? Fuck, you’re dirty

20:12 Shut up shut up shut UP Just fucking do me or don’t or I swear to god, Yeol

찬열 20:13 Oh okay, I’ll stop

“No,” you hissed out, a hand grabbing his wrist and stopping him from removing his fingers from inside of you. If he was going to tease you this much, he was going to finish the damn job. Across the table from you, you saw Minseok raise his eyebrows curiously at you while sipping on his glass of red wine. Like Kyungsoo, he’d also only been able to take leave from his enlistment for a single night, and it would be the only night he’d get for months yet to come, but he’d even said there was no way he was going to miss this.

The conversation around you resumed, and you politely remained as engaged as you could while your boyfriend was knuckle deep inside of you. and nodding when appropriate. You sighed out and relaxed against the back of your chair, inching your hips forward and meeting his fingers on a thrust inward as Chanyeol quietly and lazily fucked you with his hand. He was mostly just teasing you, lightly stoking the flame in the pit of your belly, keeping your desire going but never satisfying it. It was like he was timing his movement, his slender and well trained fingers never paying enough attention to any one part of your center to actually put you over the edge.

You could feel the crown of your head becoming damp with sweat. God, was he really able to work you up this much in public? Did you have a thing for exhibitionism? Did he? You’d never spoken about that as a potential kink together, but maybe based on your body’s reaction to current events it warranted a conversation later—

“Shit,” you coughed out quietly after one particularly hard thrust of his fingers and a rub on your clit almost sent you spiraling. Did Minseok just snicker? No, no way, he was talking to Junmyeon and his date, he wasn’t paying attention to you and Chanyeol. Involuntarily your walls clenched around him and you leaned forward covering your mouth with your napkin, trying to hold in a moan as you tapped out another message.

20:26 Could you PLEASE stop edging me and either make me cum or get your hand out of my pants while the rest of your friends are five feet away?

찬열 20:29 Mmmm you know I was thinking about it But now that you say it like that, no. Maybe if you asked nicely.

20:30 Fuck you I said ‘please’

찬열 20:32 Is that a threat or a promise?

Before you could even muse a comeback let alone type one out, Chanyeol quickens his pace, and one, two, three brushes against your clit and you’re tumbling over the edge. It was by far not the strongest you’d ever orgasmed on Chanyeol’s hand, and honestly you were grateful— it made it possible for you to (you thought) remain calm, demurely raise your water glass to your lips, and take a long drink while your eyes fluttered closed and he worked you through the waves, like a slow undulation washing over your body in warmth.

Were you not actively in the middle of dozens of people, you would have half expected him to bring his fingers to his mouth and suck the cum off of them. You fantasized briefly about him doing it anyways, pinching the top of your thigh to snap out of the post-orgasm daze and remind yourself of your surroundings. Calmly, he wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap before glancing your way with a smile plastered on his face and planting a tender kiss on your cheek.

“What was that for?” You asked, your voice breathier than you’d intended. Even if it wasn’t that strong, the high mixed with the alcohol had you dizzy, drunk on wine and his affection and you thought again how good he looked in that suit.

“Nothing,” he grinned even wider, “I just love you, that’s all.”

You let out a sharp laugh, flicking your eyebrows up critically as you began thinking of ways to get back at him later.

Junmyeon’s eyebrows furrowed as he called your name and asked, “Have you had enough to eat? You look a little flushed. Too much to drink maybe?” He offered hesitantly, ever the one to be caring and concerned.

Minseok rolled his eyes and snorted. “Sure, that’s all she’s had tonight.”

“What?” The leader asked, not quite catching on.

“Ah Myeonnie, I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Minseok mused, leaning back into his chair with a cheshire grin as he drank from his glass some more.

You were, of course, nothing short of mortified.

⬷ ❤ ⤐

The following hours passed and slowly, guests began drifting away, and the crowd reduced down to only a few dozen attendees as the clock neared midnight. You had finally gotten to see Jongdae and his now-wife and congratulate them on their marriage, and on the beautiful ceremony and how much fun the party was. You’d lost count of the number of drinks you’d had, and Chanyeol had stopped his intake an hour or so ago in order to sober up and drive home, only remembering that somewhere before that Yixing had convinced everyone to do two rounds of tequila shots together. One because they were all together again for the first time in ages as he lamented that only Jongdae could reunite the family, and two when he realized that the bride was unable to join in the celebration. “We all have to drink for her because she can’t!” He’d jeered to the group, immediately waving for one of the bartenders to supply the second round. You’d giggled at his antics, but no one objected as the glasses were refilled and lime wedges passed around again.

The music had switched to a DJ at this point, and after a long stretch of high energy popular dance songs to which you heard the drunken clamor of main vocalists croon humorously off-key to, the last few had been softer, quieter slow songs. You’d finally relented and taken your shoes off, feet aching after the last several hours, and were currently swaying side to side in a lazy slow dance with your arms draped around Chanyeol’s shoulders, face halfway buried in his chest. To avoid the chances of him accidentally stepping on your bare toes, you were balancing with the bridges of your feet over his dress shoes. You’d done this a few times before, always feeling a little shy about it, worrying that you were too heavy. And yet, every time, he’d insist that no, it was fine, with a kiss on your lips or your cheek or the corner of your eye. He rather liked you relying on him like this.

It was so rare that you got to spend an entire day with him like this, surrounded by friends and chosen family. Despite how anxious you’d been earlier about this day, you felt yourself falling more in love with him as you looked into each other’s eyes. Usually a comfortable silence would be appreciated, but there was a glint in his gaze and you were compelled to ask him what he was thinking about.

“Just thinking,” he murmured into your ear, “Of when it might be our turn.”

The way your hands suddenly tightened around his was something you couldn’t help. “Cut it out, seriously Yeol. Stop teasing me, I thought you’d have had your fill with earlier,” You had to look away, pressing your forehead into his chest shyly as you thought of how you’d quietly excused yourself to go to the restroom and clean yourself up from his ‘handiwork’ under the table.

“You know I can never have enough of you,” he murmured in earnest. “I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you, you know.” Your ears burned at the whispers. “Really though— pregnant with my child or not, if someone told me I had to go a whole week without feeling your sweet cunt, I don’t think I could do it.”

You clenched your thighs together, the ache from earlier returning full force.

“You’ve done it before, you could do it again. What are you, some kinda sex addict all of a sudden?” you mused, thinking back to the times he went on tour and you were left settling for breathy moans through phone calls at odd hours due to time differences and insane schedules. The heat inside you began building again, thinking of the frantic reunions that always followed those long stretches without one another.

Chanyeol’s laugh was lodged deep in his chest, and you felt the vibrations as you kept yourself pressed against him. “The less of that the better. Being inside you feels too good to willingly deprive myself of that.”

Your cheeks flushed once more. What was up with him today and the sex talk in public? This time wasn’t so bad, considering between the music and the distance from the people still gathered your conversation felt somewhat private—at least, more private than when you were seated in church pews. Clearly he was horny given this evening’s earlier events, but you didn’t think it was this much.

You continued to sway together in relative silence while Chanyeol began to hum absentmindedly to the song playing, one you recognized as the group’s own. And then you had a thought, and you were feeling bold, and so you gave the thought life and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a thing for weddings and formal events.”

His grip on your waist tightened.

“I’d think maybe, you get off on dressing up all nice, the whole wine and dine, everyone seeing you look so good,” you paused, mulling over the next thought briefly before continuing, “Though we already know you get off on the attention. That must be why every time you come home from performing you can’t wait to slam my back to the mattress and fuck me into next week, huh?” You teased, rocking your hips forward just enough to press against the front of his dress pants.

In doing so, you weren’t disappointed. Your thought was, more or less, correct. You rocked your hips forward subtly once more, relishing in the feeling of his growing hard on against you. “You just can’t stop thinking about pulling me into the nearest closet or bathroom and getting balls deep in me, can you?” This, you thought as your boldness grew, was payback for earlier.

He pushed away from you suddenly, and you backed off of his feet, stumbling. You were about to apologize, thinking you’d gone too far, when he wrapped his hand around your wrist and growled lowly, “We’re leaving. Now.”

You pulled your lips between you teeth in an attempt to stifle the giggles that threatened to erupt through you as you trailed along after him, retrieving your coats and bags from the chairs at the table as he quickly said goodbyes and gave handshakes and half-hearted hugs to anyone he deemed important enough in those two minutes. You grabbed your heels and quickly slipped them back on, not bothering to buckle them as you did you best to keep up with Chanyeol’s long legs whisking you towards the parking lot of the venue.

“I can’t believe you got me hard in the middle of the dance floor,” he said, voice hushed and gravely.

“I can’t believe you fingered me under the table,” you retorted, watching as he fumbled through his pocket with his free hand and retrieved his car keys.

“I still can’t believe you let me,” he laughed in response, clicking twice and listening for where his vehicle was parked. At the sound of the beep, his eyes widened and he began outright running, and you whined at the feeling in your feet as you somehow managed to keep up with him. “God it was so hot, you did so good baby,” he cooed as the two of you reached his car. He released your wrist only to pull you close to him and cup your cheeks in his palms and place a searing needy kiss against you, which you happily returned. “Please,” he whined as he pulled away, “It’s not a bathroom or a closet but please will you please let me fuck you in the back of my car? I don’t wanna wait til we get home.”

You couldn’t even bother keeping up with idea of teasing him because seeing him so hot and bothered in that suit had you feeling needy and willing for anything. You nodded enthusiastically and he sighed in relief, opening the door to the backseat and a hand flying to the zipper of your dress and tugging it down in one go before pushing you inside.

Usually, you made fun of the deeply tinted windows when you rode in his car with him, asking him if he could even see out the windows to drive. Now, however, you were silently grateful for them, because there was no way in which you could fathom waiting until the two of you got home.

Your heels dropped off to the floor of the back seat. His suit coat was thrown tersely over the head rest of the driver’s side. The straps of your dress fell down your arms, and he trailed kisses from your neck to your collar bone to the space between your breasts, hands snaking around to your back and nimbly undoing the clasps on your bra. You reached for his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons and yanking them down less tenderly than he had your dress— maybe that was because you knew he had plenty of pairs, and he knew this dress had been a more expensive splurge for you. His hands gently bunched the fabric of your skirt upward as you raised your hips, pulling the garment off over your torso and attempting to throw it carefully towards the back of the car. You began undoing the buttons on his collared shirt from the bottom and when your hands met in the middle after he’d started at the top, he grabbed hold of them to pull you forward in a another kiss, holding you so tight you would have thought your lungs were the only source of his air.

“Ow! Shit shit shit,” he cried suddenly, having raised his head up too quickly to finish ridding himself of clothes and slamming it against a fixture on the ceiling.

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out. “You okay? We can just go home if it’s too cramped— oh,” your words were cut off with a moan as his fingers found their way back into your center, and you had your answer. The cramped space didn’t matter, the throbbing on the top of his head didn’t matter, the only that that did matter was you and him and how he made you feel.

He caged himself over you, curving his back to dip his head down to reach your neck to bite gently at your skin and leave faint marks in his wake while his fingers continued to work at your clit. You raked your nails down his skin, head falling back and eyes rolling with it as he pushed you higher and higher. “Stop, stop stop— any more and I’ll cum, I wanna cum with you, please,” you begged, forcing your eyes open and taking his hand in yours to remove him from you.

Chanyeol looked to the side of a moment before sighing in defeat. “No condom,” he said sullenly, lips forming an adorably disappointed pout, “We ran out of the extra stash last month, forgot to replace it.”

You thought for a minute, heavy panting filling the silence in the close confines of the car. “Well, I was going to wait for an anniversary or a special occasion to tell you, but… I changed my birth control last month,” you admitted, your unoccupied hand trailing up his abdomen to his chest, “And instead of a pill that I could forget to take, I now have an implant that’s always there, so…” you trailed off, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes in your best attempt at seduction.

Chanyeol let out a deep and guttural groan. “Fuck, fuck please baby does that mean what I think it means?”

There was something about seeing your big strong boyfriend reduced to a whining for you that redoubled your confidence and gave you the willpower to take his hand, still covered in your wetness from just a moment ago, and take his fingers into your mouth and suck them clean. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly, eyes watching your lips the whole time.

“It means,” you said lowly after removing his fingers from your mouth with a pop, “That I want you to lay back and let me ride you until you cum inside me.”

Your boyfriend let out a shaky breath, gaping at your bold words and actions. “Fucking hell, I was just gonna say let me eat you out and I’d settle for a hand job but oh my god this is so much better,” his mouth was on yours as he pulled you close again, and you smiled into the kiss as you felt his dick twitch against your thigh.

It wasn’t the first time you’d forgone a condom with Chanyeol, but it wasn’t a frequent occurrence. The only other time you could remember off the top of your head was when he was away on tour, and your work had miraculously sent you on an overseas business trip that landed the two of you in the same city for a night. Between being a few hundred miles from home and the shared need for one another, you both ended up saying you’d just deal with the morning after pill tomorrow.

But none of that was of concern now. Now, you straddled his thighs and pushed him back, taking control of the moment. You kissed him again, slower than before, mapping the insides of his mouth with your tongue. “Ready?” You asked, circling your hips over him, cupping his face in your hands like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“God I love you,” he whispered back, stroking his hands down your sides. Slowly, with as much patience as you could muster, you lowered yourself on to him and felt your neck go limp as you adjusted to the size inside of you, a heady groan finding its way out of you. “Oh my god,” he croaked, bringing his hand to his mouth to bite on his thumb from the overwhelming sense of pleasure he felt. You hated that the thought crossed your mind, but you really could feel him so much more like this. As you purposefully clenched your walls around him once, you wondered if he felt the same. The string of curses that left his mouth answered your question.

“Good?” You asked with mirth, and he nodded feverishly, hands returning to your hips and pulling you forward. You swatted him playfully in response. “Hey, my turn on top, I set the pace,” you teased. It wasn’t often that you were courageous enough to take charge, so you wanted to relish in it as much as you could.

He laughed and pulled his hands back, holding them up defensively. “Your wish is my command, do your worst.”

You laughed out a single breath. ‘Challenge accepted.’ Fully adjusted to his size now, you rolled your hips forward slowly and snapped them back again.

The teasing comments and banter quickly subsided, replaced with only soft exhales and the sound of skin against skin. You could feel your thighs growing tired as you continued to raise and lower yourself on him, trying to stay active and make it as pleasurable for both of you as you could. But it had been a long day, and you were still tipsy, and you almost just wanted to make him come and get it over with so you could go home and fall asleep together.

Almost.

As if he could read your mind, Chanyeol’s open pouting lips curled up into a smile and and thrust up into you, meeting your hips on a movement down that had both of you gasping as the coil of heat in your belly began to bloom. You began rocking back and forth as he laid back more, the new angle reaching deeper and making you see stars.

“M’close, m’so close Yeol,” you moaned out softly. His right hand went down between you and began rubbing on your clit once more, while his other hand clasped yours, threading your fingers together. You held on for dear life, like he was the only thing that could anchor you to this plane of existence.

There was something so strangely intimate about the simple act of holding hands while fucking the love of your life that notched you just high enough to go spiraling over the edge into your orgasm. It washed over you in waves, and Chanyeol kept thrusting up under you, working you through the aftershocks until he came himself, a low throaty groan coming through his lips as you felt his cum paint your walls and his hand finally fell away from your core. You whined at the feeling, collapsing on top of him as a shudder ran down your spine, every inch of your skin overly sensitive like a livewire.

He kept one hand intertwined with yours and took his free one to brush his thumb across your cheek and tuck the stray hairs that had fallen out of place behind your ear. So gentle, so tender, but when you sat up again to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth, you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes that meant he had something to say. You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting as you continued to try and reclaim steady breathing.

“Is this gonna be an all the time thing now? Because I’m not gonna lie, I might just bust a nut again right now if you tell me this is gonna be an all the time thing.” Even in the moments after sex, he still managed to have entirely too much energy and could talk your ear off. Nothing about the every day moments was ever too serious with Chanyeol. Somehow, there was always a sense of playfulness

You shushed him with another kiss on his lips and laughed. “Don’t nut again but yeah, I guess this can be an all the time thing now.” You knew he was kidding because he wasn’t even hard again inside you. Yet.

“Ahh! Ahh!” Chanyeol began letting out faked moans and fucked his hips up and into you, throwing his head back dramatically and pretending to come once more.

You couldn’t help but snort. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah but I’m your dork,” he replied, his finger tapping the tip of your nose playfully.

You pulled your face away, trying to think up some snarky remark to give him shit, and instead could only smile and let out a small laugh under your breath. His palms gently pressed to your lower back, holding you to him as if you’d disappear the moment he let go. Your hands returned to his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks once more as you leaned in and kissed him again, slower and deeper than before. Everything you’d been through together, every secret meeting and fear of exposure and invasion of privacy, often times it felt like it might be too much— until you had moments with him like this, relishing in the feeling of connectedness and warmth and him.

After a short while of your head pressed to his chest and his hands gently stroking your back, you felt him begin to shift under you and pull out. You whined at the loss of him filling you and the skin to skin contact you craved, thinking for a heartbeat that you could just stay like this with him all night. He laughed softly, laying tender kisses all over as he mumbled apologies for needing to move, something about the side door of the car not being the most comfortable thing to have pressed against his back. He reached into a seat back pocket and fished out some stray napkins, using them to clean up the cum that spilled from you when you shifted off of his lap.

As the two of you redressed lazily and only enough to feign a sense of public decency and you crawled your way into the front passenger seat, you let out a yawn.

“Mmm see? Now we can go home and cuddle in bed,” he teased, ambling his way into the driver’s seat and buckling up as he pressed the ignition on the vehicle. Soft music filtered through the speakers, demos of his own work that he only let you listen to while they were still rough, and you felt overwhelmingly at ease with him.

With your head resting on your hand as you stared out the window at the Seoul city skyline, you felt a sense of calm settling over you, daydreaming of the softness of your shared bed that was waiting for you to collapse into it as soon as you got home. You could see from your peripheral Chanyeol’s gaze flicking over to you and then back to the road ahead as he came to a stop at a red light. “Hmm?” you mumbled, wondering if something was wrong for a moment as you shifted your gaze over to him.

“Okay, but seriously, how many times do you think they had sex today?”

“Chanyeol!”

—

author’s note | sksksksks oh my god this was so bad I am so sorry I just could NOT let go of this idea please don’t hate me I drank an entire bottle of soju and watched a supercut of the EXO section of the 2019 SM Town concert in Japan when OT6 performed in those fucking suits and then I wrote the first draft of this, sue me. Yeol really is just a big puppy that can’t let go of a question or an idea once it crosses his mind. my smut is always gonna be this kind of soft unless I’m feeling extra angsty just so you know

#chanyeol #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol smut #chanyeol x reader #pcy x reader #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo oneshot #chanyeol oneshot #exo x reader #swamp witch writes #i'm only finally posting this because i'm tired of working on it even tho i kinda hate it whatever #sometimes i think i'm funny #this is mildly inspired by the time i distracted the parents of the brides for 40min #so that they could go fuck in a closet after they were officially married #i make a great bridesmaid lemme tell you

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mrsmaddiebobaddie · 4 years ago

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MCYT High School Teacher AU

I don’t know if this has already been done but with student teaching on the brain this was invading my subconscious.

Phil: Principal

The most chill admin you’d ever find (He kind of has to be with the staff at the school)

Will let most things slide if you ask nicely

Has a quiet space in his office for students to take a moment to calm down after acting out. He’ll offer them candy and talk through the situation with them.

Started out as a counselor at the school, so he still holds a similar mentality when it come to talking with students and staff.

Always takes the side of his staff. The district is usually in the wrong anyway.

He knows the teachers are the experts, screw whatever requirements the state has, he lets them run their classrooms whichever way is best for the students’ learning

Technoblade: Literature & Composition

One of the most engaging teachers at the school

Most students love him because he’s real and he’ll tell it like it is.

Has a coffee machine in his room. It’s rare that he’s not holding a mug in his hand while he teaches

Has high expectations for his students

Rarely gets angry. Even when he’s upset he still comes across as calm.

Usually stays at the school late making sure to give the best possible feedback on papers and reports. He genuinely wants each kid to learn something from his class.

Tommy: Speech and Debate

It’s only his second year of teaching

The students would run the classroom if not for Tommy basically being a student himself

There’s a strong chance his class will be off topic at any given point. It’s always an adventure walking past his door, you never know what you’ll hear

Somehow still gets high scores on average from his students

Keeps students after class when he notices them struggling with school or life in general to talk with them. The conversations are always beneficial.

Will 100% fall asleep during professional development meetings.

Karl: Biology

Tries to act hip, fails most of the time.

Always has the most energy in his lessons, finds unique ways to teach the concepts other than slides and worksheets.

Usually the first one in the building each morning

Will give students different options for final projects so they can chose the best method of showing their evidence of learning.

Gets lower scores than he should on observations because he doesn’t do well under the pressure. One year Phil didn’t announce when he’d be coming in and watched from the door to give a more accurate review.

Wears a sweatshirt to class more often than he should

Quackity: Spanish

Hands on learning whenever possible

Uses the home ec. room to make authentic Mexican dishes with his students when they cover the food and restaurant unit

Will just forget that the kids don’t speak Spanish fluently and ramble on until someone interrupts him.

Slow grader, you get your scores when you get them.

Known to be a bit chaotic with his teaching style, it works for some kids but he does need to reteach certain sections every now and then

One time a kid feel asleep in his class so he had all the other students leave and they had class outside to freak the kid out (They were right outside the classroom window, he could still see the sleeper, he told Phil)

Skeppy: Algebra

Like’s his job, pretty much your average teacher

Can’t stand freshmen, but tolerates them since that’s half the students he has. He prefers teaching advanced algebra to upper classmen

His lessons are always formatted the same, starting with a lesson on how to do that days math, with the remainder of the period being free work time

Holds math challenges with his class and gives out prizes. It’s usually candy, though one time he gave out cash. He made his kids promise not to say a word about it.

Very good at teaching the same math concepts in different ways to help struggling learners

Always one minute away from being late for first period, but makes it just in time every morning.

Dream: Health/Football and Assistant Basketball Coach

Took the teaching job mainly to coach sports

Still cares about making connections with his students, he uses his class to teach life skills and promote positive social and mental health.

If any of his players are in his class he will pick on them. He has no mercy.

Dreads sex education because no one can be mature about it. He gets revenge by making the students film a “how to say no to sex” video with someone in the class.

His wheeze laugh is iconic. You can hear it from down the hall.

If you meet with him and are honest when you’re struggling, he’ll work with you to pass his class. He isn’t going to ruin your GPA over a project on the negative effects of smoking.

Wilbur: History & Geography/Theater

The teacher who sits on his desk when he lectures

Is very sarcastic with his students, but knows who can take the teasing and makes sure not to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

Prefers class discussion over solo work time, he likes hearing student’s perspectives and ideas.

Turtlenecks

One of the teachers most likely to be the crush of teenage girls.

Not afraid to mark you down for sloppy work. You use a black ink pen and draw precise lines when turning in maps and graphs or you redo it.

Speaks in musical references

George: Physics

The chillest teacher by far

Due dates? Don’t worry, he’ll accept an assignment literally months after it was supposed to be turned in

Makes difficult topics seems simple when he describes them

He doesn’t really care if you have your phone out in class as long as you’re paying attention and learning the material

The students straight up call him George, he doesn’t seem to care

Placing near the top for the most crushed on teacher

King of multiple choice questions

Eret: Economics & Government

Makes any student in his class feel welcome

One of few teachers who can lecture the entire period without students falling asleep. He always has interesting stories

Let’s kids chose where they sit

Freshmen are always caught off guard by his voice when they hear him for the first time

Spends too much of his own money on supplies for his students and classroom (Honestly most teachers have to spend their own money on necessary supplies, he just goes about and beyond.)

There’s always a group of students who eat lunch in his classroom

The Union Rep at their school, will fight tooth and nail for the staff members

Tubbo: Band Director

Super cheerful whenever he’s teaching

He rarely has any free time before or after school because he has so many one-on-one lessons and meetings with students

Likes to have practice outside when the weather is nice

Does his best to make his students feel comfortable and relaxed whenever he does performance based assessments.

He’s also a new teacher, but you honestly wouldn’t be able to tell

He will be in tik toks if you ask him to, and he’s familiar with all the pop culture trends

Let’s the students chose a song to play at the last band concert. Some years have been less chaotic than others, the worst (or best, depending on who you ask) being when the students voted to play Deja Vu from Initial D.

Fundy: Computer Science/Coding

Begins each class with a cheesy computer joke. Every class.

Everyone knows you can’t get anything past him technology wise. He can see that headphone in your ear from across the room.

Isn’t afraid to assign extra work when students are disrupting class

Once took up an entire class period showing his students how he coded different difficulties in Minecraft. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he plays the game in his spare time.

About half the students in his class aren’t really interested in computers, they just want to have him as a teacher since everyone says he’s cool.

Known to hack school computers to bypass restrictions

Sucker for pizza parties. Has at least one per semester

Sapnap: PE/Basketball Coach

Hella competitive

Abuses his power of having a whistle. Someone should really take it away from him

Gyms shorts every day. Even in the winter. Sometimes he wears sweats, but never jeans.

Doesn’t let anyone sit out of activities

Tries to set up fun tournaments for each activity they do, makes sure to balance the teams so no one has too much of an upper hand.

He’s usually the teacher who mans detention, he tries to make it as positive as it can be though.

Keeps extra sets of gym clothes to give to students who forgot or can’t afford to buy them

Schlatt: Calculus and Stats/Business

You either love him or are terrified of him

One of the only teachers who can have an “aggressive” teaching style and still connect with students

You will learn something from his class, he makes sure of it.

Doesn’t accept late work unless you have a really good reason why you couldn’t turn it in

Wears a tie every day

If another teacher needs a last minute sub during his prep period he’ll cover them. Doesn’t matter what subject, he can wing it

He was the reason the school started offering business studies as an elective due to some vague threats towards the district

Niki: Art/German

Teaching voice is so soft

You can’t tell whether or not she’s giving you constructive criticism because everything she says sounds so positive

Let’s her students lead learning for the most part, she will cover topics that most interest them while still trying to hit the district required standards (luckily teaching electives gives her a bit more freedom with her curriculum)

Her classroom always smells lovely

Will bring in homemade goodies each Friday for the staff room

Holds art galleries at the end of each semester to show off the arts since they often go unappreciated. It has turned out to be a super popular event for students and staff.

Bad: Special Education

This man has endless patience. It’s crazy

Even after the longest days when none of the students are cooperating, he still has a smile on his face

If he hears cursing in the halls he will call you out in front of everyone. Teachers included.

Makes sure to keep a list of all his students favorites so he can surprise them with gifts on their birthdays or around holidays

He works closely with the other teachers to make sure his kids can be as involved in general education as possible.

Always wears something fun, be it a tie, socks, shirt, or even a full outfit. His students love seeing what new wacky garment he’ll be wearing that day.

More Head Cannons

If someone brings food for the staff room Tommy WILL take it. Sometimes he’ll come back for seconds, there will be none left by the end of the day. He’s not as bad as Skeppy though, who will literally pack it up to take home for later.

For the past few months the staff members have been receiving anonymous email chains with photoshopped pictures of each other. Everyone was sure Fundy was behind it, Eret thought he saw him teaching his students how to use the program by editing their favorite teachers into stupid situations (they’ve all been school appropriate of course). Fundy did in fact start it, but now so many other teachers have joined in that it can’t be traced back to one person anymore.

All the teachers love going to sporting events. They’ll join in with the student section to cheer on the teams. If they know there’s a kid who doesn’t have family that will come to watch them they’ll make shirts with that players number to show support for them.

Wilbur, Niki, and Tubbo work together on musicals. Niki does the sets and costuming, Wilbur directs, and Tubbo leads the pit. There are plenty of long nights during tech week that devolve into chaos (especially when Niki isn’t there)

Spirit week is very intense, to say the least. The teachers are assigned a grade to be advisors to, and they get into it. For the duration of the week they practically become rivals with whoever isn’t in their assigned grade. They’ll pull pranks on each other constantly, especially when the students can see. It’s all playful of course, but it gets the kids more excited about spirit week when they can support their teachers and watch the amicable rivalries carry out.

Technoblade once joked that he knew every detail about every classic novel. His students took this as a challenge, and tried to find the most obscure and specific trivia questions they could ask him. He has yet to be stumped.

Dream and Sapnap had a running streak of about four weeks where they made everything into a competition. Who could enter their grades into the computer fastest? How many cups of coffee did they drink that day? Who got to school first that morning? There was a tally board in the staff room and the teachers had a betting pool going. Phil finally ended it when they accidently broke the school’s copier trying to see who could scan the most documents in five minutes. Dream was ahead by three points, Sapnap never lived it down.

In service days are incredibly boring, so the staff tries to make those days a bit more entertaining. They order in pizza or sandwiches for lunch. Since there aren’t any kids in the school they’ll do everything they’re no supposed to, like racing office chairs down the hallways and blasting non-school-appropriate music in their classrooms.

Wilbur accidentally started a black market of sorts when he took all the new whiteboard pens from the supply closest. He used this to his advantage, getting people to do him favors in return for the good supplies. When Dream found out he not-so-jokingly threatened to slowly steal everything from Wilbur’s classroom until he released the pens. The next day the closet was replenished once more

Quackity and Tommy are co-emcees for the school assemblies. They hold class competitions between the grades, including spirit chants and ridiculous games. Think minute to win it style, but way crazier. Everyone gets super into it, the upperclassmen usually win. The two have good chemistry and a fun energy.

George has a unit where students make bottle rockets and launch them outside on the soccer field. And every year Karl brings his class out to watch claiming that “it’s science, I teach science, I’ll have them write a paragraph about what they learned”. Really he just wants to watch rockets go brrr

For Schlatt’s birthday one year, Wilbur and Techno printed off shirts with his face on it for all the staff to wear. Schlatt was super confused when he came into work and all his colleagues were walking around with his face plastered across their chest. He got back at Wilbur for it by putting salt in his coffee for a week straight, but Techno never got his comeuppance. It’s debatable whether Schlatt just didn’t know he was in on it, or if he knew better than to mess with Techno.

Lesson planning and curriculum building is quite the process. Some departments can stay on task better than others. Schlatt and Skeppy get in, plan out the term, and get out. The math department has everything on lock. Social studies are also pretty good at getting pre-planning done. They tend to spend most of their time having discussions that aren’t necessarily related to the tasks at hand though. The English department is a mess. It’s really Tommy who’s a mess, he just projects that onto everyone else. Karl and George work well together to map out science curriculum. Even though teachers who teach electives aren’t required to collaborate with each other, they still get together and bounce ideas off each other and get feedback.

I have plenty more if people want a second part. I also only listed the MCYTs that I’ve watched enough to know their personalities at least a little bit, but if you wanted to see another person I may expand the staff list!

#minecraft youtubers #dream team #sleepy bois inc #dream smp #high school teacher au #teacher au

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