#but its going to be the literal turning point in my ENTIRE life. i am not the same person who woke up this morning

[crescentfool]

i love ryomina

no but seriously. even when i’m thinking about other things that captivate my interest, i find myself coming back to them and feeling like i fell down three whole flights of staircases every time i do. they are one of my favorite pairs in media and are very special to me.

it’s the way that ryoji and minato’s lives are inevitably intertwined with each other due to the circumstances 10 years ago on the moonlight bridge. without no minato, there is no ryoji. minato as he is today is because of ryoji. they have irreparably affected each other’s lives that you cannot discuss one without bringing up the other one.

ryoji mochizuki, who is death, pharos, thanatos, nyx avatar, the man of many names and identities, is the perfect summation of p3′s messages and themes.

minato arisato, the wildcard and protagonist, who has boundless kindness in his actions despite the unfortunate cards handed to him.

the two of them complement each other and tell a beautiful story from start to finish.

minato’s personas capture this perfectly. he awakens to orpheus, who’s flames burns bright, is snuffed out by thanatos during the encounter against the arcana magician. a visual precursor of the idea that ryoji stole from the life that minato could have had.

it’s the way that over the course of the game as minato interacts with pharos, talking throughout the dark hour, forging a bond that cannot be broken, that allows ryoji to exist. minato humanizes death.

november. the bells toll, calling the appriser. and yet, it’s peaceful... quiet, and full of life. ryoji, who breaks free from death’s chains, refusing his role, is given the chance to live for a month. to make the most of the humanity that minato has given him over those ten years. and what a life he lived. ryoji’s life is a reflection of what minato’s life could have been like in another universe.

it is the way the two of them are reflections of each other. ryoji with his hair down is just like minato. they are both stubbornly committed to choosing to be kind, to love life, yet are chained down by the cards the narrative dealt them with. they finish each other’s sentences, knowing each other intimately in a way no one else does.

how is that, a boy who lived for only one month, profoundly changes the course of the narrative? he is simultaneously relevant and irrelevant. blink, and you miss it, the beautiful life that he led.

ryoji is horrified at the revelations of being the appriser. he who so desperately wished to forget that his existence was meant to bring the end to all life, was unable to escape the inevitability of death. in a non-human way, of course. he becomes remorseful. a shadow of his brief time as a human who was enamored by the small beautiful things that life had to offer.

he is swallowed by grief. grief knowing that his very existence will take away not only minato’s life, but everyone else’s. the very thing that ryoji loved- life, fundamentally went against the role he was born for- to be the harbinger of death. and unable to grapple with this sadness he believes that the best thing for minato to do is to kill him, so that SEES can live in bliss not knowing about their inevitable end.

SEES is left rattled, calling into question what the meaning of life is and what they do when faced against the inevitability of death.

and!!! minato chooses!! for ryoji to live!! even in spite of what ryoji is MEANT to embody, minato still stubbornly chooses to defy death itself! and if that’s not cool i don’t know what is!! minato wants everyone to have the chance to live!!

so he climbs. he ascends tartarus, to meet ryoji, again, who is now the nyx avatar. and i just think there’s something so so beautiful about being able to use messiah, minato’s ultimate persona, against nyx avatar.

messiah, being the fusion of orpheus and thanatos is peak ryomina to me. because ryoji and minato have established an unbreakable bond from having been entwined for 10 years, minato still has a piece of death with him, and by proxy!! ryoji is able to defy and rebel against nyx trying to bring the fall! and i think that’s fucking cool shit if you ask me!

even when all of the arcanas have been gone through, it’s still not enough to stop the fall. and yet. minato knows. in the way that ryoji was sealed in minato 10 years ago by aigis... minato becomes the great seal so that everyone can live. it comes full circle.

march rolls around. he fulfills his promise to SEES on graduation day. minato dies from exhaustion. but goddamn does his sacrifice make me weep- he’s had such, such a tiring journey. he’s been through so many things because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. but at the end of it all, he’s reunited with ryoji in death.

and i think this is why ryomina continues to evoke so much emotions for me, to this day. the relationship that they have embodies so much of persona 3′s messages and themes that it makes me feel like a microwave with nothing running in it.

p3′s message is very hopeful, for me. my favorite takeaway from it is that even if death is inevitable, appreciating the life that we were given and choosing to live as best as we can with kindness (even if we can’t feasibly do everything), is just? really nice? and you see this manifest in both ryoji and minato’s personalities and what they do for the other characters.

ryomina just feels so distinct to me, the flavor that their relationship ties back to my favorite takeaways from this game and im just!!  god!! i love you minato arisato! i love you ryoji mochizuki! im so glad that i could meet them! i’m happy that they changed my life! they made me want to appreciate the connections in life even if they were fleeting! they made me!! want to pay attention to the good moments in life and cherish them!

i love ryomina so much!!! i’m so glad that these two could bring so much joy into my life! and i hope that others can have this joy too! 💛💙

[bbeelzemon]

just had paramedics called on me for the first time todayy

[moonsaver]

Context before getting into the actual idea: I recently saw some fanart based on concept art for Dr Ratio where he has slightly longer, messier hair and the fanart interpreted this as him having a bit of a rebellious phase when he was younger.

So now I’m just thinking about Reader going to school with him when he was going through this phase. He had a bit of a crush on her but didn’t know how to express it so he just messed with her constantly.

And now they meet again when he’s changed and he hasn’t gotten over her she’s just getting massive amounts of whiplash from how wildly different he is. Could be yandere 👀

Anon. I am GRIPPINT YOU BY THE SHOULDERS. Listen. Unfortunately i doubt i did this justice but i tried my best PLEASE okay

A bit long, under the cut!

Its not exactly easy to imagine Dr. Ratio of all people being rebellious, but that just makes it even more possibly believeable in my opinion. I am deeply convinced he has had his crazy scientist, jerkward asshole phase at least once and was soo deeply embarassed the moment he left it.

But listen. His professors all probably HATED him because he would probably constantly correct them, be so disgustingly overeducated to the point they'd send him to the library or tell him to get lost just so he wouldn't disrupt class. He's the infamous asshole who sits wherever he wants, and hoardes an entire table to himself if he's at the library or at the cafeteria. Any student who needs a pen or eraser or a pencil knows he's NOT the one to ask, even if it was in the middle of an exam worth half their grade and he was the only person beside them. He does literally anything he wants and no one can stop him except probably by force, and if they do, something worse ends up happening to them instead.

Anyways, here comes in reader. Probably already knows his sour reputation. Regardless, maybe you're the poor soul who's his seatmate. If the crush is already established, he's constantly bothering you. Asking for stationaries like the entirety of his desk isn't covered by it already (he likes the miniscule interaction), taking your notebooks without your knowledge and sometimes even scribbling inside of them (its his horrid handwriting, he's just trying to help you with detailed notes), he comments on how "lame" your outfit is, asking about your social life, rolling his eyes when your response isn't exactly.. pleasing (he's actually a bit content with it. Perhaps you'll hang out with him more, instead?). You note the smell of alcohol trailing him a bit everytime you interact with him.

It's not easy for him, especially when you can't seem to keep up and look so queasy around him. Aeons, his heart is so twisted up and squeezed everytime he seems to be getting more distant from you, but he just has no idea how to convey his feelings. Not when he didn't even account for the fact he'll have a crush on anyone in the first place.

Anyways, timeskip!

You're probably a researcher of some sort, maybe not so well known. Let's just say for the sake of simplicity you're a researcher on Herta's space station. It's not too soon before he runs into you, probably after the whole mess at the station's been "cleaned up" regarding the curio and whatever. Maybe he doesn't leave right after that interaction with Screwellum, and he decides to, by his curiosity, take a look around once again before he leaves (certainly not because he's heard a familiar name thrown around a few times).

And there you are. In your little research-getup, professional vernacular, hair all neat. He's probably right behind you in an instant, and you turn around to look as the colleague you were talking to suddenly starts stuttering and becoming squeamish while looking behind you. There he is, in all his (cruel?) Glory. The infamous asshole who was your classmate.

But.. it's surprising how much more mellow he's become (at least towards you?). His hair are neatly tamed, his build is taller and more muscular than it was back then, but his attire is also quite tame (if not a little.. fancy?), compared to his brash taste back then. His eyes still seem to hold contempt, but more distantly so.

Veritas figures your mouth is agape and you're speechless considering the change in his countenance as of recent. He's also not yet come to terms with the fact that his heart still twists and squeezes whenever he sees that unsure look on your face. If you were made of clay, and if he could, he'd meld the most beautiful smile on your face with his craftful fingers. Alas, he resorts to tamer methods. At least he supposes he's a wiser man, now. He's more aware of different courting methods.

He asks about your station, your current life, family, friends, etc .. in a seemingly disinterested tone. There's a bit of resignation but hidden constrain in his voice, everytime you mention a "close friend" of yours or a colleague you worked with "closely". But he hasn't been berating you the way he would have back then. His fingers slightly constantly strain, folded behind his back, trying desperately not to taper towards you – there's stray strands of hair on your face. Your headpiece is off centre. Your pen is slanting in your pocket. Your shoulders are too tense. Your eyebrows are furrowed. your eyes look tired. Have your lips always been chapped? They were fine back then.. hold on.

While you stutter out useless formalities and pleasantries, Veritas' eyes scan you over. Time has weathered you well, in his opinion. The thin line of his pressed lips dont quite indicate that. He sighs almost grimly, shutting you up in an instant. He offers you to accompany him and possibly consider joining the Intelligentsia Guild (is it not worth a shot trying? It may be foolish, but he's a tad too desperate when it comes to you). You timidly mumble out a refusal, the words barely leaving your mouth. He nods.

Catching up makes his heart squeeze and rush all over the place. Topics he once tried to teach you back then (by.. VERY unsuccessful methods,) seem to be elementary knowledge to you now. You work more efficiently, hold yourself in a better, more confident way, and you seem to be smoothsailing in your life. Granted, it's technically the bare minimum, but its been so long since he talked to you. The chirp in your voice, the chuckle you let out every now and then despite your nervousness around him, has his heart in his throat. He can't bring himself to try and even "set you straight" by giving you (unwarranted) advice or piddling your achievements, there's a soft smile he's duly hiding behind his scorning face.

He offers you again, if you are unsure about joining the Guild, and discreetly mentions it being filled with imbeciles regardless when you deny again, pulling another string of laughter out of you. Hmph, you weren't so joyful when he made those statements back in high school.

Granted,you're obviously still not quite sure about Veritas' new look. He's still got his infamous reputation as an extremely strict teacher, the oddball with an alabastor head and having worked with the IPC, it's not a pleasant image per se, but it's heaps better than his reputation back at school. You politely make a joke about it, and he groans, earning another cautious, light chuckle from you. He has become different. You prattle on about the length of his hair, his refinement of speech, the difference in how he holds himself now.. it does leave him melting a tad bit inside. You noticed it? Hm. Clever little thing.

Of course, goodbyes are seldom sweet. He does manage to pry out your contact information once again, before. If you don't budge,he finds another way regardless. Your network of colleagues aren't exactly as strong as you might have thought. He remembers this information carefully.

Like the old days, maybe he'll manage to keep slipping notes into your reports and files. Perhaps pull a few strings back in the old days to keep you in his class, he'll slowly knot and twist a few strings to bring and budge you over to his little workplace. Sooner or later, you'll end up in his home. He's sure of it.

And just like the old days, his little seatmate is by his side once again. Care to put up with him for a bit longer? Probably forever, in this case.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamics, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bang! The impact shakes you so hard you nearly drop your book. You sit up, wide-eyed, and look around. What the heck was that?

You stand and leave the book on the short bench squeezed in along the table. You go to the door and twist the latch. As you open it, dust mists in the air and the scent of smoke singes your nose. You step onto even ground and search for the disturbance.

You turn to face the trailer and the black cloud pluming up from behind it. The entire thing lurches as an electronic whir and zap cuts through the air. You dodge put of the way as the window bursts and shatters over you.

You scramble back on your heels, shielding yourself behind an arm, and cry out. Your neighbours cluster before their own homes and watch, caught in awe as the trailer shakes on its foundation. The wall burst open as a dark shape crashes through and lands in the patchy grass behind you.

You turn to stare down at the mangled metal. Broken tubes drip neon blue fluid and the lights flicker and die. Whatever it is, it's useless now. Just like the wall.

Another crash before you can investigate. Another window rains shards into the dirt and you slap your hands to your head. At least you have witnesses, though you don't know that they have any idea what's going on.

Another tremble before the door swings open. What looks to be a cyborg tramps down the stairs and dusts itself off. You grimace helplessly at the red and gold armour.

"Iron man?" A chirpy childish voice quavers from behind you.

No way? As if to bask in the recognition, the mask retracts and reveals a man's face. It is in fact the Tony Stark. He smirks beneath his goatee and winks at the kid.

"Hey, little guy." He shoots a finger gun as he struts over to the kid.

A long, loud groan comes from behind him. You turn back to the trailer as it starts to lean. Oh no!

Time slows as you watch the whole thing fold in on itself. You stumble further back as it sends up another plume of dirt and dusty. In a moment, you're swept away from the wreckage out of the way of a broken board flying in your direction.

Tony Stark, Iron Man, playboy, billionaire, and wrecking ball has his arm around you as he puts you back in your feet. You stare at the ruin of your home

Your entire life.

"Damn, good thing you got out of there," he snickers.

You shrug him off and step forward. "Hey, sweetheart, you're not gonna wanna do that. There's smoke and that means--" As he grabs you again, a crackle sounds and orange flames lick out from beneath the splinters and drywall.

"No!" You cry out. "What the-- the trailer-- you--"

"Relax, sweetheart, you should be thankful you didn't get trapped in all that. Could be a hell of a lot worse."

You wriggle in his grasp, "that's my home! What am I gonna tell me mom?"

"I'll buy you a new one," he rolls his eyes.

"A new one? That's not the point--" you scoff and stomp your foot. You face the heap again. There are things you can't replace and your mom will make sure to mention as much.

“I'll have my people get in touch.” He struts away and toes the mass of metal on the ground. “Gotta call in the big boys.”

He puts his hand to his ear and talks to no one in particular. You can't look away. The flames build and build as you watch it all go up in flame.

You peek over at the man in his red and gold armour. He grins as children crowd around and he signs their comic books and frisbees and action figures. He's all charm and cheer.

He has no worry about the mess he's made. He'll go home to his penthouse and his bank account. He says he'll buy you a new trailer but that's not going to happen overnight.

The police show up, and the fire trucks, then men in black suits. The lot is corded off with yellow tape as you stand listless on the sidelines. You don't know what else to do.

“Oh god! Oh god! What happened?” Your mom blusters up beside you. She's still in her work uniform. You look at her and shrug. You can't even put into words the chaos of the last few hours.

You look around and point just as Iron Man's helmet flips up and he flies off in a flash. You stare after him and drop your arm. You huff.

“I have no idea, mum,” you utter. “No idea.”

She shrieks and flags down an officer, “sir, I want to know what the hell happened to my home! Right now!”

“Ma'am. This is a matter for law enforcement. We're investigating–”

“Investigating!? My trailer is a pile of rubble!” She cries out.

Her shrill hollers fade into a murmur as your gaze zeros in on the ash. This isn't fair. He gets to walk away, well, fly away, and you have to figure all this out.

[sssammich]

💘 supercorp bc its on brand for them

omg ok i finally have some time to write the rest of these so we're gonna tackle this one!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

ask meme

---

Lena has to chew on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, forcing her face muscles to stay absolutely still. She covers her face with her hand, pressing her palm up to her lips as she attempts to make sense of what Alex is saying to her...to them.

She drops her hand down on her lap and is about to respond when Kara, having been equally quiet beside her on the couch, rests her elbows on her knees and asks the question that's on the tip of Lena's tongue.

"You want us to be in a pretend relationship?"

"I don't just want you two to be in a pretend relationship, I need you two to be in a pretend relationship."

"That's--"

"It can't be that hard," Alex reasons, almost talking to herself, her hands on her hips as she stands across the coffee table of Kara's apartment staring at them with a completely serious face. Lena and Kara share a shocked look with one another.

"And why not?" she challenges, unable to help herself.

"Because you two are best friends," Alex responds smoothly and stares at them expectantly. Hard to fault Alex about that. She and Kara are best friends with each other.

"Run it back again," Kara interrupts. "Explain one more time why we need to be dating."

Alex huffs, though by the way she drops to her knees in front of the coffee table, steepling her hands as she rests her elbows on the wooden surface, Lena suspects that Alex thinks that she's hooked them.

"Because the entire operation hinges on the fact that you're already in a relationship. And since this is so last minute, the most believable option we have going for you is your best friend who you already spend so much time with."

Lena tilts her head. It all makes sense, all things considered. She already spends almost all of her free time with Kara whether at her penthouse or at Kara's apartment (which, for the record, is where they are currently, and where she had been for the better part of the last three hours since finishing up some work earlier that afternoon).

"It makes sense," she says out loud, as if considering Alex's words.

"I knew you were the best Luthor out there," Alex quips, leaning forward. Lena can guess that Alex feels so close to attaining what she needs from the two of them, but Kara beside her doesn't sound as sold.

"I don't know, Alex. Don't you think we've done our fair share of deception and lying?"

Alex rolls her eyes, her hands pressed flat on the table in front of her. "Kara. You are a superhero vigilante with a secret identity. Deception and lying is literally part of your everyday life."

Kara turns to Lena for support, the corners of her lips tugged down and strained. Lena gives her a supportive albeit apologetic smile. "She has a point, darling," she says finally.

The pout on Kara's face is worth a hundred kisses to make go away, Lena thinks, but she doesn't move. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am on your side. But so far, your sister is making good points. Even though the why is still a bit flimsy."

"I just said the operation--"

"But why does this supposed operation require Kara being in a relationship? Can't she simply be unavailable or that she's not currently in the headspace to date?" she asks, her hand placed on Kara's back, rubbing soothing circles between Kara's shoulder blades. She resists smiling when Kara leans a bit closer to her, as if Lena can't reach her. There's literally no space of distance between them already on the couch.

"Because," Alex starts. "There are going to be relatives and family friends from Kelly's side that'll be relentless--" and this is where Lena is baffled by how Alex is acting, "--to insist that they will have the best and most suitable eligible single daughter or son that's perfect for you, Kara. And you too, Lena. Don't think you'll get out of this scot-free."

Her face furrows in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes! They will, undoubtedly, ruin the wedding by trying to set both of you two up with other people, and we honestly can't have you two distract everyone from our big day."

Lena's eyes narrow at Alex whose own gaze is fixed in staring at her sister. It's an odd request, and her suspicions are raising alarms inside of her mind. Still, she keeps quiet, especially when Kara leans forward, her strong hand somehow landing on Lena's knee as she does so.

"You think we'll be distracting you and Kelly on your guys' big day?"

Lena pretends to scratch at her chin to try and cover her mouth knowing that she can just about hear the pout in Kara's voice.

"God, no. That's not--" Alex takes a deep breath as she straightens herself up from where she's kneeling by the coffee table. "Kara. It's not you two I'm worried about, it's them. They are going to make a big deal and I'm just trying to protect the both of you. And, of course, my wedding day with Kelly. And the truth of the matter is that there's no reason to wait for things to happen when we can prepare and cover all of our bases. That's all."

The truth of the matter. That's an interesting choice of words, Lena ponders, but she keeps those thoughts to herself.

Kara worries her bottom lip between her teeth even as her hand stays on Lena's knee. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Alex's gaze dropping to Kara's hand and Lena's leg, no doubt making a mental note of what she's seeing. But Lena's attention is pulled back to Kara who has now twisted her body to better look at Lena beside her. For her part, Lena stays in her exact position, hand on Kara's back, and waits for Kara's lead.

"What do you think?" she asks, her face serious, though something flashes in her eyes before Lena could really read what it had been.

"I think..." Lena begins to say, weighing every word that comes out of her mouth. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

Kara stares at her for a long moment, like it's just the two of them in the room, before sighing and leaning back, suspending Lena's hand between her back and the couch. Lena doesn't mind in the slightest, instead lets the tips of her fingers gently scratch Kara's back.

"That's all?" Kara asks, this time the question directed to her sister.

Lena turns her face enough to witness how Alex strains from smiling too wide when she nods emphatically and says, "That's all. That's it."

The longest five seconds seem to pass over all three of them until Kara sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

Alex struggles to keep her fist pump under control and Lena wants to roll her eyes.

"Great. Figure out whatever cover story you two think will work the best. Remember, closer to the truth works best."

"I think we'll figure it out just fine, Alex," she comments, her voice taking on an airy tone. "It's not the first time we've had to give a cover story."

Alex nods again before rising to her feet. "Right, right. Okay, I'm gonna go home to the missus, and you two can work on your cover story."

Kara's just about to get up when Alex stops her. "You stay put, I'll let myself out. Have your story figured out by brunch this weekend. Sound good?"

She and Kara glance at one another before returning their focus on Alex. With her free hand, she offers a mock salute just as Kara nods up at her sister.

When Alex shuts the door behind her and leaves the two of them still on the couch, it's Kara who breaks first, tugging at Lena's arm from behind her so she can perch it around Kara's shoulder, their fingers tangled by Kara's bicep, before slumping further down on the couch with a loud exhale. She rests her head on Lena's shoulder, and Lena places a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You know, she used to be so much better at lying. Like I didn't even know she worked for a shadow government organization."

Lena chuckles, despite herself, and pulls Kara closer to her. "She was laying it on rather thick, I thought."

Kara tilts her head up, her ear resting on Lena's shoulder as their faces sit only a few short inches apart.

"Good work on the pouting, though. I think you really sold it."

The sleepy smile on Kara's face widens into a proud one. "You like that? I was really considering the waterworks but I think I would have given it away if I did."

"Mm, probably."

"You're a little actress yourself, Luthor," Kara comments with barely contained laughter. "Better safe than sorry. Pfft. You were practically having Alex eat out of the palm of your hands with how much you were agreeing with her. So devious."

"If there's anything Lex ever taught me, it's having the theatrical range."

Kara snorts before shuffling to sit back up. "How mad do you think Alex will be when she finds out that we're already dating?"

Lena shrugs, thinking about all of Alex's possible reactions. "Oh, I'm sure she'll never let you live it down."

"Us, babe," Kara says, leaning forward, the tips of their noses brushing with each other. "She'll never let us live it down."

"She shouldn't assume then," Lena answers before closing the remaining gap between them. Their lips slotting perfectly in place pressed against each other. It's still new, this feeling, but Lena thinks that she'll never tire of it.

Her breath hitches when she feels Kara's strong hand release her fingers only to grip her nape, followed by the smirk she knows is on Kara's lips.

"Wanna figure out our cover story in bed?"

She raises a brow, but Kara just shrugs. "So is that a no?"

Lena rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Kara's neck as Kara carries her towards the bed.

"I was thinking we tell people it was love at first sight," Kara muses.

Lena throws her head back in laughter, just in time for Kara to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She thinks love at first sight is not too far from the truth at all, and didn't Alex say the closer it is to the truth, the better?

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[dyns33]

Flufftober 2024 - 24 Dream of the Endless

It was perfectly natural for mortals to dream that they were someone else. That was also the purpose of dreams, to allow beings to escape from the "real" world for a moment, to forget their sorrows, their worries, but also to find the inspiration needed to try to improve their daily lives when they woke up.

This was embodied by great decisions, as well as wonderful creations, novels, films, songs, plays. Once again, men played roles, to entertain others while conveying an important message.

Despite this, Morpheus did not fully understand the principle of Halloween.

He could not make sense of this celebration, which had changed a lot over the centuries.

No one seemed to learn a moral lesson by dressing up as a monster. No one wanted to become a monster. There was nothing fun in comparing yourself to these poor creatures, or in scaring children without the goal of teaching them something.

Next to him, Y/N didn't seem to understand his incomprehension.

"It's just for fun. I know you're very serious and goth, but unlike some of your siblings, I'm sure you know the definition of that word."

"It seems like there are several definitions, otherwise I would laugh at Desire and Despair's pranks."

"That's different, their pranks are cruel. But don't you see what's funny about Halloween at all ?"

"Not really."

Knowing his stubborn side, Y/N didn't insist, simply shrugging her shoulders. She wouldn't have been against celebrating it with him, but it didn't matter if they didn't do anything that night. In any case, the king of dreams was too busy for this kind of thing. It was already a miracle that he found time for her in his schedule.

She should have been wary, because it wasn't normal for Dream to give up on a debate so easily. Not only did he have the right not to understand, but Y/N had to agree with him.

The nightmare didn't last long. Y/N wondered if she had screamed as loudly in her bed as in her dream she found herself facing this huge, dark monster trying to catch her. She had never been so scared in her entire life.

"Happy Halloween." the thing said, grabbing her in its hand.

"… Morpheus ?!"

"Yes. I still don't see the funny side. Can you explain it to me ?"

"… It's not funny ! Put me down and take back your normal form !"

"My 'normal' form as you say cannot be understood by mere mortals, what you see is just…"

"You know very well what I meant !"

Dream put her back on the ground and resumed his usual appearance, with his little pout. He was still waiting for an answer though.

After all, he had dressed up as a monster, and he had made a sort of farce at her, exactly as Halloween tradition required. It was obvious that Y/N had not wanted to laugh.

"There is a huge difference between dressing up and literally turning into a monster. People know that it is fake, that there is no risk, that is why it is funny."

"We are in a dream, and I will never hurt you. There was no risk."

"Dream…" Y/N sighed as she approached to caress his shoulders. "What if you came to the waking world so I could show you ? Hmm ?"

"… As long as I am with you, it will definitely be fun."

Next to Y/N who was wearing her best bunny costume, Morpheus continued to claim that he didn't really understand the point in seeing children running around in the street and adults playing pranks on each other.

But he smiled the whole time, never letting go of her hand, so he must have had a good time. And he seemed to enjoy her costume too, even if he showed it more with his hands than with words later.

[lovdlydaz]

black!top!amab reader x bttm!koutarou bokuto

bokuto was getting more and more desperate for you, it was so bad he couldn't even wait after games. so you teach him to be patient... with your own methods.

warnings: nsfw, praise, degradation, edging, begging, permission to cum, oral (reader!receiving), impatient bo, pet names such as "puppy", master kink, hardcore musk kink, PDA if you close one eye, bdsm, multiple orgasms

a/n: i am literally so braindead over this man, he's invaded my life and won't come out. happy birthday bokuto!

your poor little owl boy had been rutting up against you ever since he had woken up this morning. he was so desperate to feel you, touch you, have you hold him close that when he had to go to practice that day, he skipped it entirely to stay in the house with you. you didn't understand why he wanted to be so close to you, you both did live in the same house after all... you gave him so much love, so much of what he truly needed. but, he got more and more whiny every day, more whimper-y every day, more needy.

he was little a puppy in heat to you, constantly trying to rub up against you, hold you, smell you, just keep you close. he wanted to stay near you, so badly had he wanted to just crawl into your skin to be even closer to you. you didn't understand it, maybe bokuto was just a puppy in heat...

well, today was the day of his biggest game yet. it was against argentina, and he was more than pumped for this day. he had been training just for this, for his hits to be the hardest they’ve ever been. however, his neediness was up to its peak at this point, and he just kept whining and whining when you told him to get out of bed. he only had a few minutes to get ready yet he was glued to you like grease to a pan.

“bo… you gotta get off me okay? you gotta get ready for your big day okay puppy?” you sweet talked him, he wasn’t all that great with yelling or harsh tones (tism at its finest). he just kept whining, his grip around your waist getting tighter and tighter. sometimes you forgot how strong your dear boy was, now he was basically crushing your hip bones with his strength. you tapped him, but he didn’t let up.

“don’t wanna leave you,” he mumbled, keeping his face covered in your back which he loved. he loved everything about you, that was for certain. he genuinely wanted to keep you close, keep you safe. he loved you too much, way too much. but, he had to get to the game, and he hadn’t taken a shower or anything. so, you sighed, getting up out of your shared bed (by force, bokuto shoved himself into your bed and didn’t move the first few nights you stayed together).

you kept him around your waist as you walked, and he never let go of you. you turned on the bath and told him to hold his arms up, stripping him of your shirt that he wore all the time. he also wasn’t wearing shorts, just boxers. you stripped him before he latched himself against you once more, you were just in boxers since bokuto never wanted you to wear many clothes when you went to bed. you could call this toxic or controlling, but that’s just how he was. he loved your scent, your musk, he adored it. he adored everything about you, and that was prominent in everything he did.

hence that’s why he was being washed by you, while in your lap. poor boy just kept clinging to you, like you were going to leave him. you weren’t, obviously, but he always thought you would. after his relationship with his ex, keiji akaashi (yes i ship bokuaka fight me), he always thought you were going to leave him. but, you never were, it was just his attachment issues. he stayed close to you, cuddled up into your body and your well-formed chest.

“don’t wanna go,” he whined, now you were dressing him in his uniform and travel outfit. he just kept trying to hold you as you dressed him, more than once having to swat his hand away from your body because you needed to dress him properly. he was so needy for you, honestly it was a little annoying. but, every time he stared at you with those big golden eyes of his you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. he was too cute for you, way too cute. yet most of his opponents say he’s the scariest out of them all. even after sakusa, which is saying something.

once he was fully dressed you could feel a pair of rough hands wrap around your waist yet again, chuckling as you held him close. your big bo was such a doll, such a treat yet you still needed to get him to the car. “kou kou, c’mon… you gotta go puppy, i’ll be in the stands cheering you on okay?” you cooed, the white-and-black haired boy shaking his head. “won’t be close to you,” he whimpered, shushing him as you talked to him.

“kou, you know i got those really close seats, almost right next to you yeah? you’re be as close as you can to me, okay love?” you comforted him, making him somewhat relax his bear-tight grip around your waist. though, he was still clinging onto you, which you didn’t need.

so, sighing softly you just waddled to your car, basically ripping bokuto off your hips and softly placing him in the car. you sat in and put on your seatbelt, yet you find a pair of veiny tan hands wrapping around your waist yet again. for some reason, koutarou had a godly obsession with your waist. it was so small, so feminine, and fit into his hands so well. that was another thing he loved about you, how skinny yet built you were, but you could easily pick him up with no trouble. and, you were only a few inches taller than him, but he cherished the height difference so much.

"bo, i have to put my seatbelt on. do you want me to get into an accident and die? then you won't have anyone to cuddle aggressively," you spat, though you had to admit you did say it a little harshly. because you looked back and bokuto was staring at the window, leaning against the door with tears in his eyes. you felt oh so terrible, guess you had forgotten how sensitive your lover was. "oh c'mon puppy... i'm sorry okay? you just have to be more patient and wait until your big day is up okay?" you tried to comfort him, but a small whimper and a huff was all you got in response.

you felt bad, really bad. you didn't mean to lose your temper, he had just been clinging onto you so much that it started to annoy you. but, you knew why he did it, why he did everything he did. you just let it slip on accident. he knew how much you loved him, how much you cared for him. he was just such a clingy puppy, you didn't know what to do.

the drive to the gymnasium was quieter than usual, soft sniffles being heard from the dual-haired male sitting besides you. your heart cracked with every one, you felt so terrible for making your boyfriend upset, you wanted to make it up to him. but, then again, he needed to learn how to be patient. he was getting way too needy nowadays, it got so bad that his coach had to come and pull you to the side to talk about his behavior. like a teacher would to a parent with a trouble-child.

"koutarou hasn't been very focused lately. he keeps mumbling about wanting to... 'hold master' and things like 'i miss him'. do you have anything to do with that?" his coach asked, making your face flush red hot at the first part. you just chuckled nervously and nodded, scratching the back of your neck. "oh- well yes, yes i do. see, i'm koutarou's boyfriend. we have this... thing. but, i'll talk to him about it, don't worry sir!" you stumbled over your words a little, but he got the message. he smiled and nodded, waving to you while he walked out. you waved back, and that was the day you decided enough was enough.

you parked in a V.I.P spot you had bought for yourself, getting out of the car and getting your boyfriend's stuff. he got out as well, but he still clinged onto you. he could never stay mad at you for long, and you both knew that. vice versa. so, as you felt him cling to you you just smiled softly, running your hands through his stiff hair—and by running your hands though i mean just moving them up and down—made you have to carry his fucking ginormous volleyball bag that he manages to carry with him to every game/practice.

after a grueling 20 minutes of walking with your star boyfriend around your waist and his heavy ass bag on your shoulder, you finally arrived to the court he was supposed to be practicing on. of course, you were late. and, you had warned bokuto about this, so now he had to be peeled off by his coach and forced to run 20 sprints for being late. of course he did that with ease, he was a fucking gym rat and literally drooled over the treadmill (that was a red flag in your opinion /j), so running wasn't much for him. however when he was finished he looked around, not seeing you and his eyes going soft.

you had went into the stands, saving your spot down there near the court to get an up close look on bokuto. and, when you had put your stuff down you went to the concessions to get drinks and food for you and koutarou.

once you came back the boys were warming up, and you cheered your lover on when he got a good spike. his head shot backwards and he met your eyes, those beautiful locks you had swinging as you nodded to him with a smile. he grinned from ear to ear, feeling his mood visibly change and the court took note of that too. you being there made bokuto want to show off for you, even though you knew of his special ability on the court.

✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁ ＬＯＡＤＩＮＧ… ▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩

the game was won 2-3, your lover's team (MSBY black jackals) being the victors yet again. with amazing defensive players like kiyoomi and shiron to tiny yet mighty surprises like hinata, you were sure this year the jackals would go undefeated. though, when you went down to congratulate your boyfriend the owl boy had the nerve to just kiss you in front of all his team, making the kiss deep and passionate. you obviously didn't object this motion, however when you snapped back to reality you pulled away from koutarou, his teammates watching you both with... different looks.

kiyoomi was disgusted due to his fear of any sort of germs (hence why he was bitchless), hinata was staring at the floor with a flushed expression, atsumu was giving you both a thumbs up and winking, romeo and the others were just staring at you two. after that whole awkward three seconds you pulled bokuto by the arm, grabbing his bag and hooking it over your shoulder as you steadily jogged back to the car with him in tow.

"hey!! i wasn't finished talking to my friends!" your boyfriend whined, but hearing your silence made him go quiet. once you both got to the car you slammed the door when you got in, looking over at your puppy and seeing those big golden eyes go soft with embarrassment. "what was that, koutarou?" you asked, using his full first name—not a good sign. he could tell you were visibly upset, yet your tone stayed calm and behaved. "w— well i— i just wanted to show you how much i love you—" he was cut off by the car turning on, then you pulling out from the gym to dart straight back to your humble abode.

you got out of the car and grabbed bokuto's things, whilst he grabbed yours as well. you both walked into the house together, tossing your shit somewhere before you had koutarou pinned against the wall, staring down at him with fierce eyes. "kou, you know how much i love you right?" your tone was sweet and mellow, but your demeanor was ragged and harsh. all the poor boy could do was nod his head, staring deep into those scary e/c eyes you were boring down at him right now. "so why on god's green earth did you make a kiss so passionate and steamy in front of all those people, plus it was streamed on live television?" your voice got harsher, making bokuto flinch. it wasn't that you didn't enjoy it, no it was the fact that bokuto had been pushing and pushing your patience, and this was the final straw.

"i— i-i... got j—jealous..." he mumbled, stuttering as blush fell over his face. "y-you were talking with someone and... and it wasn't me! it made me jealous!" he exclaimed, making you chuckle darkly. "bokuto, that was my friend. F-R-I-E-N-D. you didn't need to do that," your hand travelled to his neck, just holding it there but not squeezing. "i-i'm sorry m/n... i won't do it again!" well that was a bold-face lie. he would most certainly do it again, nobody gets to talk to you without him at your arm. "oh don't lie bo, i know you better than the back of my hand." you told him, looking down at him with a grim expression. he was shaking at this point, hot and sweaty from the game yet there was also a hard point down where his legs were that you could faintly feel through the fabric of his shorts.

raising an eyebrow you stared him up and down, smirking when you saw those large puppy dog eyes he always wore. “looks like i need to teach my puppy a lesson, yeah?” you asked, though it was a rhetorical question. he nodded, however, knowing that he was in big trouble now.

and you weren’t going to play nice.

now here he was, tied up against the headboard and back arching off the bed. his big bright eyes were glossy and filled with small tears as he looked up at you. you were torturing his cock, rubbing the tip with his own precum. he kept whimpering, more noises leaving his throat as the pleasure just built inside him. he was wearing a cockring, it was helping him not orgasm. he needed something more, something more than what he was being received. sure, he loved this, but he needed to let one out since it was right after a game.

“m—m/n… p-please…” he begged, but you weren’t letting up. “bo, you know why i’m doing this, right?” he nodded, he knew how much trouble he had caused after the game but it was all in good faith. it wasn’t his fault that he got jealous over every person that talked to you. it wasn’t his fault that he felt a need to be possessive over you. he had gained a connection with you that he hadn’t gotten from anyone, even his ex. so like hell he was going to let that go.

“but— but— please i… wan’ cum,” he mumbled, voice cracking as he jutted his hips up into your palm. he was still hard as shit, pre-cum covering his whole cock, base to tip. “you aren’t going to orgasm until you apologize, okay? and don’t make it rushed.” you were stern with your punishment, your puppy needed to learn not to mess with his master. so, bokuto’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, moans escaping him as he felt his orgasm approaching.

you took your hand off of him before he could orgasm, making him whine on so loudly. you smirked, your cock was against the bed, leaking with every noise your lover made. it was so hard it almost hurt, but you needed to show koutarou that you weren’t giving him the easy way out anymore. “y—you… bully…” he huffed, pressing his back against the headboard once more as he tried to calm down. but just in a few seconds you were stroking his cock again, making his eyes roll back and more pre-cum fall from his red-and-purple tip. he was most definitely losing his mind, and it was all your fault.

"just apologize bo... i wanna let my puppy cum, but he's been such a bad boy lately. can't give bad boys what they want now can we?" you cooed, your large hand moving up and down his large shaft. he was on the verge of tears, crying out in pleasure and jittering like a broken robot. he just needed to orgasm, his lower stomach hurt with the urge to orgasm, but it wasn't there just yet. " 'm sorry..." he mumbled, letting a small tear fall. "what koutarou?" you inquired, making him gulp down the building saliva in his throat.

" 'm s-so sorry m/n... please just— let m' cum— i can' take it n'more... i won't b-be so possessive n'more... please master!" he almost screamed, light sobs leaving his throat afterwards. you felt as though he had earned it, so you smirked, speeding up your hand and taking off the cockring. "cum kou kou, cum for your master yeah? be a good boy and cum for me," you were almost begging for it, but it didn't take long for spurts of white to escape his aching cock, making koutarou moan almost the loudest he ever had. he was seeing white in his vision, it was so euphoric to him. he needed more of that, he craved more.

you bit your lip, looking down at your big boy with a smile. "good boy... such a good boy yeah?" you praised him, and he just whimpered. he was slowly going dumb, but he wasn't dumb enough to stop thinking words. "m-more..." he whined, looking up at you wit those beautiful eyes of his. your heart almost cracked, but you had to stay strong. "more? is that what you want kou kou?" you inquired, him nodding. he wanted more, he needed more than what he was receiving. this wasn't enough, he wanted your cock inside him so bad. that's why he had been so clingy lately, because he wanted you to fuck him just like this.

"you gotta use your big boy words puppy," you cooed, making him writhe on the bed with embarrassment. but, he needed your cock so bad, so he decided to comply. "i-i... want your cock... please..." he mumbled, and you could obviously hear it but you just wanted to tease him. "hm? speak up puppy, i didn't quite hear you." you spurred on the behavior, making bokuto whine. "need your cock i-in me! please!" he squeaked, making you chuckle darkly. "that's a good boy."

you took your hand off his cock, anchoring his legs up and grabbing the warm lube. you put some on your fingers and pushed two inside, making koutarou shake his head but moans left his throat. "n-no! don' wan' fingers! wan' your cock!" he squealed, a soft sob leaving his throat as he cried out. "ah ah ah, be patient koutarou. or else you won't be getting my cock for the rest of the night," you threatened him, making him immediately shut up. "yeah? good boy bo." you cooed, pressing your fingers into his prostate.

the moan that left his throat went straight to your cock, making you have to gulp down a growl as you continued. "such a slutty little desperate whore you are... moaning over some fingers? god you're insufferable..." you degraded him, which made his cock twitch even more. "i-i'm g'na cum— let m-me cum—" he begged with all his might, but you pulled your fingers out before he could get that sweet release. he whined so loud, god it got you harder than ever.

"wh-why did you—" but before he could answer that question, you shoved yourself inside him, making his body shake as his muscles bulged. he tightened himself around you and that made you bite your lip, taking his hair and pulling on it, forcing him to arch his back. "ah! w-wh—" you didn't let him process it as you were already balls deep inside him, thrusting in and out of his ass making him scream out into the area.

"yes, good boy, take this cock," you encouraged him to keep going, keep taking you deep inside him since he needed it more than ever. he was close too, so when you hit a particular spot inside him he cried out in pleasure, staining the sheets with white. you chuckled and grabbed his sensitive organ, making the smaller beneath you whine and try to get away. only to shove himself deeper onto your cock, making him moan loudly and fall onto the bed.

you grabbed his hips and started to pound him, grinning when you saw how desperate he was truly becoming. he was just a pathetic little slut, a dumb puppy ready to take your cock any time of the day. you knew after that date where you two had sex he would be hooked, you fucked him so well and you had a cock like no other. he was addicted, he wouldn't be afraid to admit that, but he could also never get enough of you.

he whimpered and struggled, not too much though because you would smack his ass every time he did struggle. he loved the feeling of being stuffed full, with his large 6'4 self he really couldn't get that feeling on his own y'know. so, with you only being a few inches taller and with a bigger cock than his he was more than grateful to have you, and would never let go. he could feel another orgasm roll through his veins, making him clench around your cock. you could feel your balls tighten as your nonstop thrusts got even harder.

"you want this cum baby? want master's hot and thick seed deep inside your slutty pussy huh?" you grunted, going as fast as you could go. you were hitting his prostate spot on, and that was making bokuto lose his mind. he nodded his head, making 'mhm' noises really fucking loudly. you grabbed the back of his throat and pushed it down, making him choke. "speak up puppy." you growled, making his ass clench around you more. "y-yes master! wan' it s'bad!" he screamed, making you grit your teeth as you plowed his insides.

with a low groan you busted deep into his ass, making him cum around your cock. the sheets were yet again stained with white, but as he was about to get off your cock you grabbed his hips, shoving yourself deep inside him.

"oh you thought we were done?"

—————————

when he got to practice the next day, the day was filled with either the coach asking if he needed to sit today out or questions from his teammates about his condition. atsumu was the only one who was gasing on him about letting his boyfriend fuck his ass to the point of soreness in the morning, but at least he had a great ass time at practice. and you had a good day at work.

© gg 2023. dividers were made by me. do not steal, use, or repost my work without my consent. reblogging/interaction is welcomed.

[brionysea]

Is it just me or did Vi really not get an arc this season 😭? She doesn’t resolve the fact that she places all her worth on protecting those she loves. A lot of her big emotional beats (joining the enforcers, becoming a pit fighter, finding Vander, freeing Jinx and getting imprisoned for all her efforts) happened as a result of Caitlyn or Jinx’s intervention. She has so much oldest sister syndrome she infected the narrative 😇

yes! I think it's an issue of flawed ideas and poor execution. in classic me fashion, I'll go through the whole thing to show you what I mean:

vi joining the enforcers despite everything they've done to her (killing her parents, roughing up her family as kids, chasing them down, coming into the last drop to arrest them and intimidating everyone and almost taking powder, imprisoning and abusing and starving vi for her entire adolescence) because caitlyn asked her to and caitlyn is the Most Important Person in her life right now is the exact kind of thing vi would do. I personally love how temporary the enforcer gig is, despite that going against the lore (I honestly couldn't care less), because vi's CHARACTER in this show goes against the lore. I don't care that she's supposed to be an enforcer in the game. I'm not playing a game. I'm watching a show. the vi I know wouldn't do that, it makes no sense for her character, and it really feels like that's the point. she's losing herself for the sake of what caitlyn wants in a very clever way to address whoever demanded the show be more accurate to the game (which, again, I AM NOT PLAYING. BECAUSE THIS IS A SHOW THAT'S MORE THAN CAPABLE OF STANDING ON ITS OWN) without betraying the characters. this is the kind of freedom that would have made for a truly stellar season: going where the story is led naturally by its characters rather than being trapped by a pre-determined narrative

then in vi's fight with jinx (which, fine, I guess vi *would* decide that 'jinx isn't powder anymore' means 'my sister is dead'; she's single minded like that, even if it felt rushed), there's suddenly a random child in the crossfire and vi's like oh. okay. I can't actually hurt innocent children the way I was hurt. I do, in fact, have principles, and they dictate that I intervene rather than allow this to play out. and it turns out that when the chips are down caitlyn doesn't actually care about the undercity because she risked killing an innocent child and wants to kill jinx knowing she's vi's sister (and said that jinx, a young mentally ill girl from the undercity, killing caitlyn's mother, one of the richest and most powerful women in piltover, is the same as vi's parents being killed by enforcers while fighting to end the oppressive social order they enforce. it's not.) and basically says that she thought vi was 'one of the good ones' but she's exactly like all those other animals (again, because vi refused to let cait open fire on a child), before literally gut-punching her and leaving her there. vi was right before, they're oil and water, they're too different. and now vi's lost her sister; lost cait; the rest of her family is still dead. she has no money. no power. nowhere to go. nobody to protect. what's even the point of her?

and then we reach the second act. vi has no purpose so she's like well I'm just gonna fight people for money. because she'll win. obviously. she's a mess, she's drinking all the time, she's seeing jinx and caitlyn everywhere (people really breeze over how vi sees things too - definitely to a lesser degree than jinx, but when she hits rock bottom, it's there). I love this set up for vi. it makes so much sense that putting all her energy into caring for others would end up here. like a message from the universe that she needs to learn to do things for herself or she'll always end up back in this hole. you could argue that vi not having a lot of agency and just following jinx or caitlyn around until she ends up stuck in that cell (her ✨️ prison of the mind ✨️ or whatever jinx's imaginary, out of character, ghost silco was talking about), while boring (so boring), is more of vi being stubborn and stuck in her ways and refusing to learn her lesson until she's forced to. which she was also like in season 1, except there, it was more like vi repeatedly trying to solve problems that were much too big to be punched away by punching them (vi thought jinx could brute force her way out of being traumatised), and even then, I didn't get the impression that vi cared enough about the council to actually give up on jinx because of what she did to them. vi's a brick wall of a woman. sometimes, in this bitch of a world, stubbornness is a virtue

the problem, like a lot of things that had potential in season 2, is that it's not actually followed through on. there's no self actualisation for vi. she just cares about jinx until she doesn't and then she has sex with cait (who does not actually atone for any of the shit she did btw) in the prison cell where vi's sister was just planning suicide and is currently going through with it elsewhere, as far as vi knows

I think the intention was for vi having sex with cait instead of chasing after jinx to be the first selfish thing in her life (which jinx basically told her to do, because no one hates piltover anymore even though they haven't changed at all or done anything to earn this 'meet us halfway' demand of feeling entitled to zaun's bodies for their war after poisoning those same bodies for who knows how long. jinx never called vi an idiot for dating an enforcer. in fact, she feels bad for nuking the council :( which means she's good now! 👍 because GOOD characters are NICE to piltover and only BIG MEANIES care about zaun's independence. even silco's ghost thinks it's a waste of time! apparently he was just bitter and unloved, like a child throwing a tantrum! sure. sure! why not!), but it falls apart immediately because 1) jinx told vi she's going to kill herself (vi knew what jinx was planning before she asked, you can hear the fear in her voice), which obviously takes priority - never in a million years would vi let jinx disappear like that without doing anything about it, no matter how self actualised she is, because STOPPING YOUR SISTER FROM COMMITTING SUICIDE IS A NORMAL THING TO DO. well, maybe not normal, but you know what I mean. it's not exclusively a vi-ism. it's common sense. if someone you love tells you they're going to commit suicide, you do everything in your power to prevent it. and 2) CAIT IS NOT ACTUALLY REDEEMED FROM ALL THE SHIT SHE DID TO THE UNDERCITY. yes, cait letting jinx escape was symbolic of her letting go of the obsession that drove her to that point, but she didn't actually hurt jinx (except now jinx is free to off herself because of cait, which vi would be angry about if she hadn't spontaneously forgotten what she learned in the previous scene). despite her personal vendetta, cait couldn't catch jinx to even attempt to hurt her. who she DID hurt was the undercity at large, and she has no way of making up for that. they dropped the zaun plotline like a hot potato so there's no narrative opportunity for cait to prove to vi (and to the audience) that she gets it now. that she's done being a fascist and vi isn't just blinded by her hotness (which would be a strange angle to take but that's honestly what it seems like. it's so shallow and out of place with everything going on). none of this is earned enough for vi to choose a quickie in a cell over stopping her suicidal sister from blowing herself up

TLDR; there was an attempt at an arc, which was foiled by tying it so closely to caitvi, which was tied to the politics of the piltover-zaun conflict, which was never resolved and thus made vi's arc feel unsatisfying

[thegratefulsouth]

TWD Caryl - A Tree Fell in the Forest

I just finished watching TWD and searching a bunch tonne of stuff on this here Tumblr which I'm brand new to, and I have thoughts.

I am strangely drawn to imperfection, its beauty, and TWD sits in this place, hovering near almost faultlessness (characters), to being nearly unwatchable (where did the characters go), sometimes within the same episode. It's utterly fascinating! I am hooked! A little late, yes, but isn't that the story of my life.

I honestly have not felt this way about characters since the late 90's, when my 17 year old Willoz shipping heart waited desolately for Oz to return, and ... we all know how that turned out. Ah, shipping. I literally had not shipped a single ship since that day. Until I watched The Same Boat. TWD has some pretty special characters. Though I love Bojack and Ozark and Travis Fimmel's Ragnar, I did not feel compelled to examine the inner workings of those beautiful humans/humanoids beyond the show.

There I was, happily not shipping a ship, apart from my own relationship with my own beloved, which I ship ecstatically every day. (This is the kind of ramble I can indulge in when I think readership will be non-existent). Got another ship in!

Anyway, my point is that a Caryl romance is clearly canon, even though the relationship isn't (yet?).

I didn't actually fall in love with Carol until she listened to my urgent pleas to take care of the Wolves at the start of season 6. I should point out that I have ADHD so I didn't always have the dopamine? Emotional regulation? Focus? To listen to all of your speeches, Rick, or to watch entire episodes devoted to new characters, Tara, Magna, Alpha. So, apparently, I missed entire stuff.

Even after "C'mere", I just thought Carol and Daryl had this extremely unique soulmate bond, like that of Ragnar and Athelstan in Vikings. It is an extremely rare and unique portrayal of a transcendental devotion that cannot be likened to any other kind of relationship, because there are no other relationships like it. The bind encompasses every aspect of love and support needed to utterly fulfull and complete someone.

At this point I had stumbled onto Tumblr because I realised I needed pro-Carol recaps from Carylers, as they seemed to best understand and grasp this very special character. I went back and rewatched from the beginning and I was shocked. I rewatched (and noticed for the first time) the flirting, the hesitation, the banter, the unspoken LOOKS, oh so many. Drew the links from Consumed ("I kinda like it." "Stop.") Watched interviews, waded through the mass of gaslighting that abounds, which seems to wrap itself around every subtle, telling moment.

Why? Because it's fascinating. A mystery. Pretending something that happened, did not? A tree fell in the forest and some people did not hear it. Well I didn't hear it either! But I went back and found the tree. That tree is on the damn ground.

Carol and Daryl are so in love with each other it hurts. Their romance exists. Therefore, I'm gonna ship it.

TGS

[lukesantlers]

If I have to suffer through one more person mischaracterizing Viktor I’m actually going to flip my lid, so let me speak on this‼️🗣️

First thing I’ve seen today is someone claiming Viktor is a facist, right-minded, all powerful dictator who does not care about anyone but his own interests. WHAT?!

I can say with almost all certainty that this is NOT the case at all, if anything, it’s the farthest from. “But- but he practiced eugenics!” Do you seriously think he would have done so if his life was different? When we’re presented with Viktor as a child, we see how deep his hatred for harmful mutation and evolution is. He does not think pushing a living vessel past its limits is humane. HE STILL agrees with it, to an extent. When Viktor is presented with the proposition to supersede his current situation by using Vander’s blood, he denies it. WHY does he deny it? Because it would strip away Vander’s humanity. He had a sense of morality regardless of his “cult.”

The only reason Viktor turned to such drastic measures is because he was pushed beyond his limits. This man lost his autonomy MULTIPLE times through only a few days. That is beyond dehumanizing. If you were dead, and all you wanted to do was die, don’t you think being brought to life would destroy you a bit? I imagine you’d be upset being forced to prosper despite all your efforts to give in. Viktor quite literally clung to life throughout the entirety of season 2, and I’m tired of acting like what Jayce did was completely justifiable.

“If your best friend was dead, you’d try to save him!” Of course I would, but I would also take into consideration his mental and physical state. Viktor was dead, Jayce knew this, and resurrected him regardless. (this isn’t Jayce slander btw, I do acknowledge his side I’m just not speaking about him atm)

Viktor was never given a chance to succeed, he was always left in the shadows even as an adult in Piltover. Because of his overwhelming fear of being forgotten, and his life amounting to nothing, he took a more drastic route to be known. In the end, of course, this all proves useless—however, how can we paint him as the villain entirely? Those in charge are the people that truly failed him. As a child growing up in Zaun to his most recent affairs, nobody gave him a grain of salt when it came to ANYTHING. Not even Mel was able to respect him enough to even hold eye-contact with him for longer than a second.

No, I am not saying that what Vik did is 100% correct, but it also astonishes me how often people are quick to jump the gun and say he was an idiot, or wrong. It’s such a close minded way to go about his character, about Arcane as a show in general! A show that quite literally bases its political points on real world issues.

Ty for coming to my ted talk 🙏

[downtroddendeity]

@turnkeyassurance saw your tags and figured I'd take the opportunity to pause my descent into madness to give my more sober opinions on the Ni no Kuni franchise, lol. (Warning: I am a humongous JRPG nerd)

The NNK games are really odd ducks, quality-wise. You can call either one a good game or a bad game and call either one better than the other, and any combination of those opinions can be something I think is entirely justified. Both of them have things they do remarkably well and also serious, profound, deal-breaking flaws, and the really weird thing is that there's almost no overlap between those two lists for the two games. What clicks and doesn't about both of them is going to be deeply individual.

What Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch does, with resounding success, is Vibes. It sets out at every single step with the goal of being a playable Ghibli movie, and it sticks to that principle. It's all about beautiful, cel-shaded whimsy. It's a game for people who want to feel like they're wandering through the meadows in the movie version of Howl's Moving Castle. There are lots of puns, and you can befriend all the random encounter monsters and feed them ice cream.

But that's also its Achilles' heel: because it's dedicated entirely to imitation, it has trouble bringing things to the table that are really its own. It has the visual and narrative aesthetics of Hayao Miyazaki's films, but it doesn't have the raw emotion at the heart of them. And as a game, its mechanics combine the clunkiest features of menu-based combat and action RPGs, and while everything about the Pokemon-esque mechanics seems designed to encourage players to collect and experiment with them, the balancing turns attempting to do that into a miserable grindy nightmare.

The other problem is that it... isn't actually the first Ni no Kuni game. Wrath of the White Witch is, in fact, a remake of the Nintendo DS game Ni no Kuni: Dominion of the Dark Djinn, which was never released outside Japan. The reason for this is pretty easy to explain, because DDD had another gimmick besides its aesthetics: it came with a real-life physical copy of the wizard spellbook, and the player had to look things up in it and draw sigils on the DS touchscreen to cast spells. So, we've got a high-effort remake that had to completely cut the central mechanic... and which also expanded the plot so that the original main villain was no longer the primary antagonist. This results in a game with what is very clearly a final dungeon and very clearly a final boss and very clearly a resolution to the story, which suddenly has a completely different plot dropped on it like a fucking anvil that it expects you to be just as invested in even though it hasn't had anything like the same level of buildup.

And ironically, this is almost the exact opposite of the biggest problem with Ni no Kuni 2: Revenant Kingdom, a.k.a. the one with my new blorbo, the President of the United Union of Eagleland. 2 is an effort to try to cement an identity for the series that can be its own, rather than requiring them to depend indefinitely on borrowed Miyazaki nostalgia. It just has the teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy problem that at some point in development it had a budget shortfall so bad that you can finish the game without ever realizing that there is a continent-sized crashed interdimensional spaceship on the world map.

This game has had a machete taken to it. Don't get me wrong, I genuinely respect the work they did to make what they could with what they had, but you can see the signs of massive scope cuts to literally every aspect of the game. The back half of the game has almost exclusively recycled enemy and environment assets; voice acting has been trimmed down to canned voice clips; the catboy protagonist's ears and tail are barely animated; one minigame was so inadequately playtested that a level 16 mission is massively harder than level 50 ones; and while whatever restructuring they had to do to the main plot still left the final version with a more solid and coherent central arc than WWW in my opinion, it also left a lot of truly gaping plot holes, like oh, I don't know, why the President of the United States got turned into a 19-year-old.

Literally, they just. Entirely forgot to explain that. Half the DLC is just the writers scrambling to fix stuff like that and add a bunch of character development that should have been in the base game.

However, despite all this, I personally enjoyed NNK2 more than NNK1 unironically, not just for Rolandposting reasons. Compared to the first one, it plays much more smoothly as a straight action RPG, and while it can't provide the same knock-your-socks-off aesthetic cohesion, to me it seemed a lot more heartfelt- that is, like a game that was made because people had a story they wanted to tell.

But, well, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the non-unironic reasons, because the story they really, genuinely wanted to tell was about a magical catboy growing up and learning to become a leader, and somehow, miraculously, they really thought that was the story I was here for too when they opened the game with the President of the United States being isekaied by Nuke-kun.

Sorry, guys, I have a crippling addiction to dramatic irony and my day job is tech work in local politics, you could not have more laser-targeted this at making me specifically laugh my ass off if you tried.

[pansy-picnics]

First off I need to just mention that your Uknighted dream art is top tier elite and i am in love. Like you have no idea.

Okay, now thats said, do you have any soft ot3 headcanons/scenes that you can imagine happening but can’t figure out how to write etc etc.? 💕

God is all of them an option bc the answer is all of them

I SWEAR I. HAVE SO MANY IDEAS AND THOUGHTS TAKING UP SPACE IN MY BRAIN (Both for ukd and for the entire family tbh) that i just CANNOT bring myself to draw or write or anything. If i had the time to be able to draw everything that popped in my head it would be OVER for yall i stg. And then theres my in progress fic i have up right now which i last updated in like (checks notes) January but i swear i’ve been THINKING about updating it again and that counts right

- Ummm. this is just something i find very funny but i absolutely love the idea that before they “Formally” announce their relationship, the public have just been spreading rumors left and right about the princess’s “affair”. cass and rapunzel somehow NEVER notice this but for a while it seems like eugene cant go ANYWHERE without someone either awkwardly being like “Soooo how are things going with the princess ^_^;;;” or just straight up asking “Hey is your wife cheating on you?” with no hesitation.

and eugene, being the attention whore he is obviously just Went with it and was like “Well yeah duh. Who do you think set them up”

EVERYONE GOES CRAZY.

before long literally EVERYONE has heard about it. rapunzel’s fucking Parents have heard about it. people in other KINGDOMS have heard about it. Meanwhile eugene’s having the time of his Life. He’s got disguises just to go in and listen in on the servants’ gossip. at this point he’s just started Making shit up and every day he’s spreading a proposition thats somehow even more absurd than the last. Most of them don’t even make sense. Like “Oh yeah no the reason rapunzel and cass are always sneaking off together isn’t because they’re having a steamy love affair it’s actually because they’ve been making blood sacrifices to the underworld to make sure zhan tiri never returns. Just girl things yk?”

“No see you’ve got it all wrong thats not cassandra at all. That’s shorty. He and rapunzel are having a book club together. It’s not going very well because shorty keeps eating all the books.” Or his personal favorite, “Wait you thought RAPUNZEL was the one having the affair?” gets them EVERY TIME.

Cass and rapunzel finally declare things officially only for everyone to become even MORE confused and they finally realize eugenes been fueling the fire for the past 3 months and he had just Assumed they were already aware of it

eugene: ….Wait you guys didnt know about that?

raps: i

raps: NO????

eugene:

eugene: um. Oops

cass: THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN “OOPS”?????

- this is kind of random but i PROMISE its going somewhere bear with me. In my head eugene is NOT the captain of the guard because a character becoming a cop is literally a fate worse than death. instead i like to imagine he does some kind of social work and is also an author…Eugene has a rlly strong connection to literature and is a great storyteller, hes got a flair for the dramatic and a strong imagination and seeing how much the flynn rider books meant to him in his childhood, i think he’d absolutely want to create something like that for other people 🥹

Anyways one of my favorite ideas w them is a modern au where rapunzel and eugene are both starving artists who are making a webcomic together…Eugene is still trying to publish his first novel and is writing for the comic in the meantime. theyre aspiring towards turning it into a graphic novel. Cass is literally just forcing everyone around her to read it. You’ve already read it? Read it again /J. She’s their number one hypeman but she’s trying to act sooo chill about it to keep up her Cool stone cold butch aesthetic. She’s like going to cons with them and hands out business cards and helps sell merch and she has a side account on twitter where she gets into heated arguments with anyone who hateposts about it.

Bonus points: it’s a fantasy comic about a lost princess, her knight girlfriend and her rogue boyfriend and is loosely a reference to the events of the canon show

- OH OH something that DEFINITELY fits this category has to be the girls taking eugene to the lagoon for the first time…….I think cass and rapunzel still spend a lot of dates there just the two of them, and no matter what it is very much Their Spot ™, but after things become official it just. Doesn’t really feel right to keep it exclusively between them anymore. i have a LOTTTT of thoughts on this…..rapunzel bouncing around and showing everything to him and cass just being dragged along for the ride…picnics together by the water while cass and raps are eagerly telling him all the stories of what he missed out on. it’s their quiet place i think they escape to whenever they don’t want to be bothered at the castle LOL. eugene officiates the cassunzel wedding there….. not to mention if/when they have kids 🥹 Augh. They make sooo many memories there i think🫶🫶🫶

- Not a specific scene so much as just a silly hc but rapunzel LOVES it when they “fight” over her. Usually it’s just a playful thing and rapunzel finds it so cute and endearing. They have the exact same banter every time and the same fake “duel” for her hand and raps will NEVER get tired of it

- oh and SPA DAYS. God cassandra’s self care routines by herself have always been SHIT. I love that girl but i think she absolutely reeks. Her hair looks like something died in it and whenever it gets too long she just grabs the nearest sharp object and cuts it off in one swoop. Eugene and rapunzel are UTTERLY horrified by this and they do not let that shit fly as soon as she’s living with them. They have little self care nights at least once a week, sometimes just with the three of them and sometimes the rest of the family gets into it too, it depends on the day. eugene helps do her hair for her and they pick out all sorts of fancy products for her skin and her curls and just absolutely SPOIL her. at first shes kinda whiny about it but once she realizes how much better she feels on a day to day basis she reluctantly apologizes for ever doubting them

[vacantgodling]

i'd like to say that this year was more of a planning year than a writing year; not to say that i didn't write; but i spent a lot more time on outlining, worldbuilding, and a new skill that i've added to the fold -- conlanging(!!). because of that, i didn't hit all the goals i made last year but tbh that's aight. without further ado tho:

TOTAL WORDS WRITTEN [january 2024-november 2024]

111,535 (as of 11/15)

once again, if this was all in one place, that would be a full novel but. speaking of full novels:

2024 GOAL STATUS

❌ reach 150k words written overall ✔️ finish cage like it’s GOING to happen i will it ❌ finish the first draft of paramour!!!

so i'm only 1 for 3 and tbh i'm not that mad about it. finishing cage back in february was one of the biggest writing highlights of this year because i showed myself i could do it, i CAN finish something of novel length if i really put my mind to it.

(and yeah, i really did go and get it printed out lmao)

and more than just the accomplishment of writing 82k in one piece, it's also helped me really understand and work out what systems and processes i need to have set up prior to writing to make it work. this is why outlining has been such a huge undertaking for me this year, in varying levels of success (lmao). having a fully fleshed out outline with the literal beat by beat playout of how i want the story to go helped me TREMENDOUSLY in pushing through cage. even on chapters that were rough for me, having that outline to fallback on made it so much easier to stick to a every week one chapter system. and its something i plan to implement with my original wips too.

the only issue is, because original work inherently requires more work since there's no framework except what's in your own head... its been a bit slower for me writing wise. BUT next year i will be operating out of a desperate need for whimsey so i think i'm going to make my goals much.... less stressful than i did this year.

2024 WRITING HIGHLIGHTS

FINISHED CAGE! biggest accomplishment in my life right now tbh. seriously if you haven't and you have any interest in overwatch at all go read it and leave me nice comments while you're at it lol. technically i am working on the interlude piece between cage and its eventual sequel, schism, but that's been kinda slow going as i don't have much motivation to do it right now. first chapter of it is also up on ao3 though -> interlude - quiet

created a conlang??? in a very bizarre turn of events i have created a conlang for my wip with the working title HE WHO SMITES THE SUN (under the tag #s: ph). the language itself is called dzonime'si and if you want to see more of that process check out my #ren fights linguistics tag :)

finished the entire "first draft" of my wip betwixt thumb and forefinger--which is actually an idea that i only thought of this year so that's fun. for the uninitiated it is a gothic reimagining of twilight but with a shit ton more body horror and prochoice commentary. the reason first draft is in quotations is because it is technically a 16k word long outline that i am considering draft one. draft 2 is literally me going bullet point by bullet point and expanding the draft into something more akin to prose. i do have the first few paragraphs of draft 3 started, which is where i'm going to attempt actual prose writing for the first time. pretty much, btaf is becoming a very lengthy process but it's my first "test drive" on how this new outlining to written prose for my original projects will go. i've just gotten... distracted by other wips since then.

2025 GOALS

to be honest, i don’t know if i have many hard goals for next year. mostly because of *gestures at the state of the world right now* :))))))) it’s blatantly obvious that when things are tough, it becomes more difficult to do the things that you want to do that bring you joy. amid trying to just survive the day to day, there’s also my desires to get more involved in bothering the FUCK out of my senators, looking into ways i can be more involved locally (without burning myself out) and just generally trying to not let the state of the world get me down.

i think there’s a lot of things i want to do. i want to finish a bunch of outlines for my wips becuase i can’t tell you how REWARDING it’s been to be able to fully just go back and reread btaf’s outline whenever i like (and have the AMAZING multi leave comments on it like that’s actually another huge highlight of this year thank u friend 💛) and get excited about telling this story all over again. it motivates me to keep doing it! i'd also love to finish btaf's draft 2, maybe try and finish interlude - quiet etc. but—long story short. i don’t think i’m going to put myself on for any particular goals. next year is going to be about celebrating wins in any and every capacity. so all i wanna do is give myself wins.

looking forward to seeing y’all next year, crying about our ocs as usual

💛 ren 💛

[aihoshiino]

Chp 160 was so??????? that I am straight up unable to form an opinion on it.

Like I can see the story going one of two ways. 'Kamiki is the evil mastermind actually he faked his reaction to the dvd' or 'Kamiki is playing the villian but is actually not the culprit'

And like both directions have massive problems.

The former would mean that the movie (which we spent nearly 40 chapters on) amounted to fucking nothing. Other characters ominous talking about Aqua trying to kill his father with it? Ruby's so called revenge arc? Nah, that meant nothing, the movie didn't do a damn thing.

And while I prefer the latter interpretation as it's the tonally and thematically consistent way, it would also mean that Akasaka has been circle-jerking us with the 'Kamiki is an evil serial killer.' -> 'No wait actually he isn't.' -> 'SIKE, HE IS EVIL.' -> 'Nvm he isn't.' for some inconceivable reason.

It's a mess no matter how you slice it, honestly I am so tired of oshi no ko and I just want it to be over already.

YEAH. THAT'S BASICALLY WHERE I'M AT.

In general, I just don't know why we're having a second confrontation with Kamiki. Narratively and emotionally, it's redundant - having him come back into the story and get his final resolution would be fine but playing out Yet Another Big Dramatic Showdown between him and Aqua just falls so flat for a number of reasons. We've already had the huge release of tension that was Aqua and Kamiki facing off like nearly an entire volume ago and everything that was emotionally riding on that confrontation was emotionally resolved. I know some people are still mad that Aqua didn't hit Kamiki with an orbital laser or something, but the absolute fucking gutpunch that was 153-154 was so incredibly effective and also just more interesting than this much more generic standoff. Not only is it kind of mid on its own merits but I feel like it retroactively makes that first confrontation weaker because like... it ends up not really mattering and we get a take 2 where Kamiki is acting like an entirely different character.

@yuseirra made an excellent point in their discussion of ch159 which is that (thematically speaking) the movie has to be the method by which Aqua achieves his revenge because Ai's tragedy was the result of the public's perception of her. If it isn't able to do that then not only was that arc just kind of a waste of everyone's time, reader and character alike, but it means the movie itself as an object in the narrative loses what little shaky thematic ground it has.

An issue the Movie Arc always had that it never really engaged with to my satisfaction is the underlying discomfort of watching Ai's life being turned into a movie. I said this over and over as the arc was ongoing, but there's something almost repulsive about taking this character whose life was warped and eventually ended up the exploitation of the entertainment industry and the voyeristic gaze of the public and indulging in that voyerism by creating fiction out of her life, chopping it up and outright making shit up to invent a version of her that the public can devour. It claims to be a movie about 'Ai Hoshino' but literally and explicitly fictionalizes the most pivotal events and relationships in her life - the 'Ai' of 15 Year Lie is just as fake as 'Ai of B-Komachi', just sold with an even more insidious lie to make her go down a little sweeter.

If the manga actually engaged with this idea or was even the slightest bit aware of this underlying discomfort, the Movie Arc as a whole would've been much better off for it and so would all the resolutions in the arcs following that rely on it as foundation. But as it stands, the movie is thematically dead on arrival and the fantastic emotional resolutions we got out of it, in spite of everything, have been seemingly retconned into irrelevance.

[createserenity]

What are the rainbows all about?

There’s more than one. We all know about the rainbow that fades in over Crowley after the failed awning kiss scene, but what about the other times they appear? This is just after he talks to Nina about how she feels about sudden rain so it might just be linked to that.

Why a rainbow here though? I don’t think it’s just the connotations of the rain being similar to the rain in The Flood. Crowley covers the sky with black clouds and then doesn’t miracle them away so for these to instantly disperse and a rainbow to appear (we see the sun is instantly back and everyone has put down their umbrellas through the bookshop window) seems like it would need some outside influence. Should we interpret as being a sign sent by somebody? And if so, who? The Almighty?

If you ask someone what the meaning and purpose of the rainbow is in the story of Noah’s Ark they will generally say it’s a sign to humans that God won’t flood the earth/destroy all life again, with the implication that the rainbow is for humans to remind us of this. That is partly the intention, and it’s established truth in the GO universe because Aziraphale tells Crowley that the Almighty is going to put up a rainbow “as a promise not to drown everyone again”. 

There is another purpose to the rainbow though in the “real world” Bible, one which is repeated several times during God’s speech to Noah in Genesis.

“Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. (…) Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”

This is God speaking here, so the I is God. They’re saying that future rainbows will not be sent by them, but will appear naturally and will serve as a reminder to themself that they promised not to drown everyone again. What God is saying in this part of the Bible seems to be along the lines of, you humans are imperfect and this angers me, but also I know I am vengeful and that this is not good. Because I’m fallible and liable to forget my promise I’m making this thing that will appear of its own accord in certain conditions to remind me to check my vengeful nature.

It's interesting really because God is supposed to be infallible, that’s one of the main points, except this speech by God is suggesting quite literally that they know they are fallible. If they weren’t they wouldn’t need a reminder.

I guess how the rainbow over Crowley is interpreted depends on how much whoever decided to put it there from the GO production team really knows about the story of the rainbow. If they only know that it as a sign to humans then it could have an entirely different meaning than if the decision to put it there was made by someone who knows it was a reminder to God as well.

Why does the rainbow appear here?

Since the rainbow is to remind God not to end all life on earth again could this be something to do with season 3? A reminder of that promise and a suggestion that the Almighty herself doesn’t actually want life ended? I’m not so sure about this one because we are repeatedly shown that in GO the Almighty is fully capable of doing cruel things (like sentencing Job’s children to death – unless we see this as weird complicated test of Crowley because God is playing a game of her own devising), so to have it suddenly turned around and have her not be in control of the divine plan seems odd (but then she is odd, absolutely bonkers if her speech to Job is anything to go by – the Almighty of the GO universe doesn’t seem very sane or logical).

It’s also strange that the rainbow, a promise to humanity and reminder to the Almighty not to drown everyone again is followed by Gabriel saying, “There will come a tempest, and darkness, and great storms”. So what is that saying about the original promise? Or what is the rainbow telling us about the statement that follows?

Maybe it’s more literally related to the vavoom moment Crowley is trying to create here. We’ve just watched a deluge of water ruin his attempts to get Maggie and Nina to fall in love. Could the awning ripping be interpreted as an act of God? If so the rainbow could be some sort of comment on that act and the fact that it meant his attempt at creating that moment for Nina and Maggie didn’t go quite right. A sort of, I did say I wouldn’t drown everyone again, but I couldn’t let this vavoom moment work so I had to drown (soak) them. If so that begs the questions – why? Why did the Almighty not want this particular moment to work out? Simply thwarting a demon’s plans, or something more?

I don’t really have any answers here. These are all just random musings, maybe someone who is better at research and interpretation of scenes can take up these questions. It’s really not my forte!

Another idea, which is probably a bit out there, inspired by this meta by @vidavalor.

It’s a very long meta, but a really fun read. To summarise though it is all about her theory that Crowley and Aziraphale kissed for the first time way back after The Flood happened (there’s so much more to it, seriously do read it!) So what’s this got to do with the rainbow? Well, whilst I love the idea that they’ve been doing something all along I don’t think that’s what Neil is writing here and I don’t actually expect it to be the case. (I might be totally wrong of course and I do love playing with this theory for fun, as in this post and this one). I do kind of buy into the idea though that he might be writing a story where they have had an almost-kiss before – specifically that Crowley might have tried or wanted to kiss Aziraphale before and Aziraphale has either rejected it, not noticed or it’s been stopped by outside influences. There’s so much great meta out there about how 1941 might have been the time when Crowley tried for a kiss and Aziraphale rejected him either before or afterwards, which does seem the most likely time in their history for that to happen. What if the almost-kiss happened not in the bookshop but later whilst they were tracking down the zombies (I believe Neil has hinted they might return in season 3) and then it was prevented by a deluge of water in some way? (And afterwards Aziraphale decided it would have been a bad idea – hence, “you go to fast for me, Crowley” in 1967.)

Or what if there were previous times when Crowley wanted to kiss but Aziraphale was just oblivious? Could it have been at the flood? They did something together (maybe saved some people?), went and sheltered from the rain under a canopy of trees, looked into each other’s eyes and then Crowley had a moment of realisation, I want to kiss this angel, but before he could act on it they were stopped by a deluge of water. Not the rain (that was already falling and wouldn’t have stopped them by itself) but by the other form of flooding that happened during this story. Specifically, this from Genesis 7:11:

“on the seventeenth day of the second month—on that day all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened.”

So a deluge stopped a kiss during the flood or in 1941. Now another deluge has stopped Maggie and Nina’s potential kiss. Could the rainbow be a sign to Crowley? Next time I promise I won’t do that to you.

If it’s that and then the bookshop kiss is the one that isn’t stopped by water then the Almighty really is playing a pretty strange game with these two.

Are there anymore rainbows?

Yes, two other appearances of rainbows. The very first time we see a rainbow is when the angels come to check on Aziraphale after they spot the plume from the Jim miracle. It appears in front of him and then sweeps over the angels as the camera pans around. The only significance I can see here is that this is the start of the whole “love” thing with Maggie and Nina that later leads to the awning scene. It's also the only time I can find where they appear with Aziraphale on screen rather than Crowley.

The last time we see rainbows is in the final 15 minutes. Firstly one appears on the window of the Bentley when Crowley watches Aziraphale leave. This is not a great screenshot, it's across the window in line with his watch and a second after this the rainbow becomes clearer and actually doubles up so there’s two of them.

Finally when Crowley is driving away right at the end once again the rainbow plays over the Bentley. Another promise? Or just a sign of hope, which is the other meaning ascribed to a rainbow?

What do these rainbows mean?

I have no clue. Honestly, it could just be that the whole theme of this season seems to revolve a lot around colour and using light and rainbows might just be an extension of that with no other meaning. The world is super colourful a lot of the time, I mean it’s literally painted rainbow colours, with the shop fronts all being different colours and the extras all wearing super bright clothing – notably an awful lot of orange and orange-yellow tones.

Interestingly in this rainbow world that GO shows us the colour purple is missing a lot of the time. It appears in the tartan various characters wear (Aziraphale, Saraqael etc) but doesn’t seem to appear much elsewhere except in the rainbows (it’s difficult to see in the rainbows but it is there, indigo and violet are difficult to see in real life rainbows to due to the length of the light waves). Purple is the colour associated with royalty, authority and notably Jesus at Easter so it’s intriguing that it is missing from the rainbow of the world here.

Anyway the point is I find all this strange. Could be something, could be nothing. I’m just a bit obsessed with noticing details at this stage!