#drawing them without the gloves feels illegal

[glazedcroissant]

How cat are your puffballs 🥺

A decent amount, I would say

bonus:

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

a whisper in the autumn wind

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1647 | Read on AO3

A chill racks your body as you and Mark make your way through the cool night. You mentally curse, wishing you were wearing more layers, though you know anything more wouldn't have fit under the tactical vest that sits snugly around your torso.

Your heist partner doesn't seem to notice you shiver, busy making sure the coast is clear before proceeding and gesturing for you to follow.

You do your best to keep pace with your friend's manoeuvres as he darts an odd pattern through the museum, triggering a bout of slight nausea that causes you to stop in your tracks.

‘Hey, keep up!’ Mark whisper-yells, turning around just in time to miss you steadying yourself after a wave of dizziness.

Somehow you make it the rest of the way without collapsing or being seen, but you're now all too aware of the fatigue in your muscles and the soreness in your throat. Meanwhile, your partner in crime carefully but swiftly wraps the stolen artefacts and slips them into his bag.

Your prize this time? A series of ancient tablets that you plan to sell to an illegal collector. You can't imagine what practical use someone would have for these, but at the end of the day, a job's a job and money is money.

It is only on your way out, that you feel the tell-tale itch in your nose that you have been dreading all evening.

As you scrunch up your face, Mark looks at you in confusion.

‘Buddy, you've been acting off all night, what's up with you? You good?’

You nod, desperately wanting to move on and for this to be over with.

The first couple of sneezes you manage to quell without too much fuss, but you can already feel a larger one threatening your nostrils.

While crouched behind a display, hiding from some guards, comes the point at which you can no longer hide that you're suppressing sneezes.

‘Alright, we are so close to being scot-free— hey what are you —? You're not sick are you? Really? Now?!’

Mark shakes his head back and forth with a string of frantically whispered "no"s as you fight your reflexes, but it's futile.

The sneeze that finally escapes you is resounding, and there is a beat of stunned silence and lack of movement from every party involved before you and Mark react first, bolting out the exit with the guards in pursuit.

It's a mad dash with a lot of ducking and diving, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping your body going, but by some miracle the two of you manage to lose them, eventually making it to where your getaway vehicle is parked some ways away so as to not be suspicious.

Piling into the passenger seat, exhaustion hits you all at once and you're thankful that Mark is the one driving. You pull off your gloves and hat and he does the same.

With no one following you, your partner drives cautiously in order to not draw any unwanted attention, careful to abide by traffic laws and always on the lookout for cops.

‘There's tissues and water in the glove box,’ he says after a few minutes, expression hard-lined and inscrutable, eyes focused on the road.

There's a thick tension in the car, uncharacteristically quiet save for the limited traffic outside and the rumble of the engine. You blow your nose, and it feels awkward in the silence, only broken on occasion by your sniffing. You take a sip of water, grateful for the coolness against your chapped lips and dry throat.

Eventually, you decide you don't want to endure the tension any longer, and you're too tired to let your little mishap turn into an argument; it was your fault, after all.

‘I'm sorry.’

Mark sighs. He glances at you, then back to the road.

‘It's okay. It's not your fault you're sick, it's just… Why didn't you tell me?’

‘Didn't want to ruin the heist.’ You laugh, but it's strained and weak, void of any real mirth or humour. ‘But I guess I kinda messed up on that anyway, huh?’

He lets out a small huff of laughter. ‘Yeah, no shit.’

You look down at your hands, folded in your lap.

‘Hey, it's not a big deal,’ he consoles. ‘We got what we came for and we didn't get caught. That's about as much as we can say for most of our heists.’

Your gaze stays downcast; he does make a good point, but it doesn't stop you from feeling a little guilty.

Mark must notice, because he reaches across to place a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, other hand still keeping the wheel steady.

You put your own hand over his, grateful for the comfort. You close your eyes and will away the growing dizziness and brain fog, the warmth from his now ungloved palm reassuring.

‘Look buddy, I need you to know I'm not mad or anything, just a bit upset that you didn't tell me in the first place… and annoyed at myself for not catching onto the fact sooner. I just thought… I thought you felt like you could be honest with me about this stuff.’

There's an undeniable hurt in his tone that makes you look up at him. He is still intently focused on the road ahead, despite there being rather few other people and cars out at this time of night, and you know it's out of choice — he takes his eyes off the streets in favour of looking your way for much longer than necessary when he wants to. Usually you'd chide him for doing so, but right now you can't help but wish he'd properly meet your eyes, just for a moment.

‘No – I can. I can tell you nearly everything, I – I'm sorry.’ You take a steadying breath, organising your thoughts. ‘You were just – really looking forward to this one, and there was no better day for it, everything lined up perfectly for us to go tonight. This stupid cold had to turn up and it started out as just a sore throat, no big deal, and well… I thought I could stick it out a little longer despite feeling like crap, but…’ You trail off, turning to look out the window as he approaches your shared base, returning his hand to the wheel.

He pulls up, setting the car to park, and finally turns his head to fully face you, placing a hand on your knee to get your attention.

He says your name, and it sounds like a term of endearment. For someone so bold and often brash, he can be surprisingly tender, a side of him that rarely anyone but you gets to see. ‘I rely on you, and you can rely on me… but part of that means we have to tell each other these things.’

‘Yeah, OK…’

‘Pinky promise?’

‘What are you, five?’

‘I'm serious,’ he says firmly, holding out his finger to emphasise the point.

Smiling, you hook your pinky around his own and shake on it, but not without rolling your eyes first.

‘Good,’ he says, pleased. ‘Now that that's settled, let's get inside, hm?’

While Mark retrieves the loot and stows it for the time being, you let yourself in, settling on the small couch in the living room. You take off your shoes and unzip your vest, easing it off your aching limbs.

The nausea and dizziness seems to have passed but you feel hot, yet a little shivery, and you're on the verge of nodding off when Mark appears in front of you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. If it's even possible, you feel incrementally hotter with his touch as you return his concerned gaze through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

‘I think you've got a fever, bud. C'mon, time for bed.’

You groan in protest, too drained to move, instead letting your head fall forward to plop against his chest, the soft texture of his plain black sweater a comforting feel against your fevered skin.

‘Oh boy, what am I gonna do with you…?’ he murmurs, bringing a hand up to pat your hair. He speaks softly, and with such affection that your heart would probably be doing somersaults if you weren't so tired and ill.

‘Alright, upsy-daisy.’ In one quick motion, he picks you up, carrying you bridal style to your room, and for once you don't object.

‘Hey, you better not make me sick too,’ he warns without an ounce of actual distaste, as you practically nuzzle your face into him.

He gently lays you in bed, tucking covers around you.

‘I'll be right back.’

You instantly miss his presence, tugging the blanket up a little around yourself.

He returns before long with a box of tissues, the bottle of water you'd been drinking and some painkillers, leaving them by your bedside. He places a wet face cloth beside you as well.

‘I know you're probably feeling cold but I don't want your temperature to get too high, so use this, and keep drinking water.’

You nod, about ready to drift to sleep.

‘Call me if you need anything, OK? I won't be far.’

‘Don't you want to sleep?’

‘I will in a little while, but you can still call me.’

‘Ok,’ you reply appreciatively. ‘Thanks for… looking after me.’

‘Someone's got to.’ He smiles at you gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

After a pause, he gets up to leave, pulling the door closed but leaving a gap the width of his face.

‘Rest up, buddy.’

He makes a quick kissing sound in your direction before shutting the door fully, his footsteps receding down the hallway.

Your face feels very warm.

Must be the fever, you think, placing the towel on your forehead with a yawn, before swiftly falling asleep.

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

well hello there

here is aphmau in my au/rewrite

i tried to draw her in as many of her iconic outfits as possible but good irene she has a lot [click for better quality]

so here are some changes and headcanons i have for aph in my au:

•she’s neurodivergent. not entirely sure what specifically, probably adhd. for sure dyslexic.

•she has sensory issues, which is why she’s usually in shorts. she feels like she can’t move properly in a dress for pants.

•so in my au she is irene just like regular canon. i gave her her markings but you might notice they’re different; here’s why: so in my au, scars and tattoos can both be used as runes to conduct magicks. scar runes amplify one’s existing magicks while tattoo runes bestow a certain magicks ability to a person (even if they already have one to begin with). though this practice is outdated and illegal in most parts of the world. because irene’s abilities existed prior to her become a divine warrior, she scarred herself to not only enhance said abilities but to also show her true dedication. nowadays no one, except maybe zoey, actually knows what they are or what they’re for exactly.

sorry that was a lot… ANYWAY

•when irene locked herself away, she tried to dress in a way she thought might help her blend in in whatever time she popped back out.

•she was wrong.

•phoenix drop gets really hot, especially in the summer, and it doesn’t snow there. aphmau uses it as an excuse to wear shorts all the time.

•when she first showed up she wasn’t as clueless as they made her seem in rebirth. she was just as aware as she was in the og beginning (except no she didn’t think she was playing minecraft) her reason for helping out the village was basically this: “oh look a village, cool i needed a place to stay. oh man these guys are in rough shape, they don’t have a lord?!? ah geez no one’s helping them, guess i gotta help them. oh shit they made me lord!” ok maybe not EXACTLY like that but yk

•she’s not a pick me in this universe :) and she doesn’t lead people on.

•when garroth first noticed how hard she was working on the village without even being asked, he bought her some gloves so she’d stop tearing up her hands. he bought some basic fingerless leather gloves but payed extra to have them dyed black and embroidered with lil purpley pink flowers. he hopes she’d like them and that his gesture wouldn’t come off as clunky or weird. she loved them and keeps them with her even when they’ve gotten too worn to wear.

•laurmau is endgame. aph and aaron never have any kind of romantic relationship. he’s more of a mentor to her. (i’m sorry garmau lovers i love y’all but laurance is my guy)

ok

so that’s all folks, i’m sure i have more headcanons and changes for aphmau but none come to mind right now. feel free to leave suggestions tho :)

garroth is next >:)

[achy-boo]

Ansel Amato

Picrew for Ansel and Alvaro

2. Neka

Name: Ansel Amato

Romaji: Amato Ansel

Quote: “I think I’m staying with my brother. Don’t try to separate us,dear~”

V/A: Albedo from Genshin Impact

Gender: male

Sexuality: Closet Pansexual

Age: 19

Birthday: January 10th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Eye color: baby blue

Hair Color: black

Height: 6’7

Weight: 102lbs

Race: fallen angel (hidden)

Homeland: Unknown

Family: Alvaro Amato (His twin)

School Status and Fun Facts

Dorm: Scarabia

School Year: 2nd Year

Class: 2-C

Student Number: No. 20

Occupation: Student, Host in a host club(secret)

Club: Light music club (His twin had to be there with him)

Best Subject: History and Flying

Favorite Color: Dark colors and pastel colors

Favorite Food: Homemade or store brought food(And fried octopus to made Azul afraid of him)

Least Favorite Food: He will immediately say Fried bananas.

Likes: being with his twin brother, spending time with Kalim but gently remind him about going into dangers without thinking, teasing Jamil, music, night walks, school (shockingly), fighting Ace Trappola, the staff expect for one staff, helping out students.

Dislikes: Azul Ashengrotto, Crowley(TO DEATH), Grim for his complaining, Sebek for his desire to protect and serve Malleus (Sebek got some determination but let Malleus do his thing for once you damn banshee- Ansel)

Hobbies: Dancing, playing a instrument, singing, and drawing(traditional and Digital)

Talents: Room read and Vibe reader

Nicknames: Ansi(Alvaro), Cunning Ansel(Jamil) Amami(Ace for teasing Ansel but then it escalated to a nasty fight..)

Other Nicknames: Little Ansel (Crewel), Mr. Fallen (Sam), My rockstar (Vargas) Angel(Trein)

Appearance and Personality

Appearance: Ansel have long black hair that reach his lower back with little ponytail. Ansel have baby blue eyes that held a lot of emotions, he have a star cross like mark under one of his eyes. In Scarabia, he wears the male scarabia dorm uniform but when he isn’t at NRC, He wears a black and grey suit and tie and have a little roses designs at the bottom. Ansel wears gloves all the time even when he’s at work. Oh and Ansel wears glasses, he can see perfectly well..he just like wearing them.

Personality: Cunning, sneaky, clever, sly and mysterious is what most people described Ansel. The twin who will defend everyone and his twin with a sly smirk. He is calculating like a few students but knows his limits more than everyone. A responsible and caring brother and friend. He will get out of his way to comfort anyone who is in the bad mood. But nobody knows why Ansel and his twin don’t have parents or a home. They do have a home and parents but..You will be very surprised to learn why.

𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂

- Ansel’s UM is Hidden Words

-Disowned his parents at the age of 17 before he and Alvaro entered NRC

-Childhood friends with Jamil and Kalim with Alvaro

-He and Alvaro absolutely REFUSED to be separated at any means

-His eyes show more emotions than his words

-Fights with Ace Trappola whenever Ace step over the line

NOTE:

(The Archiver: These notes are from the Amato twins’ old mother before the twins enter NRC)

January 10 xxxx;

My babies have been BORN! But I think my son with the blue eyes will be favored then the purple eyed one. The blue eyed child is Ansel and the Purple eyed child is Alvaro.

March 14 xxxx;

I started to noticed Ansel and Alvaro is starting to become inseparable. No matter what me and my husband do to separate them. They always find a way back to each other.

March 16 xxxx;

UGH! I HAD IT! Ansel won’t let Alvaro out of his sight! I need to think of way to separate them and FAST!…wait..I had an idea

May 20 a year after The twins fifth birthday;

My husband and I DID IT! We put Alvaro to a mental hospital that does illegal experiments! And we can have Ansel to ourselves! However..why do I feel like Ansel is becoming act more..different than we had wanted him to act?

Unknown Date;

I..I don’t know what’s happening. A-Ansel is getting more colder towards us. And he had that sly smirk on his face. W-What do we do wrong?!

Unknown date After Ansel found Alvaro:

They..disowned us..as his family? I…I..I didn’t think it would cause him to disown us. Wait..my angels..come back..PLEASE COME BACK!!

Unknown date the truth was revealed;

SOMEONE CALL THE COPS ON US?! I didn’t do anything! Ansel! Alvaro come ba-

The note was stop abruptly.

NEW FLASH;

Mr and Mrs. Amato have been arrested and charged on multiple crimes including human trafficking. We are still looking for twin brothers: Ansel and Alvaro Amato. If anyone have seen or hear of their whereabouts please let the authorities know.

“Kalim. Please burn it.” Kalim jumped out of his skin and look at the shadow out of his room. “B-But..they are still looking for you two! Can you just go back h.” “There is no such thing as home with a set of parents who favored one over the other.” A shadow person walks in and the light reveals: Ansel Amato. “You, Jamil and I know that they are not our parents no more. They have done terribly things to us. And I would be DAMNED if I forgive them so easily.” Kalim flinched at Ansel’s cold tone. “But..thank you and your family for adopting us..Kalim Al Asim..

OUR DEAR SUNSHINE YOUNGER BROTHER”

[murder-incarnate]

one of my favorite bg3 concepts to play with is 'what if this OC was a companion', and ofc it makes the most sense to do that with my actual semi-canon bg3 character, abaddon. i've got a big doc i'm working on for how she'd work as a unique companion rather than custom durge as the player character being the only option. so i wanted to come up with an origin outfit for her. it differs from how i dress her normally or what'd make the most sense to me lore-wise because the concept here is like... this is a video game character, and this is how you meet her the first time, and what does the game want to convey with this first meeting? also it might be a while before you find a better outfit to put her in, what does the game want her wandering around the first few levels in?

so this is CLOSE to the style i usually picture her in pre-amnesia, just without any references to bhaal or like... murder or sinister intentions at all lol. it's a simple outfit, not anything that'd throw up any red flags. vaguely fits the Look of a dnd caster/sorcerer. the lack of shoes is intentional because... i struggle to articulate this idea lol. i have a lot of Feral Animal imagery tied in to pre-amnesia abaddon and the shoeless look fits in with that somehow. don't like drawing feet, though

the neckline is actually important and i swear it's not just because i wanted her titties-out lmao. like i've put her in deep Vs before where that was the intent but here it's to show off her autopsy scar. i want the player to see that right away, and not just if they happen to change her clothes/take them off once she's in the party.

finally, she also has a ring on, which is intended to be from the Strangely Familiar Ring mod. i think it's just called 'Abaddon's Ring' in-game with less of a personal description, just sticks with describing the design and faded, illegible engraving. i think maybe acts as gloves rather than a ring so that it's visible on her model. effects are the same. the player can absolutely take the ring from her and i'm sure a lot of players would, it's got good effects, but Abaddon WILL complain if you remove it from her lol. i just like the storytelling of the design looking like gortash's gloves, and the implications of the description/effects. for Abaddon specifically, the SoH boost would be a tiny hint towards her formerly being part rogue. there are a couple hints in game, and her starting 15 DEX score makes her a good candidate for a rogue multiclass anyway. i just like the idea of it being hinted at but not outright stated while still giving the player control over how they spec her.

and that's it for the design, i've already talked too much lmao a few notes under the cut about her intro in-game

recently i've reworked how you meet her, since originally i had it where it'd be too easy for the player to completely miss her, with there also being some context you miss or only get as Tell Not Show lore dumps. being a character that's so tied into the plot, i feel like you HAVE to meet her. taking her on as a companion is optional, but you at least need to know she's there regardless of how you choose to play.

so! you find her on the nautiloid, in the same room you wake up in. she's in an open pod, sitting up but looking completely dazed. takes some prompting to talk (if you choose to), seems confused and talking a bit disjointed a slow. when your tadpoles connect, you only see a void. if you take her with you she continues to be dazed, might even have a debuff affecting all stats with a description stating that Abaddon is struggling to regain her bearings after waking up from her pod. she makes some mumbling comments to herself as you walk around with, like if you examine any of the brains or make her mutilate Us, she'll say something like 'brain full of holes, just like... we should keep moving'. little things here and there. she encourages you to help shadowheart to contrast lae'zel discouraging you, though talking is still a little difficult for her and she doesn't push too hard. she's also perfectly capable in the fights, just with the nerf from the debuff.

after you're separated from her when the nautiloid crashes, you'll find her on the beach standing near one of the scattered bodies. she's much more cognizant when talking to you this time, explains her situation a little more with the amnesia and the headache and the feeling like she can barely function, but it's gotten a bit better. she's hoping things will improve more with time. if you have her join your party, she has a lesser version of that earlier debuff, and it notes that it can be cleared with a long rest.

one more thing i'll note is that your tadpoles connect again during the first long rest conversation with her. and this time there's not a void. this time, uh. she is VERY GRAPHICALLY fantasizing about eviscerating you overlaid with a feeling of intense desperation/hunger. she's immediately like oh gods that looks so bad for me hang on hang on just hear me out. if you let her, will explain the urges she's been feeling since waking up on the beach and how she's very disturbed by them, doesn't know why she's having them. maybe it's tied into the amnesia somehow?? she doesn't know, but she swears, she doesn't want to hurt you. well she WANTS to hurt you but she doesn't WANT to want to, and more importantly she WON'T. this interaction is one of the first of many times you'll get to either kick abaddon out of the party or attack her. this is why i wanted to rework my original idea for meeting her: because of all the red flags and the inherent danger of keeping abaddon around, the game gives you LOTS of opportunities to decide the threat isn't worth it. it's VERY easy to get rid of her. the game also tries to hint that there's more to it, that she IS trying to control herself, and abaddon herself tries to explain how hard she's trying, so you're not being ENCOURAGED to get rid of her, just. y'know. she's murder incarnate even if she doesn't know it for most of the game, not everyone is gonna want to keep her around. so at the very least you need the chance to meet her early, before her head clears and her Urge wakes up. you need to see that something's wrong, yes, but she starts off working with you and encouraging you to do good things like help shadowheart.

the doc is... gonna be so long if i ever finish it lmao but that's it for this post

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Autistic Penny hcs+ (maybe )autistic Ocean

combining all these asks, but of course!!

(i have ADHD, but A Bunch of my friends who have autism have said that i give off the same vibes, so i’m gonna talk to my pediatrician about That when i see in October)

(i decided to color code the names of the kids for this one because, coincidentally, it may be a little hard to follow cause the headcanons are All Over The Place)

Ricky and Penny have autism, and Ocean has both autism and ADHD because, come on, her having ADHD is SO OBVIOUS

Ricky was the first one to point out that maybe, just maybe, Penny and Ocean aren’t neurotypical

Penny eventually gets diagnosed once her parents go to jail, and she gets her social worker

Ocean is undiagnosed

Penny has God Awful auditory processing issues

Noel: Hey, do you know what time it is?

Penny: Huh?

Noel: I said do you kn—

Penny: OH IT’S TWELVE-THIRTY

Ocean will make food and then won’t eat it because she isn’t hungry anymore

Penny will sometimes look at people’s mouths when they speak because it’s easier for her to follow along

Penny and Ocean both NEED subtitles when watching shows

Misophonia? Misophonia

Forks scraping against a plate will make Penny full-body cringe

If someone smacks while eating, Ocean will have a viscerally angry reaction

Also misokinesia with Ocean!!

If someone is bouncing their leg in her peripheral, she gets So Mad for Literally No Reason

If she bounces her leg, though, it’s fine, but it’s a personal offense when anyone else does it

Also pen clicking!! Only SHE can click her pen. Nobody else. It’s illegal.

Textures? Textures

Ricky’s favorite textures: Fur; aloe vera; pebbles! like the small, smooth ones!; butter; leather; rags when they’re wet

Ricky’s least favorite textures: Grits; fish (it’s too chewy); school paper towels (they’re so scratchy for NO REASON); when you’re drawing with chalk and your nails scrape the sidewalk or asphalt; dry sponges

Ocean’s favorite textures: BEAUTY BLENDERS!!!! (she’s CONSTANTLY stealing Constance’s just to squeeze them like a stress ball); fur; pebbles (same as Ricky); cotton balls; silk; soft ice

Ocean’s least favorite textures: NAIL FILES (she can’t STAND nail files, they make her SQUIRM); wet paper (it makes her want to GAG); bouncing off of that, paper straws (she wants to like them SO BAD because they’re better for the environment, but she just CAN’T); wet bread; mascara (makes her face feel sticky and itchy); bananas (bad feeling in her mouth); that gross slimy sensation of oil on your hands after you try (and fail) to wash it off with water; lotion (similar to the oil, it just makes her feel uncomfortably slimy)

Penny’s favorite textures: Velvet; anything soft and fluffy; makeup brushes (even without makeup; she likes to just brush them against her face); styrofoam; that green plant foam stuff; silk; mini M&Ms

Penny’s least favorite textures: Wet paper (she seconds Ocean’s hatred, that stuff is straight from HELL); jeans (scratchy, tight, and uncomfortable); anything denim, really; rubber gloves; clothes tags

When Penny feels a nice texture, she’s gotta touch it as many times as possible

If she can, she likes to rub stuff on her face because, GOD, there’s nothing quite like feeling a good texture on your face

Ocean and Penny are SO PICKY with their food, mainly due to texture, but also taste

Ocean doesn’t eat meat, but Penny does, and if the meat makes that gross crunch-squish when she bites into it, she’s spitting it out without hesitation. She doesn’t care who sees her, she Needs It Out Of Her Mouth

Kinda similar to textures, these three will discuss wanting to eat things that are most definitely NOT edible, and the other three in the choir are just like “WHAT”

Ricky, signing: consider: fiber glass

Ocean, nodding: that’s a good one, that’s a good one. like, why would they make it look like that, and then have it be filled with millions of tiny glass shards??

Ricky, signing: RIGHT??

Ocean: what about drywall? i feel like drywall would be so good.

Ricky, signing: yes!!

Penny: i wanna eat polly pocket clothes so bad

Constance: what the FUCK are you guys TALKING ABOUT

They all mutually agree that they would eat lava if they were physically able to

Ocean’s special interest has been The Crucible/Salem Witch Trials for about four years (she’s me fr)

Echolalia with Penny!

She’ll hear someone say something, and she’ll repeat it for the rest of the day

She once would Not stop saying “beet roots” underneath her breath because Mischa said it one (1) time

In similar vein, she and Ocean will both mirror the people around them, but especially the other kids in the choir

Like, Mischa will have his hands on his hips, Ocean will see him standing like that, and she’ll unconsciously do it, too. And then Penny will see them both doing that, and she’ll copy them. So then three out of six of the choir kids are all standing like a mom who just found out their toddler colored on the walls with a marker

Unfortunately, some people sometimes take this as them mocking them

Which isn’t the case!! They aren’t trying to mock anyone by mimicking them!! It’s just this sort of instinct they have!!

Ocean is the understimulated to Penny’s overstimulated

One of the reasons why Ocean is always doing stuff is because she’s so desperate to FEEL, to be ENGAGED because she starts to feel horribly worthless when she isn’t doing anything. She gets restless and NEEDS to be doing something. Nothingness overwhelms her.

And then Penny just needs everything to STOP. Everything is going too fast, and there’s so much happening, and she can’t keep up, and her brain isn’t processing ANYTHING. She needs just one second to breathe.

Meanwhile, Ricky, a worried, properly medicated neurodivergent, is like “are you two OKAY”

Ricky has the BEST stim toys, fight me

You know those stim toy boxes? His parents get him those!

He once let Penny play with one of his fidget cubes before

He never got that fidget cube back

Speaking of stim toys!

Stimming!!!

Ricky:

Shaking his head out to do a “reset”

Biting his lips

Big blinks

Clicking his tongue

Running his tongue over his teeth

Tangling and untangling his headphones

Penny:

HAND FLUTTERS!!!

CHEWING!!

She looks like she would chew on CapriSun straws (which are the BEST to chew on, fight me)

Rocking from side-to-side

Clicking her fingernails together like she’s a baby pangolin

Lightly tugging on her earlobes

Trilling/chirping/squeaking!! I can just TELL this girl would have vocal stims like that!

Bumping someone with her head

Rubbing her thighs

OR: rubbing the surface of smooth things like desks or tables

STRETCHINGGGGGGG

Kneading things with her hands and feet

Ocean:

Idk if this is a common stim, but I do this All The Time, so: she LOVES to fold small pieces of paper. Sticky note? Folded. Receipt? Folded. A hall slip for school? Folded. She’ll fold them until the paper starts to, like, disintegrate into little flakes, and she has to get something new because it isn’t satisfying or fun when it’s deteriorating all over her hands.

Also if a bottle—or anything for that matter—has a label, it’s probably gonna get peeled off and then folded by her

Touching her neck/chest, especially when she’s focused or reading something (another thing i’ve started doing recently; idk why)

Just like Penny, she’ll click her fingernails together like she’s a baby pangolin

Pacing

Twitching her nose like a rabbit

Drumming her finger midair to the beat of a song

Walking in time with music

Ocean talks a lot, we all know this, but one of the reasons she talks so much is because she’s constantly branching off into different topics in the middle of a story. She can’t stay focused on one singular topic. It’s like she’s going on a side quest. And then another side quest. And then another side quest. And then another side quest.

She also talks Super Fast sometimes and is constantly being asked to slow down

Similarly, Ricky tends to sign Very Fast, especially when he’s engaged with what the topic of conversation is

Unfortunately, however, sometimes it’s a little hard to understand him. I took ASL for four years, so I can tell y’all that keeping up with signs is WAY HARDER than keeping up with speech.

And it’s just so frustrating for Ricky because he needs to slow down, but he has all this ENERGY and EXCITEMENT that makes it really difficult for him to sign slower

Keeping with the topic of speech habits, Ocean tends to interrupt people without really meaning to. She just gets this URGE to speak, and she can’t stop herself before the words start coming out

On the other hand, Penny is the type of person to zone out in conversations and then ask for someone to repeat themselves

Ocean has very, VERY poor impulse control. She doesn’t think before she speaks a lot of the time and will just Say Stuff that may come off Really Bad. And usually she doesn’t mean to be rude or inappropriate, she’s just Saying Stuff, and then she’ll get mad when people are angry at her with just making a comment. She just has No Filter.

Penny will forget stuff after 0.2 seconds of thinking about it

Or if you give her, say, a task with five-step instructions, she’ll have forgotten at least three of the steps by the time you’re no longer talking. So it is VITAL that she has written instructions. It’s easier to follow and remember stuff when it’s written down for her to see. If it’s not written, she WILL probably forget.

Ocean gets extremely frustrated when she can’t do something the way she wants to do it

Penny is the “can’t read that block of text, it’s too long” to Ocean’s “MUST READ IT ALL” and then Ricky’s “i’m trying to read it, but i keep going over the same line over and over again”

Ocean will forget to eat and drink for several hours, usually because she’s too focused on something, and if she breaks that focus, she Will Not be able to get it back

Penny and Ricky will both just. stare at a wall. for no reason.

Ricky is really *lets his device run out of power even though the charger is literally right there in front of him*

Stemming from her ADHD, Ocean has RSD (rejection sensitive dysphoria)!

[introvertedwraith]

to fix you

Ketterdam is never quiet.

Neither is one Kaz Brekker’s mind, constantly analyzing and scheming and finding ways to create beneficial chaos.

It’s been a year since Pekka Rollins fled to the outer corners of Kerch for some unidentifiable reason in a hurry, and kruge has been pooling quite nicely for the Dregs. According to a certain source, Pekka has withdrawn all of his plans and funds concerning slavers on the sea, and Kaz’s mouth quirks at the news.

The certain source is sitting on his desk in the meantime, eyes bright as she mentions how she’d taken care of the slave ships anyway.

“You’ve been busy, Wraith,” Kaz comments as Inej lists all of the illegal slavers she’d taken down.

“That’s Captain Ghafa to you, Kaz,” Inej teases.

The window of his office is open, and a breeze rustles the papers on his desk. The Dregs are thriving, but that also means more work, hence the piles of unfinished paperwork and scraps of information from his sources.

He listens to her for a while before he takes his gloves off, pushing them into his pocket while she’s distracted. She never sees him take them off, but he knows she notices how his hands are bare now.

He’s trying; she’s trying. He reaches for her hand, and she gladly takes it. The warmth is comforting now, but hand-holding is about the only thing they’ve accomplished so far.

When Inej runs out of things to recount, they sit there in silence, admiring the sunset over the foggy sky of Ketterdam. Far from perfection, but home without a doubt.

After a while, he breaks the silence.

“Could I try to hold you?” He asks, and the words sound absurd in his mouth- that Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel, the cruelly apathetic leader of the Dregs, could convey such emotion- but Inej only nods, a sort of fragile half-smile present on her face. Kaz knows he would spill the blood of so-called saints and kings to catch a glimpse of a full smile.

The breath he draws in is quiet, calculated so that Inej does not hear proof of his nervousness.

Her eyes are darker than the smoke of the factories near Reaper’s Barge, her bronze complexion seeming to glow in the light of the setting sun. He sees her fingers absentmindedly dance over the tip of her braid.

Lying, thieving scum, the fearless call him. A demon reincarnated from the very bottom of hell, the foolish say. But as he takes slow, measured steps towards Inej, he doesn’t feel like any of those things. He feels like a flustered teenage boy, not quite yet a man, staring at something more beauteous than he had ever seen amidst the chaos of the Barrel he so willingly thrived in.

He’s close to her now; the toes of his boots and her leather slippers are just barely touching, and he can see the rise and fall of her chest as she inhales and exhales.

She looks up at him with something akin to tenderness in her expression before she gently strokes his wrist. Kaz shuts his eyes briefly before reaching to envelop her in a tentative embrace.

For a moment, the typical cacophony of noises of the Barrel drifting in through the window seems to fade. The scent of Inej’s hair- faint Suli spices and Ravkan summers and the sea breeze- surrounds him, and it’s warm, very warm. He inhales sharply, but not out of discomfort.

It all ends too soon when her forehead brushes his exposed neck and he’s sinking, flailing, falling deep into the terribly familiar territory of dark, murky waters. His hands are holding onto Jordie’s dead, rotting flesh, not the fabric of Inej’s simple clothes. The harbor waves slosh onto him, dowsing him, submerging him up to his chest, which is tight and not working because he can’t breathe for Ghezen’s sake. A small part of him knows he’s in the Slat and safe, but most of him is screaming because he’s back in the harbor, drowning, drowning, drowning.

He feels Inej pull away, hears her repeat his name over and over again until he can see the wooden boards of the attic floor instead of dark, churning waters. There's something heavy in his chest and it aches with indiscernible pain, and his eyes sting and water.

He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps them that way until he knows he won’t be seeing Jordie’s body under his desperate grip when he opens them.

His back is turned towards the open window and his shoulders are shaking because all he wanted to do was give her a hug but he can’t stand it, and he had vowed he was going to pull himself into some semblance of a man for her but flashes of bloated, peeling skin and the chill of water dragging him down haunts him like no ghost ever could.

And she’s holding her head in her hands because she knows he’s hurting for her.

Kaz’s grip is tight on the crow’s head of his cane, knuckles white and shaking. He itches to reach for the dark gloves in his pocket.

When he looks back at Inej, her dark eyes are brimming with emotion, a churning mixture of defense and apology and worry and exhaustion and something he can’t seem to decipher.

His throat is dry when he tries to speak, the rasp of his voice much more prominent. “I suppose it’s either carefulness on my part or pure luck that none of the other foolish gangs know of this. If van Eck or Rollins—“ he spits the name as if it were poison. “—knew, we’d be dead, wouldn’t we.”

Kaz knows that this is Dirtyhands speaking. Always the tactician, and proud of it.

But he also knows that Dirtyhands is just another part of him- Kaz Brekker, or Rietveld, or whoever he was, and that he should be able to get rid of this convoluted reaction to touch.

“Kaz…” Inej’s voice is soft and hesitant, and as he watches, she climbs onto the windowsill and into his line of sight.

His hands are still bare, and he clenches his jaw and takes her hand before she can say anything else.

He doesn’t want her to apologize, and she doesn’t.

What she does do is stay with him until he’s sitting on the worn mattress of his bed. She convinces him to get a good few hours of sleep, somehow. He knows not to argue.

And as his breaths slow and the bustle of the Barrel outside quiets down somewhat, he knows she’s there- too dark to see her lithe form well in the dark, but definitely there, and her presence is like a soothing balm because the chaos of his mind fades to a distant hum as his eyes slip shut of their own accord.

They may not be perfect, but they’re trying, and both of them know it. And Kaz thinks for a moment that perhaps that’s okay and that’s enough.

Ketterdam is never quiet, but it’s home.

———

So I’ve had that in my docs for quite a while now, so I thought I’d post it. Hope it was okay!

[inkformyblood]

Emim12, heere!

12 for the prompts?

(Thank you @ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 !!! 💜💜💜)

The floor is sticky beneath Cody’s boots when he takes Obi-Wan’s hand.

It is more difficult than he had first thought, infinitely stranger than the stolen moments he allowed himself to think about it.

He knew what it was like to kiss Obi-Wan, to curl his fingers into the fall of his hair and let it burn through him, to taste the smokiness of tea on his lips and hear him gasp beneath his touch.

He knew what it felt like to be loved by him, to know the weight of the universe in his cupped palms whenever Obi-Wan stoops to press their foreheads together, Cody rising to meet him every single time.

But taking Obi-Wan’s hand felt different.

It felt sacred.

It felt like worship and trust in something so mundane.

In the dim light of the illegal club they were walking through, it felt right.

Cody’s gloves fight against him, biting into the soft places where his fingers bend but it relents. They are a borrowed pair from old supplies, too thick and too stubborn for protection but suited for undercover,

“Cody?” Obi-Wan murmurs, his gaze never shifting from their target even as he steps closer to Cody, the silks he wore swishing with the movement. He shines in low light, ethereal and otherworldly, the glitter painted across his cheeks and the hollows of his throat and collarbones drawing him back down amongst the rest of them.

“Obi-Wan?” Cody answers, tasting the sour swell of uncertainty in his words. He keeps his back straight even as he feels himself fracture, keeps his face blank even as his heart stutters to a stop.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe he—

Obi-Wan steps closer, curling into Cody’s side between one blink and the next. He shifts Cody’s hold, passing him between one hand and the other without a moment’s break in contact, drawing Cody’s arm around his waist and keeping hold of his hand.

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan whispers. Cody turns his head just enough to see the grin that unfurls across his face, a sharpened thing made sharper by the ink-stained bat of his lashes and the wine-red colour of his lips. “Now I can keep you all to myself during recon.”

Cody lets his gaze stray around the room, knowing Obi-Wan would keep them on track. From every corner, every gap, every crevice, he can see the liquid gleam of eyes watching them, staring at them, at Obi-Wan.

“They’re all watching you.”

The table they are headed for is a converted single person sabaac board, the surface heavily scored and dented, and it is flanked by a single chair, scooped out of synthetics. Cody slides into it, feeling the material catch and cling to his skin. Obi-Wan follows, half-sprawling over the spread of Cody’s thigh, comfortable as if he had always been there, and every thought falls out of Cody’s head.

“No, my love,” Obi-Wan murmurs, tipping his head back so he can speak into Cody’s ear, his voice strong and certain. His free hand curls into the material of Cody’s shirt — mesh allowing his fingers to slip inside, pressing against the harsh line of his ribs, warm where his back and stomach is cold and unprotected. He is still holding Cody’s hand, his nails biting into the thick leather so Cody can register the pinpricks of pressure like distant constellations. “They’re all looking at you.”

[magpie-to-the-morning]

On Fire from Within

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Tags: Self-Indulgent, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, the helmet comes off, Blindfolds, Sex Pollen, Dirty talk, Mostly in Mando’a, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PiV Sex, Din is soft and a mess, and so am I, so much Mando'a because I cannot be stopped, Please let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Reader is a newish crew member on the Razor Crest. She was helping out on a bounty hunting mission when she got hit with a laced dart at a shady brothel. It's a sex pollen fic lads, you know how this goes!

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” you swore softly, pulling a small barb from the back of your neck. It’s only a little thing, a geometric pattern of angles and sharp points. Odd for a piece of shrapnel, but surely nothing to worry about. The small wound wouldn’t be worth the Bacta gel. You tossed it away before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

“Everything ok?” Mando stepped away from the controls of the carbonite chamber. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and startled when you heard the question crackling through his modulator.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. That bastard frozen yet?”

“Just about.”

“Good. That place made me want to scrub the inside of my skin.” You’d just finished helping Mando drag a bounty out of a local bar running an illegal “pleasure house.” It certainly hadn’t deserved the name, and you were more than happy to provide an initial distraction so Mando could come in for the kill. (The metaphorical kill, sadly. You would have been happy to leave the owner of that awful establishment a smoking crater on the floor of his bar, but apparently that was “not following the brief” and “wouldn’t bring in as much money for fuel.” Pfft). There had been a little static on the way out, and you assume that’s when you’d picked up that bit of metal. “I’m going to hit the refresher, unless you need it first?”

The bounty hunter shook his head and moved towards the ramp. “No. I’m going to trade in the puck and get us out off this rock. You go ahead.”

--

You checked the controls of the shower. Again. You’re sweating, and as much as you try, you can’t get the water cold enough to soothe your burning skin. You arch your back, moaning when the stretching movement sends a dart of pleasure straight to your aching cunt. Fuck, why are you such a mess all of a sudden? You slip a hand between your legs and are shocked to discover that you are already dripping wet. You rub the back of your neck and it hits you- that wasn’t shrapnel. It must have been a dart laced with something, and knowing the type of place you were in, you’d bet any amount of credits it was a nasty aphrodisiac. “Those bastards…”

You drag your hands through your hair and take a steadying breath. Ok, you can handle this, pull yourself together… Nice empty ship and a hot shower. Nothing you haven’t done before. You let your hands drift lower, massaging your breast and tweaking an already pert nipple. You’re already so close…

__

An hour later and you’re sobbing from want. Why can’t you just. Fucking. Come already? You’ve tried everything, every fantasy, every technique or touch, and nothing. You try again, stroking your clit and spiraling towards release before it slips away again, a jolt of pain rebounding through you. “Damn it!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You freeze. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, of course Mando is back. What had he heard? “Um, nothing, it’s fine!” You wince at how falsely this rings, even to you.

There’s a pause. “Open the door.”

“… no? I’m not-“

“Open the door. Or I will break it down.”

Shit. You have a second to grab a towel before the door clangs open. Mando is through the door and into the tiny room in an instant, hand on his blaster. He checks all the corners which, takes about 2 seconds, before turning that implacable, visored gaze on you. “What’s going on with you?”

“Jeez, Mando, I-“ you try to bluff your way out of it for a moment before giving it up for lost. Even if you could explain away everything else, you know your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes will give you away. “Fine, just, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Is something funny?”

“No, it really isn’t.” You sigh. “So, I didn’t realize until we got back to the ship, but someone back at that hole in the wall hit me with some kind of dart. I think it was drugged.”

“Show me.”

“I chucked it just before I got on board, but this is where it hit.” You pull your wet hair back to show him the mark on your neck. Mando crosses the floor in one step, and you feel one of his gloved hands steady your shoulder as he takes a closer look. That small touch is enough to drive you wild, and you bite back a groan, leaning into his touch.

“Dank ferrik.” Mando pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, and your cheeks flame again, this time in embarrassment. “There are red marks at the injection site. I’ve, uh.. I’ve seen this before.”

You grit your teeth, finding it easier to talk about when you’re not looking at him. “It hurts, Mando and I can’t make it stop. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“Until it runs its course. Usually, a few hours. And it will get worse.”

You swear again, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. Mando stands there for a moment, flexing his hands and looking unsure of what to say. Finally, you hear a deep breath and, “let me help you.”

You startle, sure you’ve heard him wrong. It’s only been a few months since you signed on as his only crew member, a live-in mechanic and occasional extra pair of hands for certain bounties. You’d thought about it, of course. At first you’d seen this as just another short term gig. Some light repair work, the odd stint of standing lookout or patching up his wounds or acting as a distraction for a tricky bounty. The longer you spent with him though, the longer you started to see the man beneath the armor, his dark humor, his unexpected kindness, his tendency to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of a code you can’t begin to understand. Stars, and that voice… but you knew he would never return those feelings. The idea of him offering himself to you now, out of pity or worse, obligation…

“No.” You move to shoulder past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Look, Y/N, I know I may not be your first choice but-“

You whirl around to glare at him. “Not my- damn it, Mando!” You kick the waste bin in sheer frustration. “I’ve wanted you for weeks and just because I don’t want you to feel cornered into sleeping with me you have the fucking gall-“

“Close your eyes.”

You blink in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Do it. Now.” You shiver at the steel in his voice and comply without another thought.

There’s a soft hiss, and the clang of metal set down on metal. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t… You start in surprise, feeling his leather-clad fingers cup your face and tip your chin up. “Are you sure you want this?”

You laugh, a little shakily, amazed to hear how deep and rough his unmodulated voice still is. “Are you?”

The next thing you know, he’s got you backed up against that wall. You gasp, reaching to pull him closer. His mouth slides over yours, lips warm and surprisingly plush. You deepen the kiss and moan, needing so much more. He responds by reaching down, pulling you up to straddle his waist. Trapped between the wall and a cage of Beskar, you’ve never felt freer. You card your fingers through his hair, marveling at the curls under your hands. Mando gasps, already sounding ragged. “How do you want me?”

You drag your nails down his scalp and lick your way up the column of his throat. You taste salt and pant into his ear, “in the cockpit chair.”

Mando groans. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

“Less talk. More chair sex.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck and pulls you from the wall, carrying you through the ship like you don’t weigh a thing. You make it through the corridor, with only a few brief stops against walls and doorways. Mando sets you down once you reach the cockpit and you whine at the lack of his touch, but still keep your eyes closed. He kisses your forehead. “Patience, sweet girl.” You give up the last shreds of your dignity and moan, rubbing your thighs together. “Can’t, I need you to touch me now.” You hear a few soft clinks, and realize Mando is removing his armor, piece by piece. Not wanting to be outdone, you toss your towel aside. Your eyes are still shut tight, but you add a hand to cover them, afraid you’ll forget yourself. You may not understand his beliefs, but you are damn sure going to respect them, even now.

There’s startle at a ripping sound, and Mando asking “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” Mando pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm before knotting a blindfold around your eyes. You feel yourself pulled down to his lap. You twine your arms around his neck and lower yourself until you’re straddling his hips, grinding as close to him as you can.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

He’s eager to comply, and you shiver as you feel his hands (his hands, not the gloves, stars) skim up your sides. Mando cups the back of your head, drawing you closer as he kisses and licks his way into your mouth. You immediately open your lips to his, stroking his tongue with your own, teasing the roof of his mouth to egg him on. You’re rewarded with a small groan, and Mando palming your left breast. He strokes your nipple with his thumb, rolling and pinching it to make you arch your back. “What else?”

“Maker, that’s so good… talk to me, Mando, don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mesh’la.” Mando rolls his hips and makes you squirm against him. You can feel his arousal, pressed so close to your own, separated only by the canvas of his trousers. You mewl and buck your hips against him.

“Oh gods, yes…”

Mando chuckles as your breath speeds up. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N, going to take such good care of you. Going to make this so good for you.”

He bends his head and sucks one of your nipples into his warm mouth, and you nearly black out. The sheer relief of such a touch when you need it so badly nearly undoes you completely. “Mando…”

“Din.” The word is muffled against your chest, and you have to ask “what?”

He rests his forehead against shoulder. “My name, Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you taste the short name, adding it to what you’ve learned about this man. This capable, dangerous, surprisingly gentle Mandalorian. How can such a hard man be so… This train of thought is interrupted as another wave of desire bowls you over, making you shudder with need and pain. “I need more, Din, please…”

You don’t even need to finish that thought before you feel his rough, calloused fingers drifting down your belly and lower, lower… You lean back to give him easier access, his other arm coming to rest around your waist, holding you up. You gasp when he strokes your folds. “Me’bana? You’re so wet, mesh’la. Is this all for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly fucking two of his fingers deep inside you, dragging the pads over your G-spot over and over. He’s a quick learner, adapting to touch you harder or softer, quicker or slower, as you gasp and buck your hips. “So good for me, so wet and ready. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please Din, I’m so close…” you whine.

Din rubs your clit while fucking his fingers into you. He bites down on your earlobe, whispering, “Then come for me, cyare.”

You do. You cry out as you feel yourself coming apart under his hands, your hips thrashing despite you as you moan and call out his name. When you drift back to yourself, you’re grateful for his supporting hold as waves of pleasure continue to roll through you. Din strokes you through all of it, only backing off when your breathing slows and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

__

You exhale slowly, taking stock after that release. “That was… whew…” Now that you have a moment to think clearly again, you can feel your mind spinning up to overthink this. Will you ever be able to look at your employer (partner? friend?) again? Not that you can ever look him in the eye anyway, but what if he’s completely disgusted with you after this? Your racing thoughts pause when you hear what can only be Din sucking your slick from his fingers.

“Maker, you taste as good as I hoped you would.” Thoughts: gone. Brain: empty. There can’t be any room for overthinking when your head is suddenly full of HE THOUGHT ABOUT TASTING ME?! “How do you feel?”

You force yourself to consider this. You can already feel the fire in your core roaring back to life. “Good, but, I can already feel it ramping back up.” You blush. “Not that I didn’t… I totally did, but.. sorry…”

“Shh, k’uur. I get it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He stands up, depositing you gently in his seat. You only have a moment to wonder at this sudden shift before feeling him kneel down in front of you. Without even thinking about it, you let your legs fall open to him. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

If you weren’t already positive you were running a fever, that would have tipped you over the edge. Din runs his hands up your thighs, his breath ghosting over your throbbing core. “Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair.” Is he… praying? You’re past the point of caring, all you want is for him to stop sucking marks into your inner thigh and finally move to where you need him most. You nearly scream when he drags his tongue up your slit. He flattens his tongue against you, humming appreciatively as your roll your hips. He wraps his arms around your thighs suddenly, jerking you closer towards him. “Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar.”

You are glad of the blindfold because you are so far beyond controlling your face. Din’s tongue feels like it is everywhere at once, tonguing your cunt like it was your mouth one second, then laving your clit the next. You curl your toes and howl when he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel the barest hint of teeth around you. “So close, so close” you chant, reaching down to hold his head right where you need it.

Din releases your clit, licking circles around it instead. “You liked that, didn’t you cyare? Do you like it a little rough?”

You shudder, thrilled to have been caught out so soon. “Gods, yes.”

Din chuckles and you hope you haven’t slipped up by confessing quite so enthusiastically. “Oh this is going to be fun. I am going to ruin you, mesh’la.” He dives back into your pussy, licking and sucking and nipping at your thighs like a wild thing. You whine and arch your back.

“Hold. Still.” Din’s arm clamps over your waist like an iron bar. “How am I supposed to finish you off, if you won’t stop writhing around, you etyc dala?” When you push your luck, trying to squirm free, you feel a sharp slap to your thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you come? Or should I leave you here by yourself?”

“No, please, I’ll be good for you I promise!”

“Damn right you will,” he snarls. Without warning, Din shoves two fingers into your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You come in a rush, screaming his name.

__

You’ve barely come down from that high before chasing your next. While your first orgasm left you with some temporary relief, this one only stokes the fire even higher. You seize Din’s face from where he was resting his cheek against your thigh and pull him to your mouth. Reticence is a distant memory and you devour the taste of yourself from his mouth. When Din leans back and groans from this spectacle, you palm his length, spear-straight and hard as Beskar under your hand.  Din shudders underneath you, and you can almost see the effort of restraining himself.  You trace the shell of his ear and murmur “Why are you still wearing pants?”

Din rushes to his feet, pulling you from the chair and pushing you up against the nearest wall in one smooth motion. He holds you in place with one arm across your breastbone, panting with effort. “Hang on, I don’t want to rush you.“

You wish you could look at him, to show you the burning desire in your eyes, how much you truly want this. Alas. You settle for dropping to your knees and fumbling blindly with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Dank ferrik…” a muttered oath somewhere above your head. Din reaches down to help you, drawing his cock out. Once again, you wish the blindfold wasn’t necessary. You can feel the velvet-soft skin of him, trace the head of his cock and stroke up and down the length of him, but you wish you could see him. You breathe over him and, holding his shaft to help guide you (and madden him), lick just under the tip of his cock. You run your tongue around the ridge and lick your lips before taking him as far down your throat as you can. Din hisses and unleashes a stream of Basic and that same tongue he’d been speaking earlier. “Fuck… ori jate, ori jate, yes, Y/N. Parer, ke’pare, ah!”

You hum around him, loving the sound of him absolutely losing it. “Too much?” you ask, all innocence.

Din actually growls. “Yes. Don’t stop, please.”

You smile, hoping he can see you amidst his unraveling. You bob your lips over the head of his cock, once, twice, before sliding down the length of him as far as you can take. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair and you can feel him jerking his hips, holding back from fucking your face like he clearly wants to. You pull back again, letting go  of his cock with a wet pop. “Don’t hold back, baby, I want all of you.”

This is more than Din can stand. He hauls you roughly to your feet, kissing you with abandon. “Say that again?”

“I want you Din, please. I fucking need you.”

Din grabs one of your legs and holds it over his hip. He teases your entrance while you beg him, rubbing against your folds. You moan in relief when he finally thrusts home, stretching you and dragging against your walls. You rake your nails down his back, biting at his shoulder. “Gods, yes, that’s so fucking good. Don’t hold back. Unh, yes, yes, yes…” He is pounding into you now, setting a brutally quick pace- just like you need. You try to kiss him but you’re getting sloppy and your kiss is more just dragging your open mouth along his jaw, panting as he fucks you. “Din, I’m so close…”

“That’s good, you’re so good at taking this cock aren’t you, mesh’la? Me'copaani? Do you want me to tell you how I’ve fantasized about fucking you over the console almost since you came on board? Do you want to hear how good it feels to be buried in your cunt, with your tight pussy around me? Because it is good, Y/N, and I am going to fucking destroy you.”

You scream his name. “Gods, Din, I’m gonna come!”

He seizes you by the throat, not hard enough to cut off your air but more than enough to let you know who is in charge now. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, cyare, give it to me. Come. Now.”

It’s the full on bounty hunter voice command that slams you over the edge. You come hard, shaking in Din’s arms and soaking his cock. You absolutely would have fallen without him holding you up. He fucks you through it all, and as the aftershocks roll through you, you realize the screaming urgency has finally quieted. You can just about remember talking him through his own release before slipping below the cool depths of unconsciousness.

—

“Y/N? Here, drink this.”

You blink awake and feel a cold glass pressed into your hand. You take a sip. The icy water grounds you, and you take stock of your surroundings. You’re curled up in the captain’s seat, warm under a slightly tattered woolen blanket, or maybe a cloak? It takes you a moment before you realize what else is different. You can see again. “Din?”

“I’m here.” His voice is distant, slightly fuzzed. You look around, seeing him once again hidden beneath the helmet. “How do you feel?”

You’re still restless, like some distant part of you needs to get up and run or fight or fuck, but your limbs are feeling a bit heavier now and it’s easier to breathe. “Better.” You lift the glass again, drinking the rest of the water like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

Din lays his hand on your cheek, and you’re relieved to find that at least this bit of him has not been covered up again. “You’re still running a temperature but it feels like it’s easing up.” He takes the empty glass from you, setting it aside before taking your hand and drawing you up. “Come on, let’s get you to your bunk.”

You rise, unsteady on your legs after several rounds of fairly vigorous sex. Din steadies your elbow, guiding you out of the cockpit. “Sick of me already?” You’re aiming for a light tone but you know you missed the mark.

Din turns you to face him and studies you for a moment. “Yeah. Probably going to drop you off on the next planet we hit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking at your own skeptical face in the reflection of his visor. “Oh yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “No, ner kar’ta.” You couldn’t tell before, but now you’re almost sure he’s smiling. “I think you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

_________________________________

Mando'a Translations mesh'la beautiful

Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair. This is mine. Going to give you my tongue until you scream.

Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar. Delicious, I (am) drunk from you.

Etyc dala dirty girl

Ori jate so good

Parer wait

Ke'pare wait (emphatic)

Me'copaani? What's this?

Ner kar’ta My heart

[mypoisonedvine]

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two.  the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice.  the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style.  Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system.  “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake.  “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily.  The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag.  You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett.  The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence.  He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely.  Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly.  “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.”  That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair.  You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on.  Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before.  His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong.  Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else.  And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway.  “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again.  “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you.  Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force.  Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into.  From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you.  It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening.  You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor.  His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal.  You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled.  Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet.  Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that.  Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long.  The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it.  It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades.  He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body.  Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion.  Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would.  And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that.  It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him.  Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order.  It was an order, right?  He had to do it.  

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so.  He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.  

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.  

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing.  You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool.  How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears.  He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude.  Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.  

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker.  At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin.  Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch.  “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly.  You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.  

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already.  Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways.  Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba.  “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced.  “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution.  In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before.  He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left. 

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure.  It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore.  He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted.  He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force.  It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even.  Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either.  Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body.  In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.  

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth.  And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s.  Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into.  He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him.  You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly.  When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto.  “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor.  When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see.  It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way.  Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk.  (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.)  “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied.  “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way.  You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.  

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release.  He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand.  I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same.  That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet.  He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby.  He could feel you fighting for air.  He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power.  Your weakness was his strength.  And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back.  At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor.  Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated.  One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you.  It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex.  You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs. 

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder.  He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you.  He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own.  It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided.  How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever.  In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure.  You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch.  If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.  

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him.  It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him.  Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him.  Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly.  The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back.  "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass.  You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release.  Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited.  "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit.  As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him.  "I'll leave you to your fun.  Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.  

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh.  The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl.  Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you.  You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever.  He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.  

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face.  You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that?  Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply.  You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.  “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.  

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you.  He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him.  You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you.  He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him.  A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was.  Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.  

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well.  A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be.  Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers.  “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness.  He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere.  “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated.  “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.  

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt.  He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently.  “Oh, um, no.”  His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded.  “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead.  His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually.  He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.  

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up.  Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm.  “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.  

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away.  Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere.  But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered.  He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes?  Will it happen again?  Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud.  It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out.  “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Star Wars - Boba Fett x Reader: Eyes of Starlight

   Author’s Note:  Wow, am I late to the Boba party, or what?  Back when Mandalorian S2 was brand new, tumblr blew up with Boba Fett, and I was so down for that, except the majority of the fics I came across were smut, so I didn’t get the Boba content I was looking for.  Alas, I finally decided to write my own smut-free Boba moment.

In this, Boba is younger in this than in the Mandalorian.

Warnings: Action, a fight scene, nothing graphic in my opinion.  Reader does encounter intruders, so if that is a trigger then be cautious.

   The evening was anything but quiet, yet it was the lack of silence that made it so peaceful.  Bugs and frogs chirped a sweet song of the warm spring that had arrived.  You stood barefoot on the balcony off your room, hands resting on the railing as you enjoyed the time alone.  The moon was only a sliver, but the lack of blue light made it easier to see the sky of stars.  One in particular was twinkling many colors like a cut gemstone reflecting light.

   A pair of eyes that held a similar gleam flashed in your mind.

   You shook your head.  The one who those eyes belonged to was the last person you wanted to be reminded of.  He could be so smug at times.  Annoying.  Sometimes even condescending.  Most of the time he was gruff, but every now and then he’d wear a smirk that got under your skin even when you couldn’t see it behind helmet of his.

   He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; a fact that he would not let you soon forget.

   You thought back to one of your earliest exchanges with him months before, when you nearly collided with him in the hall and he regarded you with a raised brow as you waited for him to step aside as most of your guards usually did.  He hadn’t moved.

   “You know, around here it’s polite to let the princess pass.”

   “Princess _________,” he sighed.  “ I’m being paid a handsome credit to protect you, not coddle you while you play palace.  Besides,” he paused, shooting you that look as you stepped to the side to let him pass, “I’m not from around here.”

   His words were absolutely infuriating.

   Sure, you realized from the very beginning that this Boba Fett was not impressed by titles, and perhaps you’d been asking for it by trying to pull rank.  It was just a test, a nudge to get a feel for this renowned bounty hunter.

   That glint in his eyes flashed across your vision again.  Even though you were in the farthest corner of the estate, it felt as if he were right there with his gaze boring into yours.  It made you feel hot despite the cool breeze that ruffled your nightgown, whether the heat was from frustration or perhaps underlying feelings you’d been denying, you weren’t sure.

   A single slide of a foot on the stone balcony a few feet away caught your attention.  You whipped your head around to get a look at what it may have been only to see a figure dressed in dark clothes with their face covered, and they stood as if they had just crawled onto the surface of the balcony, their gloved hands still grasping the railing.  You let out a scream and made a dash for your bedroom, but the intruder had reached an arm out to grab and pull you away from the door leading inside.

   You recognized the insignia on his glove.  He was part of the group Boba had been hired to protect you from.  They had launched an attempt to raid the palace and steal priceless artifacts belonging to your people to sell illegally, and they had succeeded in taking a few.  For safety, you and a few other artifacts were moved to an estate of the royal family, and Boba was assigned to protect you.

    Just as the intruder tried to put his gloved hand over your mouth to prevent a second scream, Boba burst into your palace quarters.  He immediately shot at the assailant while you sank to the stone floor, frozen in place while he faced his opponents.

   More of the intruders were climbing over the railing after scaling the estate wall.  Boba fought off several of them, but they kept coming.  At one point, he had knocked most of them down, save for one he was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with and another that sought to sneak up on him from behind.

   Sure.  He could be smug, annoying, and even act condescending.  His smirk got under your skin even when you couldn’t quite see it through his helmet.  He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; and not a day went by that he didn’t remind you of that fact with his actions or words.

   You could not have predicted the fear that clawed at your chest at the sight of some low-life attacking him from behind while he was preoccupied by another.

   It was like your body unfroze and reacted on instinct.  Your hand snatched up a nearby blaster pistol and aimed it at the figure.  In a matter of seconds, the intruder was lying on the stone floor while Boba’s visor turned toward you.

   Your chest rose and fell with each breath as you stared wide-eyed at the floor.  You barely registered his footsteps as he crossed over to where you sat.  It was only when you felt the blaster lifted from your hands ever-so-gently that you snapped out of your stunned state.  It had surprised you, how slow and careful his movements were when grasping your shaking hand in his gloved one and helping you stand.  Considering how he carried on and bantered with you, you half-expected him to yank you to your feet in a quick, unceremonious way and tell you to pull yourself together.

   “Pull yourself together.”  Though he didn’t yank you to your feet, he spoke firmly through the visor.  “It’s over.”

   Well, alright then.  Perhaps you did know Boba fairly well by now.

   Firing back a retort would be useless at the moment.  Besides, you were too shaken up to try.  Instead, you focused on taking deep breaths until your heartbeat slowed to a steady pace.  After a few minutes passed in silence, you spoke.

   “I can’t believe they found us.  We took so many precautions...coming here without any guards even, to not draw attention...”

   “That’s why your parliament hired me. These scum pose a serious threat.”  He spoke over his shoulder as he walked through the sea of unconscious invaders.

   “I’m...I’m going inside.”

   He gave no reply and only knelt down to search one of them.  You released a sigh and walked indoors, sliding the door to the balcony shut behind you.  No tears fell.  No sobs escaped your lips.  You stared at the roomy bed in front of you that had been made by handmaids, not even feeling like collapsing into it.  You were still on edge and unsure of how to shake it off.

   Part of you wanted to head down the hall to the library and sit quietly with a warm cup of (favorite hot drink), but what felt like an invisible steel cable kept you from wandering.  You didn’t like the thought of being too far away from Boba.  Just in case.

   So you settled for pacing around the room idly, your mind running through the event over again.  You wished you had gotten a few punches in or managed to kick the trespasser where the suns don’t shine.  You’d been caught off-guard and didn’t react the way you thought you should’ve.  Even so, it was something you could learn from.

   The door slid open, and Boba stepped inside, removing his helmet and setting it down on a side table.  You were relieved that he didn’t appear injured.  “I’ve contacted authorities.  This group will be handled from here.”

   “Do you know who sent them?”

   He gazed at you for a few seconds, and at first you didn’t think he would answer.  “I have yet to figure that out.”

   “Oh.”

   He was still staring at you, and your instincts kicked in when he took a few steps toward you.  The dim yellow light of the lamps that lit your room glowed on his face and reflected in his eyes as he neared you.  Your heart thrummed so quickly, and your body may still have been feeling the effects of the event that had transpired only minutes before.  You flinched when Boba raised a gloved hand.  It wasn’t a fast or sudden movement, but when he saw your reaction, he paused nonetheless.

   Still spooked, you sharpened your tone in irritation.  “What are you looking at?”  That’s when the emotion finally crept in your voice.  Your vision blurred with the forming of tears as your face twisted in a look of frustration as you returned his gaze with a new fire.

   He didn’t look the slightest bit phased, but you noticed his expression lost some of its intensity.  Boba reached up again to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, carefully angling your face toward the mirror on the wall to your left.  You saw the eyes that haunted you each day and the man they belonged to staring at your reflection.  Then, your gaze traveled to his gloved hand and up to your own eyes which gleamed in the lamplight.  Finally, they rested on a splotch of blood on your cheek.

   Your hand immediately reached toward it, but Boba caught your wrist with his other hand.  His gentle touch kept surprising you.  It was very different from what you’d expected.

   “Do you have supplies for this?” he asked.

   You simply gave a nod and extricated yourself from his light hold to retrieve the first aid you kept tucked under the bed.  His eyes never left you, and you caught his gaze as you walked back over with the small box.  Boba had removed his gloves by the time you found a disinfecting swab.  He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger so delicately before taking the swab and dabbing your cheek.  The sting was mild, but just enough to make you wince.

   “Hold still,” he told you.

   “You know, I am capable of doing this myself.  This isn’t exactly in the job description of you protecting me and the artifacts.”

   Boba didn’t respond, only leaned in to inspect the minor wound.  You didn’t want to allow yourself to enjoy the moment, but there was no stopping the way he flooded your senses and filled you with a sense of calm.  His masculine scent put you at ease, and the way he treated you so carefully as if you were made of glass evoked a quiet sigh from your lips.

   When he was done, there was only a trace of the scratch that needed a few days to heal.

   “There,” he stated, retracting his hands.  You immediately missed the warmth.  Even so, you maintained your composure as he leaned in once more.  “Is there anything else I can help you with, Princess?”

   “N-no.”

   “Really?”  That smirk touched the corner of his lips as he took on an almost intrigued expression.  “No complaint?  Not even a comment?”

   “Well-” you began, and he chuckled.

   “Ah, there it is.”

   “Now you won’t get to hear it.”

   “Fine by me.”

   You sighed.  “I was just going to say you should let me tend to your wounds.  There’s no way you walked away completely unscathed.”

   He paced over to where his helmet still sat on a table and knocked at it with his knuckle a few times.  “It’s called beskar.”

   “Alright then,” you tsked as you began to put the first aid supplies away.  “Your loss.  Let me know if you do need anything after all.”

   His brows perked again.  “There might be one thing.”

   You paused before tucking the first aid box under your bed.  “What’s that?”

   “I do feel a little sting,” Boba said.  “Right here.”  He gestured to his lip.  You rolled your eyes, but humored him by bringing the box back over and leaning in to get a better look.  There were a few scars, but definitely nothing fresh.

   “A sting?” you repeated, taking another step.  “I don’t see anything.”

   “Maybe you should look closer.”  His eyes gazed deeply into yours, and you found it nearly impossible to look away.  So you didn’t.

   Not until your lips were on his.  Then, you let your eyes flutter shut.

   The kiss was, like his manner toward you before, gentle.  Only after you relaxed into it did he kiss you back more firmly, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his armored torso.  When he did pull away, you nearly chased his lips with your own before you remembered yourself.

   You had been the one to close the distance and kiss him.

   You kissed Boba Fett.  He had kissed you back.

   Your handmaids and some security arrived on the scene, and Boba left you in their care without a word.  Sure, he was annoying and smug sometimes.  This man had been a mystery to you for the months that you’d spent under his protection.  At first he had regarded you with similar annoyance, but perhaps things had changed.  Perhaps you had started to grow on each other through the banter.

   You hadn’t anticipated this.  You hadn’t thought that you’d care for the bounty hunter so much.  It was only after the kiss that you were finally able to accept your feelings.  They went beyond professional, even beyond mere attraction.  Did you dare to venture into the territory of love?  You weren’t quite sure about that yet.  All you knew was those eyes, his voice, and now his kiss, would haunt your dreams.

[mccall-me-maurice]

A new list of headcanons for the updated AU

Lotf headcanons

Jack:

Jack is Ralph’s academic rival and also head of the debate team. He spends the weekends at his father’s business, learning how to run the company. On the Saturday nights, he goes to an underground club in a fight ring thing. Nobody knows he does it, even though Ralph also spends time there.

Jack is dyslexic and has minor and manageable OCD, denying using extra help for his dyslexia in classes.

Comes from a wealthy family with 6 siblings, his father divorcing his mother and marrying his step-mother who he pushes away because he’s angsty and shes “not his real mother.”

Loves 80s music so much, he’s a nerd for it.

Sings in the shower/bathroom like into a hairbrush in front of the mirror in his little towel like a nerd but he’s actually really good at singing.

Wears his uniform extremely sharply and very crisp like why so much effort.

He has hearing loss due to an accident in his childhood and he’s fluent in ASL, but doesn’t wear his hearing aids almost ever.

Ralph:

Ralph is fluent in violin, he’s actually really good at playing, he was also an ocean lifeguard and saved Jack’s life when he got caught in a current.

He wears thick framed glasses to read and has really swoopy handwriting thats illegible because it’s like messy calligraphy.

Ralph dives as a hobby and is so good at it, like scary good at diving perfectly.

He has beauty marks on his face that he lets people trace sometimes, ink usually adorning his cheeks.

Very French, extremely French. Fluent in the language.

Draws on his hands with different coloured pens and the designs are always so intricate like a mandala colouring book.

Also draws on the cuffs of his jeans and the rubber edge of his sneakers all the time.

Blushes very easily, will go red in a matter of seconds flat either when he’s flustered, embarrassed or angry.

Brothers with Robert.

Simon:

Spends all of his out of school time in his mother’s flower shop and can recite the meaning of most flowers if you ask him. His fingers are all bandaged up because of how much he cuts himself with knives when he’s removing stems or clippers.

He has epilepsy and faints frequently.

Is a fan of older musicals, like Grease, Dirty Dancing and Hairspray and makes the choir watch them with him.

Rarely spends time indoors, Simon is usually out biking around the neighbourhood or walking around with his friends from school.

Will paint rocks and gift them to people when he thinks they’re upset. Also does face painting at the school carnivals, because he never minds being alone in a booth when there is nobody there.

Speaks softly and is usually ignored in favour of people with louder opinions, but he’s usually right.

Roger:

His biological family died in a house accident, the only thing surviving being him and his cat Nastya, who he loves more than anything. Because of his parents death, he taught himself the rest of the Russian language, which they were already teaching him along with English. However, his heritage is East Asian and Russian.

He pierced his lip by himself, and even though it turned out fine, he got his ears done professionally.

Not very affectionate and will push people away, distancing himself because he doesn’t like the idea of anyone being close to him and get under his skin.

Dyed the back part of his hair on a whim and just liked it enough to keep it as a style.

Spends nights at Simon’s place instead of his own, finding more comfort in Simon’s house.

Sam:

Comes from a German family, but knows German, Italian and English.

He hates birthdays because he doesn’t understand why they are so important.

Hates social interactions and actively avoids them with a passion. He gets extremely nervous and just leaves abruptly when he gets too overwhelmed.

Younger than Eric by 6 minutes, which he routinely gets teased for.

Into super cheesy romantic movies because he loves the idea of a happy ending despite not having one himself.

Messes with his hair when he’s anxious, so it’s constantly messy and mussed.

Mega nail biter when he’s nervous.

Cousins with Jack.

Maurice:

Heavily touch reliant and when his friends don’t show him physical affection, he assumes the worst and gets very upset.

Heavily Italian, like so fucking Italian. His family hardly speaks English and he learned most of his from school.

Very passionate about science despite most people thinking he’s an idiot. He has some of the highest marks in his class.

Messes with things when he’s talking or uses hand gestures. Like if there’s a pen, he’s clicking it because it helps him concentrate.

Maurice has like a billion flannels and hoodies he just cycles through and it looks like he doesn’t change but no, it’s just that he owns a gazillion grey hoodies

His older sister when to an Ivy League school, so he owns a lot of stuff from it that he wears like sweaters or ball caps.

Eric:

Very sarcastic. his entire sense of humour is him bathing in his own sarcasm. It’s actually pretty well timed and kind of funny how he’s able to deadpan his jokes.

Very easily picks up on languages. He’s fluent or close to fluent in German, English, Italian, French, Spanish, Japanese and partly fluent in Korean.

Really enjoys computer science and plans on doing it for a living. He stays up late at night to work and sleeps until like midday.

Doesn’t acknowledge other people’s emotions very often because he doesn’t realise when he’s gone too far, but still feels bad for others when they’re hurt.

Jack’s favourite cousin because they’re cynical buddies. Jack is overly protective of him even though Eric is perfectly capable.

Robert:

Brothers with Ralph and is very protective over him. Has absolutely slandered choir members before for hating on Ralph.

Shares a dad with Ralph but has a different mom, who he visits over the summer and sometimes during the holidays. That’s where he gets his Spanish roots from, which is a language he’s fluent in. He has 7 siblings on that side of his family.

Adores burnt popcorn and burnt anything. If he can burn it, he will.

Works as a mechanic in his free time and built the car he shares with Ralph.

Sci-Fi nerd, specifically Star Wars. He loves the movies and watches them like every day.

Extremely talented artist, Robert sketches anytime he has a pencil and paper.

Peter:

Was bullied in the past but doesn’t let the words bother him anymore. It mostly stopped around high school.

Works with his auntie in the sweet shop and brings his friends food for them to taste test.

Used to be a boy scout, so he can tie any knot you want him to, it’s really a gift.

Gets very cold very easily, especially his fingertips. He usually has a pair of gloves on him for when it gets really bad.

A Mathlete for most of his time in high school, obviously is extremely intelligent.

Double knots his shoelaces so they’re extra secure.

Bill:

Swedish, and really enjoys his own culture. He will spend HOURS rambling about it and how much he loves it.

Watches Avatar the Last Airbender and has the biggest crushes on Sokka and Zuko.

Also is a sucker for people who wear glasses, he really loves them.

Works at the library despite not liking books, he finds comfort in shelving them and the order they go in.

Puts little umbrellas in every single drink he has, it doesn’t matter what it is.

Writes notes to himself on sticky notes because his memory is horrible.

Sets at least 5 alarms because 1 will not wake him up by itself.

Harold:

Can speak limited Spanish due to his schooling.

Likes singing, but never really got into it like some choir members because he has stage fright.

Powerful speaker when he wants to be, but is usually too nervous to say anything.

Has no idea how to tie a tie, so he lets other people do it for him.

Sometimes take sarcastic comments seriously and ends up confused.

A really good actor and loves the performing arts.

Has extremely clear skin, he never gets any blemishes.

Wilfred:

Dyed his hair because his naturally brown hair reminds him too much of his father, who he hates.

Has 4 tattoos in total, the 4 card suits on his cheek, a half sleeve of roses, a bow and olive branch on his inner forearm, and the solar system on his outer forearm.

Very flirtatious to people he doesn’t really like but gets nervous around those he does.

Hold grudges really well.

Has shockingly neat handwriting.

Has a pretty horrible home life but he never talks about it to anyone because he doesn’t want to be perceived as weak or incapable.

Colours with only crayons.

Percival:

Cries easily, as he’s very emotionally driven and is typically teased for being a crybaby or told to “toughen up.”

Absolutely has the worst sleep schedule ever, he gets 3 hours and calls it a win.

Can’t sleep without a nightlight on in his room.

Enjoys writing things down in this notebook instead of on his phone because he likes the feeling of physically using pen and paper.

Sends letters to people all the time instead of messaging.

Good at sewing, he makes his own Halloween costume every year by himself.

Hates horror movies because he’s spooked easily.

Max:

Lived through a house fire when he was younger, so he has burn scars all over his arms.

Is afraid of cooking due to the fire and will go without eating if he has to touch the stove to make food.

Laid back most of the time, but can reach a snapping point in which the emotion is amplified. (like sadness or anger)

Loves swimming, it doesn’t matter where he does it, he just loves to swim.

Is very time sensitive and has to get places early or directly on time or else he gets anxious.

A very fast reader, typically long books take him 2-3 days to get through.

Johnny:

Worries a lot, he usually sees the worst in every single situation.

Is a trans male (Ftm) and was accepted by his entire family when he came out.

Owns a St. Bernard named Dolly who is the sweetest dog ever.

Spends a lot of time outdoors, he still plays as if he is a child.

Also enjoys the snow a lot because he’s fond of building snowmen with the kids on his street.

Has very sensitive skin and eczema, which he doesn’t like to talk about or show anyone because it makes him feel insecure.

Oddly good at playing guitar, he just picks up on chords with ease.

Walter:

Good at playing the drums and annoys his entire family with it.

Uses a skateboard as his main method of transportation around places.

On the basketball team, as his older brother taught him to play when they were both younger.

Hates roller skating despite being very good at most things on wheels. He can never find his balance.

Shockingly good at Math, especially statistics and calculus. He’s in all advanced math courses.

Has a very weird snake addiction and he desperately wants to buy one.

Henry:

Aromantic Asexual who is best friends with Harold and Wilfred.

Mainly makes snippy remarks because his humour falls into the sarcasm umbrella.

Adores comic books and superheroes, specifically Marvel ones because he’s a fan of Dare Devil.

Plays baseball in his free time but hasn’t joined a team, he just plays with the boys in his neighbourhood.

Addicted to the High School Musical movies.

Good at painting people’s nails and will do it for them if they ask.

Has really fluffy hair that he lets people touch and play with.

[yoditorian]

lacuna- part 3

din/reader

she’s dropping early because i have no patience and i’m extremely proud of the last 2/3rds of this. thanks as always to my darling @brothersdrxke​ for being encouraging and yelling with me 💛

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swears, overuse of italics, discussion of violence including graphic injury, mentions of scars (causes not discussed), one use of ‘their’ as a pronoun for reader, usual poetic smut, 18+ no babies thanks

You didn’t think you’d be back here.

Maybe ever, but definitely not after only a couple of years, and your smile is tight as you flick the lever to lower the small freighter’s boarding ramp. You’re sure it won’t come back if you drop it. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Qin’s teeth are sharp in his own smile. 

“You’re not.”

His snarled response is cut off by Ran’s booming laugh before it starts. Your old boss claps him on the shoulder, saying something in lieu of a real greeting about how he’s missed your jokes. It’s a little tense, the way the men take you in for a moment. You didn’t wear your uniform, there’s not a thing on the ship that points any fingers towards the Rebellion, but it’s clear you’ve done well for yourself since leaving. Something they clearly have not, judging by the holes in the jacket tied around Qin’s hips.

“Thanks for letting me stay, system hopping takes a lot longer when your hyperdrive’s busted.” You relax a little, let your shoulders drop, let them think you’re more than comfortable under their scrutinizing gazes. 

“We’ve probably got something laying around here you could use. For a price, of course.” Ran grins, in that predatory way that he always has. He seems so unassuming, but you know different. You know better.

“Your prices always land me on the wrong end of a blaster. I’ll take my chances in open space, thanks.” 

He laughs heartily again, and you can breathe. At least they seem to believe you. 

Ran had offered you your old room, something you’d graciously thanked him for, and left you to it. The station seems to run the same, more or less. He hasn’t hired anyone in your place, or in Din’s for that matter, but it’s difficult to find somebody without loyalties to any one side of the war. Leaving the spots open for now is probably safer for him. You’d raised a hand in greeting to Xi’an when you passed her in the hall, she’d hissed in return but any time she didn’t threaten to cut you is always a win. So at least you’re still in somebody’s good graces here.

Still, good graces don’t last long. And neither does your patience. It’s only a few hours into the night cycle on the station when you creep out of your room and towards the main hangar. Your old workspace looks exactly the same, a few bits and pieces missing, but mostly untouched by time and sticky fingers. Good. It takes less than an hour to completely gut the bench. Every single old motivator, circuit board, gear, and valve packed up neatly in the cargo hold of the ship. There’s still larger engine pieces that the base mechanics are in desperate need of, but Shara’s working on that lead. You find a black marker lying on a nearby workbench and draw a big smiley face on the dulled metal. For good measure.

It’s with a deep breath, and a prayer you never have to return, that you maneuver your ship up and out of the station. You ease it into lightspeed, the definitely-not-busted hyperdrive humming, and disappear. 

“Did you think I don’t keep tabs on people, Mando?”

Din would rather go swimming on Mustafar, or get swallowed by a Krayt dragon, or be literally anywhere else in the galaxy than the hangar on Ran’s station. How he’d even known he’d joined the Bounty Hunters’ Guild is a mystery to him, but the call came through nonetheless. The new representative on Nevarro, a very theatrical man if their short contact was anything to go by, had popped up in the holo-com display talking about a special assignment and given him coordinates he knew all too well. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“You know, Xi’an’s still broken up about you leaving. Convinced herself that you and the pilot organised it, that you’re holed up somewhere together. But we both know that’s not true.”

Din says nothing. He doesn’t need to, Ran’s tone leaves nothing to be discussed. Whether he knows for sure that you went straight to the rebels or not, he has his suspicions. Xi’an can think whatever she likes, he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to deal with her trailing after him like a lost puppy anymore. 

“They said you have a job for me.” 

Ran gestures out for him to follow, leading him to a desk he knows all too well. Your workstation was always cluttered, always a tangled heap of wires and unidentifiable spare parts. Organised chaos, you said, it was about the piles. Except it’s been completely cleared out. There’s shelves underneath that he didn’t even know existed, and a big smiley face drawn carefully on the worktop. Din turns his head towards Ran, a wordless question.

“We had a visit from our old friend, a favour done out of the kindness of my heart. So imagine my surprise when we all woke up to find their room empty, and my hangar pillaged.” Ran’s laying it on thick, thicker than usual. Pillaged is a strong word, it’s clear you only touched your own bench, those parts belong to you as far as Din’s concerned. But it’s not his concern that’s the problem. 

“So, what’s the job?” He doesn’t feel like playing games anymore. He doesn’t see what any of this has to do with him anyway.

“I’m putting a bounty on that little thief, it can be yours or it can go to the Guild. Or,” Ran hesitates, watching the way Din’s shoulders tense, “You can help me out. Help me with this one thing and I’ll drop it.”

Din doesn’t even ask what he needs to do, he only nods and finds himself trying his best to tolerate Qin’s chatter from the Crest’s passenger seat while he flies. 

It should worry him, that he didn’t even consider his own safety. But something about it feels right, he’s sure he’d put anything on the line if it meant you were safe.

It’s almost boring, standing guard at the door as Qin ransacks some official’s office on a planet he’s already forgotten the name of. Ran mentioned something about a trade agreement, although given the largely illegal nature of his dealings it doesn’t take a genius to work out exactly why something like that would have been refused by any law abiding citizen. Although law in the Outer Rim is generally subjective to everyone’s personal code. 

“One more office and we’re done.” Qin assures him as he exits the upturned office, pressing a drive into Din’s gloved palm. He pockets it without question, experience has taught him that wasting time asking will only get them in trouble. 

Trouble seems to find them anyway. It always does. 

He races through the beige hallways, following the blinking dot on the display of his vambrace with Qin hot on his heels. The security guards aren’t fast, they aren’t even armed, there’s no point in shooting when the two of them so clearly have the upper hand. Until a burly Trandoshan leaps out of a doorway and tackles Qin to the ground. But Din doesn’t look back, he just presses forward to the Crest. 

Din hightails it out of there, jumping to lightspeed still in atmosphere. Just in case. And breathes his first sigh of relief since he stepped onto the station. He’s not sure what’s on the drive, honestly he doesn’t want to know, and he just hopes it’s important enough to Ran that he might overlook the tiny detail of leaving Qin to the guards. 

Ran only seems mildly annoyed that Din comes back alone, more interested in the drive dropped into his waiting hand, and agrees to forget about setting a bounty. So long as you don’t turn up on his doorstep, lie, and steal from him again. Din promises to pass on the message.

You’re on Tatooine, arguing with a scrapper in Mos Espa over the price of a rusted laser cannon, when he finds you. The scrapper quiets when he appears over your shoulder, and nods reluctantly at your suggested fifty percent of the asking price. It’s hot and you’re tired, you don’t have the patience to pretend to be surprised when you turn to see him standing behind you. 

“Help me with this?” You ask. Din watches a bead of sweat drip down your temple, tries not to wish it was his tongue instead, and nods wordlessly.

Between the two of you, you manage to haul the cannon to your docking bay and roll it up the loading ramp. Only once it’s secure in the hold do you take a moment to survey his armour, the way you did last time.

There’s no obvious new scratches, although the dust on this rock of a planet will dirty anything in a matter of seconds, but you find yourself relieved by the familiarity of his dark red armour. Nothing has been replaced since the last time you saw him, it seems. You’ve come a long way since then.

“You’re stealing from our old boss now?” Din’s voice breaks your careful study of his armour, and your brow furrows. You thought he might understand, out of everyone in the galaxy, but you don’t even know how he found out.

“We’re in a war.” 

“You’re in a war.”

Your eyes snap up to his visor, and he has to physically plant himself so he isn’t rocked back by the intensity of your stare. You find his eyes every time, you always have. But yours have never held such a cold fury for him than they do now. It’s kind of terrifying, it’s kind of beautiful. 

“This is not about me. This is so much bigger than just me. You may have grown up underground learning how to kill people with your thumbs but I grew up under imperial rule. I grew up building parts for star destroyers and running messages for rebels. All I know is this fucking war.” You’re rambling but you don’t care. He has to know, he has to understand that this is what you do now. The last couple of years have been the best of your life, you’ve found a purpose. Something that makes you want to get out of bed in the mornings and reluctant to go back to it at night, you’ve thrown yourself into the brewing fight and it feels like you were born for it. The names of all the friends you’ve lost to the Empire sit heavy on your tongue for every TIE you take down, every supply you steal, every bit of intel you scrape together. It’s for them, it’s for everyone who came before, it’s for everyone who will come after. 

Din says your name softly, but the tears are falling and you can’t stop.

“I’ve been fighting my whole life so kids in the future don’t have to live the way I have. I think a few spare parts are worth that.”

You tell him your whole story, standing there awkwardly in the belly of the freighter. You tell him about the messages you ran between workers who resisted, who rebelled, who heard whispers of uprising and felt the roar of hope in their chests. You’d started young, too young really to understand the danger of what you were doing. But what about being young on Corellia was not dangerous? You tell him how the group started to grow, branching out from your factory line to the docks and the mechanics and further. The way they started to include you more as you got older, planning and whispering in darkened corners and safehouses away from the ears of the Empire. 

Not that it did anyone any good in the end. You tell him how they stormed the house one night. No warning, no whispers. Blew the door out of the wall and started shooting. So you’d started running. Nothing but the blanket from your bed, the one you’d had since you were a child, around your shoulders and a younger girl’s hand in yours. You’d almost gotten her to the loading docks. To safety. Almost. You can still taste the blood in your mouth when the blaster bolt split her head open, but you’d left her where she fell and kept running. You tell him how you dove into the first open cargo bay you saw and hid. For days. How you’d cried when you felt it finally lift from the bay. How it had been Ran’s ship, one of his first trades. You hadn’t had the courage to leave the station until somebody had shown you it was possible.

Din doesn’t interrupt once. He only watches. Watches as the tears stop streaming, as you pull yourself back together again. He’s sure you didn’t want him, anyone, to see you so vulnerable. You’ve always had that mask of quick jokes and bright smiles, it’s only now that he realises it's a mask, and it’s oddly fascinating to watch you piece it together. You wipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket until there’s no trace of your tears and take a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, it’s as though you never cried at all. 

Even so, the bags under your eyes don’t lie. He’s sure he’s got a pair to match.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asks quietly, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was concerned about you. But you do know better. 

You shoot a glance over to the freighter’s sorry excuse of a bunk. It’s even worse than the last one he took you in, although you’re not sure he’s suggesting a good fuck will get you off to sleep. It’s very pointedly not been touched, starched sheets still stretched military-tight over the mattress. Not that it’s much of a mattress. 

“Let’s find a room somewhere. I think a real bed might do us both some good.” He makes it sound like an offer, but you know it’s non-negotiable. And deep down, you really could use a good hour or two before you have to fly back to base. The pilot’s seat is definitely more comfortable than the bunk, just about. You dip into the cockpit at the last second to snag your old blanket. For comfort’s sake.

There’s not a lot in the room that an older Twi’lek woman hands you the keycard to. Only a desk with a chair, an attached refresher, and a small bed. But it’s big enough for the two of you. The suns start to dip below the horizon, and Din finally reaches out to touch you. Just barely, just a light stroke of his fingers along your shoulder. But it’s enough to convince you to take a shower, you’re sandy and sweaty and tired and it’ll take more energy to argue than it would to just take the shower. 

You’re in there for longer than you intended, zoning out as your eyes lose focus of the little square tiles on the wall, and it’s dark outside by the time you’re dried and dressed in the spare clothes you keep in your go-bag. Din’s pulled blinds shut, locked the door, and piled his armour carefully on the desk. The ancient wood creaks under the weight of the metal. The man himself is lying spreadeagled on the bed, in only his underclothes and his helmet, the dull light from the single bulb in the refresher reflects off of his visor when he turns to look at you. It might make you laugh if you weren’t so tired.

“Better?”

You nod. Of course you feel better, anyone would after scrubbing what felt like an inch thick layer of sweat and sand off of their skin. You smell of the pleasantly neutral soap from the dispenser and, for the first time in days, you think you can breathe again. Although the weight of exhaustion threatens to drag your bones through the floor. 

Din pulls himself to stand with a low groan, shoulders protesting when he rolls them, and tucks the sheet back far enough that you can get in comfortably. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s laid your blanket out beneath them, a thought that sits jagged in your throat. He approaches you slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. But you take his hand the moment he offers it and leans around you to switch the fresher’s light off, let him lead you back to the bed, and follow him down onto it. 

There’s the barest sound of metal brushing against his hair as he pulls the helmet off and  sits up for a moment to set it down on the floor. 

“Din?” Your voice is quiet, careful not to disturb the peace that’s settled in the room, but it makes him shudder all the same. He returns to you, tucks the blankets up around you both, and tugs you into him. The Armourer’s words, the ones that swirl in his head every time he thinks of you like this, are silent. Din finds he’s not even a little bit guilty.

Warm fingers trace your body, soft over your exposed skin, light as they dip under your shirt. He says nothing, only traces the scars on your back, on your sides, along your ribs. He doesn’t ask how they got there, running his touch along the raised marks you’ve collected through your life and leaving goosebumps in his wake. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so empty. 

You shift further into the warmth underneath you, a vain attempt to keep a hold of the last few dregs of sleep. But you feel rested, at least. That’s not something particularly familiar, and you bask in the feeling. A hum rumbles beneath you. Oh, that’s where you are. You’re not embarrassed, or shocked, like you thought you might be if this ever happened. If you ever thought it possible he wouldn’t leave you to wake up alone. But Din is solid under your head, under your arm, the soft fabric of his shirt clutched in your fist. He’s speaking softly, coaxing you from dreams. It’s still dark as anything when you finally open your eyes, so it can’t have been more than a few hours you spent snoozing. 

It’s his story, you realise when your brain finally kicks into gear. He’s whispering about the memories he has from before, his parents. You’d always assumed he was born and raised Mandalorian, how he carries his Way so heavily on his shoulders, but the shake in his ribs as he recounts them tells you all you need to know. Your fist tightens in his shirt when you shuffle a little closer, press your face into his shoulder, a little more over the top of him. A human blanket. 

Din likes it, the weight of you on him, your body helps him to keep focus. He never thought he’d tell anyone what happened to him. A dirty secret to be kept hidden away. But something about you pulls it out of him, something about the peace he’s created here with you in this little room makes the truth ease its way out of his throat. You’re not the only one who felt the wrath of the Empire as a child, you’re not the only one who wants it gone, he needs you to know that.

It breaks something inside you, to hear him so clearly struggle through the details of the attack and his rescue, and you can’t help but push yourself up further. Unwrap your hand from his shirt to find his cheek, press your lips to his softly, slowly. He’s suffered enough. You need him to know that you’re here, you have him. You’ll always have him. You let him lose himself in your body, and maybe your heart. He’s already made a home there anyways.

It’s careful, tentative, more so than the other times. The way you hold each other as though you’re made of glass. There’s no rush, no pressure of a goodbye, no adrenaline of a hunt. You have time. And, god, does it show. The way Din touches you is reverent, like you’re holy. You put everything you are, everything you have, behind every kiss, every touch, every whisper. It belongs to him, you’re happy to give yourself over. Just as he belongs to you, you’re sure of it. The fear that he touches someone else in the way he does you is soothed by the roughness of his voice in your ear, the way his teeth scrape against your throat, the way you hear the words without them needing to be said. Because he does, as you do.

You’re the first one to leave this time, blindly finding your clothes in the dark. You leave him a neutral comm, one you already have the pin saved for. He’ll know what it is. It connects to your personal pin without leaving a trace, and you can buzz him at any point. So long as he keeps it, you think he will. You take a moment to listen to him breathing, steadily in the dark, and raise your blanket to your nose. Din. 

There won’t be a day goes by where you don’t think of him, of that you’re certain.

TAGLIST (lmk if u want on or off the list):

@brothersdrxke​ @remmysbounty​ @aq-vetina​ @1800-fight-me​ @mandos-co​ @kesskirata​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @firstofficerwiggles​ @keeper0fthestars​

[xenoblademisadventures]

Also here's a dump of other sketches with my thoughts process. Long post, so everything’s under the cut.

The Mythra:

I really liked my first idea so I stuck with it. My thought process was I wanted to emphasize that she's mecha anime and therefore out of place (she already has a mech). Pants are a reference to Alvis's illegal shoes. She’s wearing a crop top because Mythra reads as the type of person who would enjoy wearing a crop top to me. She has giant gauntlet things on her arms because they look cool. I gave her two giant braids because anime (and I’ve noticed a trend of tsundere characters often having two strands of hair going outwards for some reason? And I figured “might as well copy+pasta lol). Her left eye is partially covered by hair, which is supposed to represent her feeling distant or partially isolated from the rest of the world. It’s also a character design trend sometimes used in villain characters, which I thought would fit Mythra since she’s worried about her power being used for evil in 2 and is being constantly compared to Malos in Torna. I kept the choker from the base design because it looks cool and also relates to how she’s constantly constraining herself.

I also wanted to make her buff because she’s a warrior who wields a giant fucking sword, she should be buff (like, the fight scenes involving her in Torna DLC looked a bit awkward because Mythra was swinging a giant sword around one-handed like it was nothing while also having very shrimpy arms). 

Overall, I wanted Mythra to feel very alien and distant to the rest of the world. If I were to continue iterating on this, I’d probably look at some of Elma’s armor (mim and alien) for reference because doing that would allow for Mythra to look disconnected from the Xenoblade 2 cast but still feel like a Xenoblade character.

Side note: I assumed that the Aegis shape Core Crystal was a requirement. If I had the option to remove it, I probably would. It doesn’t look bad, but if the goal was to connect the Aegises with the Monado, I don’t like that Alvis’s key had to be retconned for that to function.

The Pyras:

A consistent theme here between the designs was the pants. I wanted Alvis's illegal pants to be a running theme among the Aegises because they are stupid and illegal and I like them. They also look like the most vaguely scifi part of his actual outfit, so I figured giving them a shared article of clothing would be a nice way to visually connect the five character designs (Pyra, Mythra, Pneuma, Alvis, and Malos), and I wanted to keep the vaguely mecha theme going. You can see in Pyra 6 that I was tired and just drew Pyra in Alvis's attire. 

I wanted Pyra to look like a mecha design covered up by something that more closely fits the aesthetic used in Xenoblade 1. So not quite mecha, not quite 1. The idea was that Pyra was trying to look more like a common person in order to appear less threatening. If she despises and fears her power, I don’t think she’d want to wear an outfit that embraces it. Putting her in more casual clothing would also contrast with Mythra and better communicate that Mythra is significantly stronger than Pyra. But all that said, putting her in full casual clothing might undercut the emotion Rex and Pyra’s first meeting was meant to invoke (of being like “oh wow, a legendary ancient weapon). And designing her to still look mecha would still be saying that “even though Pyra doesn’t want to be the Aegis, she is still the Aegis and cannot escape her power.” Which is why quite a few designs lean into the mecha aesthetic. The exact balance between mecha and casual clothing was the main thing I struggled with on this design. The final design is the one that more or less struck the balance I was hoping for.

A few of the designs are vaguely sexualized. Specifically Pyras 1, 4, and 7 all have tiny boob windows. If I were to finalize 7, I’d remove the boob window because it looks a bit awkward and I think a belt (similar to Elma’s underboob belt) would look better, but my thought process there was “do I want Pyra to be comfortable?” I don’t want to go over the top with the revealing clothing, but making Pyra wear slightly revealing clothing that she probably wouldn’t want to be wearing could help drive the point that she’s a combination of all the traits Mythra was criticized for lacking. It’s not pleasant or comfortable letting others dictate your entire existence through repeated harassment and Pyra already very heavily acts like the sexist ideas of what a woman should be, so giving her a tiny boob window could help emphasize that point. The main reason I’m saying I’d change it if I iterated on 7 is because I don’t think it compliments the design particularly well.

Another thing that stuck between each version of Pyra’s design was that her left eye is completely covered by hair. I did this for a few reasons: it would follow up on the symbolism of Mythra’s design partially covering her left eye, it would give Pyra a slight air of mystery, and it would faintly reference Alvis’s design (I want the designs to hint at each other but I don’t want it to be super obvious). The earrings were also kept between designs because they were in Mythra’s design and I wanted that to get carried over because it’s a little bit extra cohesion between the two designs. 

I wanted was to use Pyra's hair to help represented Mythra binding herself. Mythra has two braids that are loosely flowing, so she's already semi bound. If I were to start drawing Pneuma, I think I'd want her hair to not be tied at all (maybe a similar style to KOS-MOS and Elly as a reference, maybe not?) or I'd just put her in really long dreadlocks or something because hair go brr. One idea I had was to just have one big braided ponytail, but another idea was to try and tie the hair up (which is what I was going for in Pyra 2). I couldn't find a way to do that in a way I particularly liked, so single big ponytail is the way I went.

You can probably see that there were a lot of ideas thrown at a wall here, so I’ll go over some noteworthy facets of each designs.

Pyra 1 had a key on her chest, it was meant to be reference to Alvis. It didn’t stay in other designs because the reference felt too obvious. The first two designs also had a giant X on her chest, it was meant to look like the outfit was binding her, but I don’t particularly care for it. Pyra 2′s pants had weird patterns on them because I was trying to visually make them look a bit distinguished from Mythra’s while still keeping the same idea, but I don’t really care for them. I also don’t like how Pyra 2 is just wearing a T Shirt. I’m not really sure what I was going for with Pyra 3. She kind of looks like Glimmer in the She-Ra reboot, which wasn’t intentional. Pyra 4 leans more into the mecha than any other Pyra. She kind of looks like a ballerina but not really. I was focusing mostly on making her look a lot like Mythra, but I feel that this design has a lot of similar issues to what I have with Pyra’s actual design where it’s sexy and looks cool, but doesn’t really fit the character. Pyra 5 looks like a heroforge character (or maybe like something that fit Mass Effect’s aesthetic if I’m being generous?). I feel that this one also doesn’t fit her character particularly well. Pyra 6 was a bit of an overcorrection and I ended up just drawing Pyra in Alvis’s outfit. And Pyra 7 is the one I actually went with.

Rexes:

Rex 1 was more of a warm-up than anything. I put him in a vest and some pants. The hookshot and x marking were things I completely forgot about until last minute, which is why they look tacked on. He has a belt with some items in it. I wanted to give him scraffly hair and freckles to better emphasize that he’s just some kid. I don’t really like this design. I feel like if I polished it up, it would still have a lot of the benefits to base Rex while not getting as many people complaining about his pants, but the design is overall a huge “meh.”

With Rex 2, I decided to actually look up what scuba gear looks like. This design ended up emphasizing primarily that Rex has a lot of expertise in salvaging and that he’s a kid with humble origins. His strap on was based on a scuba outfit, same with the shoes. He’s also wearing pull-ups with giant pockets. I felt those imply humble origins because pull-ups get associated with rural settings. The giant pockets imply that he works with machinery. That’s also why his hair’s tied back. If you long hair and you work with machinery, that’s supposed to be tied back so that it doesn’t get caught in anything. I also gave him glasses because we need more characters with glasses. 

The character’s meant to be 15 and I feel that this looks closer to 15 than 12. If I were to make future iterations of this design, I’d try to lean more into making him look 15 because he doesn’t look 15 enough to me. I’d do this by giving him acne.

He has gloves because he’ll be using a sword and it’s generally not good to scrape up your palm while using one of those. His hook-shot also now takes up his entire arm because that’s heavy equipment. I haven’t figured out how the wire is supposed to be stored without having it fuck up his arm. But the hook itself is now in a little hook cubby. I think I’d want to make the bottom of the shoes look heavier than they are since they don’t currently look great for walking around the bottom of the ocean. 

Still, I’m very happy with this Rex. I mostly draw anime girls, so I’m happy with the number of things I feel I’ve gotten right with Rex 2.

Nims and a Dahlia:

I’m a bit unsure of what I want from the Blade designs. I decided to design around their element, their rough personalities, them needing a core crystal, and their element. I also want them to look like they could also exist in the same universe and maybe not look very human? That was, at least, my thought process when drawing Nim, though that thought process was not consistently held, like, at all. A lot of my Blade redesigns don’t look very good because I didn’t have a very good idea towards what I should even be aiming for. The Blades have very generic personalities and overall feel so disconnected from the world that I’d probably just scrap every existing Blade in their entirety and replace them different characters who are better established. Like, maybe because this Blade was born from the Gormott Titan, they look like Gormotti or part giraff as a result and are more likely to have the earth element? And how many hands they’ve been through and the personalities of their previous drivers stack up to subtly influence their appearance? Like, a Blade from Gormott that ended up in Uraya for 10 lifetimes might be an earth-type cat-person with fins or something? Or maybe the more developed a Blade is, the less it resembles a human? But doing that would require writing a lot more lore per individual Blade than is actually provided. But just having something to better frame the Blades as something other than “random (mostly) anime girls that you pick up along the way” would be necessary to give them good designs.

Anyways, with Nim, I figured giving her a Saytr like appearance would be good. She has a strong association with animals and nature, which, for me, translates to “naked.” Alongside that, I looked up Nymphs and they’re also usually depicted as naked women. I also completely disregarded to the two foxes on her shoulders. They were put into Nim 1 as an afterthought. 

Nim 1 is the only Nim that isn’t plus-sized because I figured “why not have some different body types among the blades?” A lot of my redesigns for Pyra and Mythra try to keep their body type more or less in tact less because I think it’s the best body type for them and more to spite the idea that them having big boobs is the reason that they’re oversexualized. Like, they are comically big, but they’re only sexualized because of how much attention the camera and design draws to them. But, that’s a side tangent. I made Nim overweight because I like drawing overweight women. Nim 1 gets the vibes of “naked lady” while Nim 2 has the vibes of “big fluffy friend” while Nim 3 is somewhat of a compromise. If I were to make a final design for her out of these, I’d definitely try and fuse some aspects of Nims 2 and 3.

Nim 3 has vines on her arms because Nymphs get depicted with vines quite a bit. The main reason Nim 2 is wearing a sun dress is because I stepped back and thought “wait, maybe some people would have an issue with a naked anime lady running around.” Nim 2 also has a transition between furry legs and no fur legs. 

I didn’t really have any ideas for Dahlia. I saw someone draw a version of Dahlia based off Elsa from Frozen and I thought that might be fun to draw. I don’t really have any further thoughts on this.

Praxises:

This is sort of where I was at the point where I realized that if I wanted to redesign the blades, I’d need to figure out some unifying theme for them all. I was thinking “maybe blades could try and visually represent different aspects of being human?” This idea was only really used on Praxis and wasn’t very strongly represented. I was kind of tired when I drew Praxis 1 and Praxis 2 was a bit of a warm-up sketch. 

Neither of these designs are particularly good. I wanted Praxis to be wearing those 90s bubbly arm and leg warmers because she has a bubbly personality and is a water type. I don’t know why Praxis 2 is a cowgirl. 

Zenobias:

Zenobia 1 is based a bit a wrestler because she has wrestler vibes. I see her as the type of person who would do Dark Souls no armor run on the dance pad. My other thought process was “let me google the word ‘zenobia’ and see what crops up” and I saw something about a Syrian empress but I decided to do zero research, so I have no idea if what I drew was offensive towards muslims. She has a scarf tho because wind.

Zenobia 2 is based on a picture of that empress lady. I don’t think it follows her character in-game particularly well though. 

Two (Blade) Nias:

Neither Nia is particularly finished. The main requirements were that this Nia has to look like a Blade, a catgirl, and like something were she’d be able to hide the Blade parts, but not comfortably. I’m at a bit of a loss here. I think the formal wear used in her base-game design is not the way to go. The outfit just doesn’t feel like it matches her brash and snarky personality, like, at all. The first outfit was trying to throw random ideas but nothing was coming up and that’s what happened with the other. Though, Nia 2 gets bonus points for looking like a cats 2019 character. I was sketching out what parts of her body should be covered, but I don’t think I’d want to go with crop-top and skirt because Mythra already has a crop top. The tail is also debatable since I figured if I kept that, how Nia hides the tail could be a fun part of her driver outfit. I also didn’t really like how Driver Nia and Blade Nia have different hair and ear lengths. It bothered me more here than with the original Pyra/Mythra designs because Nia isn’t the Aegis, I don’t think she should be allowed to material and dematerialize her clothing, hair, and ears like that. I do kind of like the idea of giving her paws since those are things that can be easily hidden by shoes. Giving her spotted skin isn’t a bad idea but it’s not as high on the “keep” scale as the paws are (which aren’t super high in the first place).

Overall, it’s probably a bit anticlimactic to end on some lame designs, but that’s how it goes, I guess. If I were to redesign more of the Blades (or finish the Blade redesigns I started), I’d need to figure out what running themes I want from the Blade designs. I think maybe focusing on the human designs first and working from there could be a way to go. Unsure. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Come play with me Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, cursing, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2060.

Summary: Having to deal with Bucky Barnes, a talented head engineer who you have to convince cooperating with your boss, you suddenly discover his psychopathic tendencies. Worse, he has taken an eerie interest in you.

Part 1

P.S. More references to “Death Machine” movie I saw when I was a kid 🙈

_______________

Nervously glancing around a messy room full of odd equipment, screwdrivers, nails, military clothing like combat pants, and scary drawings hanging on the walls, you sat on an empty chair Barnes had offered you. In fact, it was the only empty chair in the room.

“Yeah, I need to clean up, I know.” He muttered under his breath, grabbing a pile of papers on his seat and dropping them to the floor close to his table as he started typing something on his laptop. “Never have time for this.”

You nodded, pretending you cared. Actually, the only thing you wanted was getting away as far as you could from Barnes, a man who had completely turned your life upside down in a matter of hours.

First, as you tried fighting him, he had blocked all your cards and literally stripped you of all your money - you couldn’t understand how the bank security overlooked the transfer, but all you had left were ten dollars on your account. When you got hysterical, crying and pleading Bucky to get it all back, he carefully explained to you that all you needed to do was to listen to him. You were still furious, remembering how he talked to you as if you were a child.

Then Barnes told you he would have what he wanted anyway, but he didn’t need to break you in the process. It wasn’t fun, he said, albeit having you cry under him as he sat on top of you laying on your bed. When you finally submitted, knowing you couldn’t overpower him, that bull of a man, Bucky returned you your money, adding a few thousand dollars “for the trouble”. You had never felt so humiliated in your entire life.

You chose not to think of what had happened after that.

“Shit, they fucked it up again.” Bucky growled in frustration, rubbing his eyes as he stared into one of several monitors on his desk. “Baby, can you make me coffee while I’m dealing with this shit?”

What? Coffee? Did he bring you here for this?

Clenching your fists, you kept your mouth shut as you glanced over the room, quickly finding a dirty coffee maker in the corner. Trying to convince yourself it was better than giving him a blowjob while he was working, you moved from your seat and went to have a look at the little glass kettle. It definitely needed a good wash, so you disconnected it and headed to the door. While passing beside Bucky’s back, you were abruptly stopped by him tugging on your pencil skirt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He growled, narrowing his eyes at you. There was something carnivorous in his gaze as he watched you freezing in place.

Showing him the coffee maker, you nervously said, “It’s dirty. I want to clean it before making coffee for you.”

He blinked for a few times and let go of your skirt. Lifting his eyes to your face, he softened, motioning to you, “Kitchen’s on your left. Thanks.” As he turned back to the monitor, making no attempt to stop you, you carefully moved forward, stopping yourself from running away.

When the door closed beside you, you finally exhaled as if you escaped the death room with a deranged psycho with an axe in it. Well, the deranged psycho was actually there, but without a weapon, you hoped. Not that you saw any.

Speeding up, you found a kitchen on your left just as Barnes said, relieved no one was there - for some reason, you were afraid of his co-workers since none of them had reported Bucky before... Come to think of it, maybe they did. But HYDRA wiped everything out because Barnes was irreplaceable, and until he murdered someone the company was probably okay with pretty much everything he was doing if he continued to work for them. Or were there any boundaries at all? If Barnes was a murderer, would the company cover him up just because he was the one making billions for them?

You threw away the used filter and placed the kettle into the sink. You needed to find a way to leave him, but as careful as possible. No one knew what Barnes was capable of.

The smell of coffee made Bucky finally snap back to reality as he inhaled the aroma, stretching his arms while you watched his muscles flexing. Despite him looking pretty good, you were more scared rather than aroused.

“Here.” You said, placing a cup of black coffee in front of him - no milk, no sugar just like he instructed you.

Barnes grinned at you, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind the ear, and the next moment you ended up on his lap as he gripped you by the waist, then taking his coffee like it was something completely natural. Stilling, you squirmed uncomfortably, unwilling to be so close to him. He was acting as if you were his girlfriend, and you were not okay with it, but preferred being silent rather than having an argument that could lead to Barnes becoming violent.

“Thank you, doll.” He whispered, leaving a quick kiss on your cheek, and you winced from a sudden feeling of his three-days beard brushing against your sensitive skin. Bucky proceeded to sip his coffee and stare into the monitor, a dozen of blueprints opened at the same time didn’t bother him, seemingly.

You had been tense for a couple of minutes before you realized Barnes was completely absorbed by his work, caressing you through your clothes with his hand from time to time, but doing little else. All he saw were numerous reports and blueprints. Sometimes Bucky was getting upset when a small window with a chat popped up above his programs, and he hurriedly typed a message to some of his colleagues, you supposed.

Since there was nothing much left to do, you tried to understand what Bucky was working on. In the end, it was going to be your job - he had already submitted all the forms to get you a position of a project manager. You didn’t know how HYDRA’s executives was gonna react, but something told you Barnes could convince them to do as he pleased. Even the thought of that was frightening to you.

The more you watched, the more you thought the new project didn’t remind you the weapon control system but the weapon itself. Of course, you weren’t an engineer, but you had a good knowledge of HYDRA’s already existing active protection systems. This wasn’t it even in the slightest. It was more of some weird cyborg thing, you thought as you kept looking at what appeared to be biomechatronic body parts.

Was he working on some side project now? Was it even HYDRA’s project?

As you leaned closer to the monitor, trying to understand what this was and why Barnes was working on it, your heard the man chuckling.

“Interested?” He asked, making you lean back into him with his hand pressed to your chest.

“I thought you were working on the new weapon control system. What’s this?”

“Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever done, baby. It will bring HYDRA to the top of the world.” Grinning, he closed the blueprint he was working on and opened a different one, a colored 3D model of a heavily armed man wearing something that almost looked like a futuristic military suit. “This is the Supersoldier project, the top-secret thing Pierce wants me to be the lead of.”

Pierce. Alexander Pierce, the new CEO of the corporation who took this position after Fury’s dismissal. Did he give Barnes a secret project? Why on Earth did he want HYDRA to be involved into weapon production? It was beyond corporation’s reach. They simply didn’t have the permission, never cooperating with military for this purpose. What Barnes was doing was illegal.

“So, is this why you don’t submit the new reports?” You asked, trembling slightly on his lap and almost missing a kiss Bucky left on the back of your neck. It was better not to ask too many questions.

“You don’t understand.” He laughed, making you turn your face to him as he caressed it with his gloved hand. “There can be no reports because there is no new weapon control system. It had never been planned. Your boss won’t have any details, because there are none.”

You felt your head spinning. What? What? How could it be? The Board of Directors wanted that project. You were sure most of them knew nothing about the thing Barnes was working on now. It was simply unbelievable. The head engineer of HYDRA’s Corp was involved in an illegal project to create a cybernetically-enhanced soldier, and no one knew of it.

You were becoming involved in something very, very dangerous. People like Alexander Pierce and the ones he was doing this project for were much scarier than a psychopathic genius Bucky Barnes.

Fuck. You were in deep, deep trouble.

“Mr. Simons will get fired then, I see.” You mumbled, trying to find words and talk about something that wouldn’t involve the Supersoldier project. The more you knew, the shorter your life would be, you feared.

“Sorry about that, doll.” Barnes’ smirk was irritating at best. “But I really need you here with me. This project is quite stressful, and when I’m stressed, I don’t work well. Last time I’ve fucked up my arm completely.”

“Your arm?”

“Huh, you didn’t see?”

Oh, you didn’t like it. You didn’t like it when Barnes lifted his arm and took his leather glove off, revealing a metal hand instead of a flesh one. He then rolled the sleeve of his thick hoodie further, and you realized his whole arm was made out of metal.

Barnes was experimenting on himself. He was that first supersoldier Pierce wanted.

As you looked at him with an expression of utter horror written on your face, Barnes chuckled, making you lean closer to him and kissing you deeply, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth shamelessly while you froze, unable to accept the truth. When you touched his metal fingers, they radiated heat as if they were of flesh and blood. How was it possible? Why Barnes was doing this? Didn’t he understand why Pierce wanted him to work on this project and what he was going to do with it once Bucky finished?

No, Barnes knew. He was anything but stupid. Maybe he wanted HYDRA to have its own supersoldiers. Maybe Bucky wanted this power.

“I’m a war vet, baby. I’ve lost my arm around ten years ago.” He said as he touched your skin with his metal hand. “Dealing with those shitty prostheses was a nightmare, believe me. But look at this - it’s perfect. I can draw with it - and I can crack Pierce’s skull just as easily. Isn’t a miracle? You didn’t even realize what I had there until I showed you.”

“I don’t think people will call it miracle when Mr. Pierce makes his personal cyborgs army.” You said quietly and shivered from the thought. It was unbelievable, like a plot of a sci-fi movie or something, yet you were staring at Barnes’ metal arm now. If anyone could make this horror a reality, it was him. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you understand what’s going to happen?”

“What? Like a war or something?” He asked with irritation, watching you frown. “Since I’ve returned home, there was not a year without a war somewhere on Earth. This peace pacifists are talking about exists only in their idle imagination. So why not to be prepared in advance, huh? Besides, it’s so much fun, baby. You’ll see soon.”

As you attempted to stand up, he squeezed you with his solid, beefy arms, bringing you closer so you sat back on his lap, spreading your legs while Bucky made you face him, caressing your thighs. Your face was burning hot as your skirt got up, baring your silk stockings.

“I’ll show you everything you want to know.” He breathed into your face, and you felt Barnes was becoming hard, his dick brushing against your core covered by pretty black laced panties as he made you roll your hips, touching your back. “But let’s do it after a small break, ok?”

_____________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​   ​@helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ ​@void-hoechlin​ @abyssaint​ @heeeyitskay​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @soleil-dor​ @iheartsebastianstan​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysbunny​​

[pxppet]

(not me spitballing the wackiest pair I can think of lol) How about "false" with Schneeplestein/GoogleIRL?

Another illegal gig, another boring day. Not that Henrik minds doing solids for his friends, but airlifting an entire android over to the UK seems incredibly drastic to him. Here he stands though, having agreed to it, watching Dr. Iplier roll a stretcher into his small clinic, tucked away in an alley. 

“Goddamnit, Edward, why so late like this? I have jobs I could take from criminals that will pay me much higher than your Darkness does.” Henrik crosses his arms, taps his fingers, suspiciously eyeing the tarp-covered body. 

“I know, Schneep, I know, you can chew my ass off later. You’re the only doctor who would do it without reporting him to the magician police. Look, he’s basically a human, but technimagic like his would get reported, and the Darkness wants us below the government’s radar.”

“You think I give assfuck about why he’s here? Nein. Just set him up in the surgery room. What wounds do I look for?”

“Well, he’s got a missing eye and several bullet wounds. Here, we’ve got the whole of him on this hard drive.” Edward holds out a thick hard drive, but snatches it away as Henrik tries to grab it. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing here? Sure you have the parts and sure you won’t secretly fuck us over?”

Henrik stares at him over his glasses disapprovingly. “Iplier, you know that I am worth your money. Who fixed up Silver last time he nearly got his head chop off, hum?” Edward rolls his eyes, sighing, and rolls Google’s body into the surgery room, going about setting up the lights and laying out doctor’s tools with clean, gloved hands. He won’t be helping with the surgery, but doctorly procedure is of utmost importance to him. 

Henrik swings open the doors with his hips, holding up freshly washed hands covered by sticky white gloves. He peers down at the android, now with the tarp off of him. The android is shirtless, and a small white G glows faintly on his chest, blinking, blinking, blinking. Green blood seeps out of three bullet wounds like battery acid. Henrik runs a finger over his missing eye, coaxing it open so he can see how damaged the wires are. He finds them in a horrible state of disrepair, tutting at the Iplier ego’s clumsiness. Edward, meanwhile, exits the room to smoke off the stress. 

Henrik picks up a line of copper and silver wires, preparing to attach a fresh eye module. His eyes keep drawing back to the glowing letter imbedded in his chest. Technimagic. Powerful and humming like the fan of a computer. He runs his hands down it softly, tracing the letter. The surface nearly burns him. Hm, the android must be fighting very hard to stay active. 

Henrik ties the wires of Google’s eye together, assuring for proper conduction of signals, and leaving breathing room so Google doesn’t feel any discomfort. He lets out a satisfied sigh as the new eye piece slides in, (a blue one rather than brown, but it’s all he has for the moment), and moves to pop open the android’s head pieces. His skull splits in three slated parts, sliding to the side to expose the synthetic human brain within. 

In a few moments time, Henrik has hooked up Google’s damaged brain module to his computer, and is downloading the hard drive to his repaired organ. In the mean time, he sets about suturing and cleaning the bullet wounds, humming songs to himself. He is so engrossed in his work and distracted by his own humming, that he doesn’t notice the android’s mismatched eyes blink open as the hard drive finishes downloading. 

“He-e-e-ello,” glitches out a voice, startling Henrik so hard he screeches, his hand grasping his chest. 

“Goddamnit! Warn me next time, android!” 

“My-y-y-y name is not a-a-a-android.” The stutter sounds more like glitching, wavering and deep. 

“Yes, yes, whatever...” Henrik trails off as he cuts the string of the last suture, huffing and sitting back at his computer. He points at Google, raising his eyebrows. “Need you answer questions. Confirmed?”

Google’s eyes glaze over at the simple commands, his face scowling. “C-c-confirmed,” he glitches out. “Call m-m-m-me Google. Call me G-g-g-gabe. Silver calls me Gabe.” Google is glaring, sitting as still as a mannequin, his eyes closed as memories come rushing into his mind. 

“Fine. Gabe,” Henrik sighs, “Answer these questions for me. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.” 

“No, I mean your actual age, not day he made you.”

“Fa-a-a-alse. I am fifteen.” 

Henrik grumbles curses under his breath. “Fine. When is your birthday?”

“October 13, 2014.”

“Who is your owner?” 

“Matthias. No. No, Dark. Dark is my owner.” A smile takes over Google’s lips, pridefully puffing up his chest. 

“Hm. You like being Dark’s?” Henrik questions. 

“Affirmative.”

Henrik marks down the decrease in vocal glitching on his chart. He can’t imagine it himself. Being owned, possessed, entitled to someone. It would be a living hell, surely. Hell, Google was so devoted to the Darkness that he took four bullet wounds to the abdomen on Dark’s command. Google would throw down his life that easily if it meant being a good little soldier. Henrik’s mouth fills with a sour taste, and he bites back bile, getting on with the questioning. 

“What country are you in?” 

“Britain.”

“What is the date today?”

“April fourth, 2029.” 

“What is your registered name?” Henrik’s tone has glazed over with boredom, his eyes lazily flicking around his computer screen. 

“Fa-a-a-alse.”

“What?”

“False. I have no registered name. I chose my name. Silver ca-a-a-alls me Gabe.” 

“Alright, taken your point, alright,” Henrik huffs. He feels the rush of embarrassment flushing through his body, his hands quivering minutely. “Why are you so free-happy with your name even though you say you like belonging to Dark? How does he let you be so free? How does- Is it good for him to let you off the reigns so well?” Henrik taps the desk with his pen rapidly, staring at the floor, his face twisted. 

“He did not let you have your name.”

Henrik startles, turning his gaze to meet Google’s mismatched eyes. 

“The Anti took you-u-u-ur name from you. When you belonged to him.” Google is staring straight ahead, but his gaze is calm, nearly sympathetic. Henrik scoffs, turning away again. 

“This does not matter, Gabe. All that matter is you having been fixed.” Henrik unplugs the hard drive as it finishes downloading, getting up to start disconnecting wires from Google’s brain. Google shuts his eyes, and waits patiently while Henrik works, his chest blinking light softly. “Now go get Edward, I need it in cash.” 

“You can belong to somebody while still belonging to yourself.” 

Henrik stops short on his mad dash to leave the awkward conversation. His eyes scrunch shut, gripping his hands into fists. 

“It can be healthy to belong to somebody. It can be nice to serve a purpose. The Anti was not a healthy person. He abused you.” 

Henrik barks out a laugh, his face going pink at Google’s bluntness. He shakes his head, gripping his fists harder together. 

“Well... Good for you you have such a kind and caring demon to own you. Some of us are not so lucky.” Henrik swings open the door to the washroom, immediately going to the sink and splashing water on his face. 

The android is right. Henrik knows he is. It’s been 7 years, why can he still not accept it? He stares at his reflection. Pale and covered in scars, a tattoo of an eye stick-n-poked into his neck by Anti so long ago. 

Good for the machine that is get such a loving owner. Good for him. Henrik was not so lucky. Henrik will never be so lucky, as far as he’s concerned. Criminal doctoring and sleeping around is all that is left for him. So without much more fuss, he accepts his cash and calls it a night, Google glancing at him knowingly the entire time the Ipliers are leaving. 

Good for him. Good for him to be owned in such a beautiful way. Anti is not so beautiful. Henrik is not so beautiful. Good for him. Good for him...