#i miss wiritng stories

[freyaphoria]

hii! u answered me on the comment how you’re working on dspt2 and u have to write run away together pt3, and I was like damnn y’all writers really go thru a lot wiritng those😭 you’re doing a really great work for us and we are so thankful! I would reccomend u to when someone sends you request, just reply them with like a short shortt story in even like few sentences, and only write like a huge stories (exmpl how you’re writing rn)when you’re writing abt the main story. (Since u said that there are 30 requests😟) That way you will feed up their fantasies with shorter stories (lol) and you will have much more time to focus on the main stories! And ofcc this is just my advice cause I think it will also be easier for you some way ??😅 But however u choose to write, u never miss 🤎

And if you have writer's block it's pure hell 🥲 Thank you so much!💕I tried to write it in a short way but then I realized that I couldn't convey the feelings I wanted. The last yan!San fic I wrote was very short and I didn't really like it, I feel like the people who sent the request would be unhappy if I wrote it short. Actually, if I could write in my own language, I could write all the requests in the length I want in one day, but when translating into English, I sometimes think a lot and research words to express it with the right words.🫤 You're right, I should write it short and finish the requests as soon as possible so I can focus on what I want to write. Actually, I finished the first part of the series I will write about Egyptian Mythology x Ateez, but I need to write the other parts so that at least 5 parts are ready to be sent and I don't keep you waiting. Anyway, thanks for your advice! I'll definitely try to write shorter!🩶💕🫶🏻 (I talked too much again😢)

[plush-rabbit]

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 1: Mutter Apologies

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: start of a miniseries, (maybe)yandere!shigaraki x reader, just introductions

The walk home is quiet and brimmed with life all at once. No one talks to you, but the cars fill your ears, tires on asphalt, music muffled by closed windows and the squeal of tires when someone makes a harsh turn. The grip on your phone tightens, the urge to listen to music and make this walk slightly more enjoyable is tempting but the cautionary tales of walking distracted fills you with a slight fear that makes you slip your phone into your back pocket and stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket, backpack softly tapping against your back.

You brush a strand of hair away from your face, an annoyed expression flashes across your face as it falls back where it once was. The air is humid, sky devoid of anything, a darkness that shines throughout the sky, all consuming and empty at once, the silent threat of it spreading with malicious intent as it reaches across the plain and offers no hint of light or shining stars is enough to put you in a melancholy mood. Your arms swing at your slides, a nervous pull of your hair as you try to fight the feelings of incoming desperation, the horrible, sickening feeling that leaves you with no room for happiness but all the room for despair.

The night is broken by sounds of cars, the laughter of friends that walk ahead of you, the soft chime of a convenience store door and the soft whirl of the wind that carries secrets and whispers of the night far away to be forgotten and never heard of again. The wind that ruffles your hair and makes you wish that you hadn’t brought a jacket, that you had at least taken it off before you walked home from your friend’s place. A bead of sweat forms and it’s quickly wiped away with the back of your hand, and weeds that grow between the cracks are crushed under your foot and you almost feel sorry for destroying something that had tried so hard to grow and had succeeded only to be pushed down and stepped on by accident.

The walk grows quiet, friends that trailed off, the cars that lower in views as time ticks onwards and your eyes droop, filled with tears that obscure your vision as a yawn stretches across your face.

The alleyways are dark, the promise of untold dangers are hidden in the shadows, shadows that nip and stretch towards the sidewalk where you walk and the dumb, naive part of you wants to wander in- just to say that you did it, to prove a point to no one- but the more rational part of you, forces yourself to look straight ahead, to keep your legs that grow heavy, in a line that does not part from it’s existing map.

You pass an alley, eyes darting briefly, and you hear a soft cry, a pained whimper that’s so soft it could be mistaken for a rodent that squeaks as a call. And you stop, clutching the straps of your bag and you turn to face the alleyway that brims with nothing but trouble.

You call a soft hello, waiting for a greeting and you’re mentally kicking yourself, digging your nails into your wrist as you take a hesitant step forward, the tips of your shoes peeking and getting lost in the shadows. You lick at your lips, bit the inside corners of them, and you glance around with wide, scared eyes, hoping for someone to come in and tell you to go home as they take care of it- you hope for a hero. But none come. You are alone right now. Alone with only a set of keys hidden in your backpack for protection and with the last rational thought that you have before you enter the alleyway where sharp gasps are being heard and echoed between the brick walls, you pull out your keys and hold them tight in your hand, the figurines that hang from the keyring indent into your palm.

Your steps are quiet and you have to blink a few times before your vision adjusts to the darkness. The light from the streetlamps, the bright glow from neon signs and soft pale light from other stores is gone, extinguished like a flame and you’re walking towards the noise that grows harsher and more pained, a wet, wheezing that makes you cringe and hold on tighter to your poor excuse of a weapon.

“Hello?” You ask, stepping closer, scrunching your nose as you step into a puddle. “Is- Is anyone here?” There’s no response and you feel silly. And scared. It could have been an animal. It could be a set up for human trafficking. You could have just been hearing things. They could be behind you right now with a cloth drenched in chloroform. You shift your weight in your legs, ready to turn and then there’s an awful, wet coughing sound and you turn and stumble onto the opposite wall, backpack squished against the old brick wall, key held in front of you dangerously, and your other hand scrambles for your phone, shakingly unlocking it until a white flash brightens the alley and on the opposite side of you is a man hunched over, legs outstretched and head lowered.

Your eyes widen and you take a few stumbling steps towards him. “Hey, are-” the stench of copper hits your nose and makes you cover your nose with the hand that holds the keys. Your eyes lower and you see his shirt colored in red, a few drops spilling from the hidden face and onto the shirt or between the legs where it hits the asphalt. You clear your throat and look around, the flashlight blinding as it  moves left and right and lands back on the frighteningly still form. “Are- Do-” any questions that flash through your mind sound dumb; of course they aren’t okay, of course they need help- “I’m going to call for help, okay?” There’s no response and you pray that they can hear you.

It’s soft. A simple croak that sounded more like a gasp for breath than an actual answer. “No,” they repeat in a quiet mantra, a limp arm raising, fingers outstretched and tipped with dried blood that flakes off and loses itself against the dark floor.

Your thumb freezes over the number and you stare down at him, eyes glancing to the side, waiting for something to prove that this is all indeed a set up but nothing happens, no sound is made, no cars that pass by, the soundless gust of wind brushes against your hair and you stare down at the figure whose hand lowers onto his lap, palm faced towards the dark and empty sky and you crouch down at the end of their legs.

“You’re bleeding,” you comment, a whisper past your lips that breaks the silence. “You need-”

“‘S not my blood,” the gruff voice responds, dragging their palm against the asphalt.

You gasp and grab at his wrist, pulling it away from the ground. His words register in your head and your grip tightens, your shoulder raising. “Wait-”

He yanks his arm back, his eyes raising and red eyes that glower at you. His nose trickles out with blood, crimson treks out of the corner of his mouth, drying as he stares at you and there are angry red and purple marks around his neck. Under his eye is a dark, purple that has begun to form and you hold your hands in front of your body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Despite his hurt appearance he still sounds intimidating.

“I-” you stutter and the light flashes against his face making him appear in a ghastly glow. “You need help. I-” you swallow- “It’s fine if you don’t want help from authorities but-” your eyes take his appearance where his clothes are ripped at the sides and caked in something that fills the air with a faint metallic scent- “you’re still hurt. I’m not a doctor or anything but there’s a convenience store like a minute away. Do- Do you want me to get you something? Can you stand?”

He stares at you with a confused look, eyes that narrow and he places his hands on the ground, pushing himself upwards only to collapse back down when he’s an inch above ground. He falls with a groan, face pinching in pain, nails dragging along the pavement. “Just get the fuck away from me.”

You swallow nervously and look around hoping for someone to come by. You desperately wish for a hero to wander by and offer to take over for something that you’re clearly unqualified for. You look back at him and let out a shaky breath.

“Okay, just,” you whisper, stomach twisting in harsh coils, “stay here, okay? I’m going to get you at least aspirin and something to clean you up, okay? Just stay here, okay?” He gives you no sign of approval and you swallow tightly before rising, twisting your body to stuff the keys inside the backpack and walking quickly to the convenience store.

The door chimes as you enter the store, greeted by a worker behind the counter and you flash them a nervous smile. You walk through the aisles, your steps are quick through the tiles as you walk, eyes scanning at the shelves and you come to a quick stop when spotting the small medical section. Your hands shake and eyes scan quickly before deciding to grab at a pack of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a pack of microfiber towels, a pack of bandages and a travel size pack of tissues. You rise and think you see movement in the corner of your eyes and when you turn you’re met with your reflection into the glass door that holds refreshments, frost around the corners and cartoonish stickers of snowflakes taped to the door and with a careful hold of the supplies you walk towards the freezer section and grab two water bottles.

You give a polite smile at the cashier, their eyes widening a bit before shrugging and ringing you up. The price makes your shoulders and you have to remind yourself you’re doing this to help a potentially hurt person.

With supplies in a plastic bag, you wave a simple goodbye to the clerk and exit the store, walking calmly until you pass by the windows, bringing the bag to clutch to your chest as you jog to the alley, pulling your phone out to light the way and you hold your breath as the light flashes shakily across the crevice until it lands on the slumped figure, still there where you had left him. You breathe a sigh of relief and walk towards them calmly.

“Thank goodness you’re still here,” you say as you crouch down, dropping the bag beside you. “I brought a few things-” you rummage around, the plastic crinkling in night with a shaky flashlight illuminating the both of you- “since I didn’t know what you needed or wanted and I uh- I brought water.” You hold a bottle up, the frost around it disappearing under your touch and you hold it up to him, his eyes narrowed and hair caked around his face. “You should drink some,” you say awkwardly, loosening the cap for him. “I- Do you need help?”

He yanks the bottle away from you and you gasp, looking at him as he holds the bottle up with his pinky raised, greedily drinking the water and resting the bottle beside him. “What do you want?”

“You’re hurt,” you reply, pulling out the rubbing alcohol and the towels. “This might sting but I should clean you up a bit.” You squirm under his gaze and look away, coughing weakly. You take in a deep breath and look back at him with false confidence. “You don’t want any help for whatever reason and that’s,” you pause trying to find the proper words, “on you but you need help. So just let me clean you up a bit, okay?” You place the phone against the bag, frowning as it slips and ruins the lighting, shining awkwardly and you shake your head.

Without waiting for a response, you unscrew the cap and remove the safety foil, grabbing at a towel and clasping it over the opening of the bottle, turning it upside down. Once wet, you inch your hand slowly towards him, the cloth in hand and you prepare yourself, muscles tensing as if you’re the one who’s going to feel the sting.

“It’s going to sting,” you whisper, mouth in a thin line, “so, sorry about that.” You mouth yourself counting down to three, before placing the cool towel against his face. He holds a steady gaze on you, crimson eyes hardening as they meet yours for a quick second.

The drying blood and grime is washed from his face, gently wiping one his forehead, the hair that was caked onto by either blood or sweat is pulled, dirty, blue hair is pushed back with your hand as you move closer to him, mumbling words of comfort under your mouth. He flinches as you inch down to his brow bone, and you mumble an apology, pursing your lips and blowing cool air above the jagged cut.

His face is layered in a thin layer of blood and dirt, short and long strands of hair cling to his face and are pulled away by your hands as you cup his face.

“Um,” you state awkwardly, licking your lips at the close proximity and tense air, “do you think anything is broken?”

“No,” he replies in a raspy voice.

That was no help to ease the tension. “Good, good,” you mumble, feeling sweat prick at your brow. “I uh, you have a few cuts around your face. Are- You said that it wasn’t your blood,” you voice lifts a fraction and you stare at his mole, dabbing the cloth around his face, “so I’m not sure if I’m getting at a cut or at someone- at blood,” your voice catches and you stare at his eyes, feeling a chill run down your spine at the dark look he gives you. You clear your throat. “Drug deal gone wrong?” You joke nervously.

“You could say that,” he says blankly, resting his head against the wall.

You click your tongue and carefully maneuver yourself until your hand is curving over the back of his head, your knuckles scraping against the wall. A questioning look directed at you and you respond with a shrug.

“You hair ‘ll get stuck to the brick,” you glance at the scar on his lip and frown. “Do- Do you have any other cuts?” Your hand washes over and the strong scent of alcohol fills your nose and waters your eyes. “You have a few around your face. I’ll wash them over with water in a bit.”

“Water?” he asks.

You jerk your head to the bag. “I bought another bottle of water. Just to clean around. I probably should have used that first but it’ll soothe over the alcohol.” You dab lightly around his jawline, the grime loosening and staining the towel, cleaning it slowly, dragging it down his neck and he hisses sharply, pushing himself further against the wall, your knuckles pressing against the groove of the brick. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, pulling your hands away from him. “I-”

“It’s fine,” he rasps, rubbing his hand over the curve of his neck. “Just stings is all.”

You lick your lips and pull away from him. “I’m going to use water now, okay?” He nods carefully and shuffles in his seat. “What's your name?” He doesn’t answer and you sigh and give yours. “I uh, I work at a cafe. We have macarons that we design and I think they come out nice. I like to design simple animal emoticons on them.”

“Animal?” He closes and opens his fists.

“Cats, dogs, bears,” you list. “Just the usual ones that you can find on any emoticon sites.” You puff your cheeks, pressing the cloth against him, scratching the back of his head as you do, your lips moving soundlessly as you try to comfort him.

He nods and remains quiet. His eyes come to a close as you clean his neck with water, frowning as the bruises appear darker against his pale skin, small and long cuts that are around him and pulled down in a slope around his neck in a twisted decoration.

His chest rises and falls as you clean his neck, drops of water sliding down and hidden between his shirt. “I’ve never had macarons.” he looks at the ground and grabs at his bottle, tracing around the condensation that has formed around it, dirt sticking to the bottom. “Are they good?”

“I like them.” You pull out the roll of bandages and softly hold them in your hand, playing with the flap of the box. “They’re sweet,” you finish, pulling the box open and taking out a bandage. “I’m going to put a bandage on your neck, okay?” He nods, tilting his neck to give you more access. “Thanks,” you mumble.

The bandage is beige, the plastic protecting the sticky part is placed into the bag and you’re careful to place it over the cuts, not wanting to have it stick to a stray cut or tug against a bruise. Your fingers press over it and smooth is over, gliding over the bandage and you pull away, frowning and the many other cuts that decorate his skin. You have the sudden urge to kiss at the wound, something that you had done for your younger cousins and that had been done to you by older family members but you hold back, biting your bottom lip and pulling out another bandage, wrapping it around his skin, repeating the small process from before.

He glances at you through the corner of his eyes. “Are you almost done?”

“Do you have any other cuts?” You ask, your fingers dancing over his apple, your hand softly curving over him, to hold his neck steady. “You couldn’t stand before. Do you think you can now?” His legs bend and you stumble away, falling onto your rear and you pull a face thinking about the stain that it’ll leave. You hand stings as it’s pulled, tugged against and you hold it with your other, adding pressure against the scrapes in order to dull the pain.

He wobbles as he rises, hands that hold himself steady against the brick wall, legs bent and outstretched, kicking his bottle over and hair falling around his face like a curtain. He leans against it, eyes knitted together, lips pulled into a thin line and you scramble to rise, placing your arm against his shoulder. He gives a few pained breaths, a hand lowering to clutch at his abdomen and you fret, fluttering your hand to where his rests only to be slapped away.

His eyes open and he meets yours are furrowed with concern. “Got hit pretty hard,” he explains simply, twitching jaw and moving to stand straighter, but failing as he groans and rests his head against the wall.

“Do you have anyone you can call?” You watch with worried eyes as he remains still against the wall, the grip on his abdomen pulled taut, with a flushed face and heavy breathing.

“Phone broke,” he hisses between closed teeth.

You leave him for a second and bend down to grab yours. You touch at the phone icon and take a step closer to him, placing a hand on his back and rubbing him in slow circles while the other hand holds the phone in front of him. “What’s their number? You can use mine.”

You see his jaw tense, eyes that harden and a hand that shakes as it rises only to fall and dig his nails into the grooves of the brick. “They won’t answer.”

Your hand falls and you swallow. His breathing is harsh and heavy, breaking any lingering silence and blood rushes in your ears. Your hand stops its monotonous movements and you clutch the back of his hoodie. You take a look at him, eyes glancing down at his fragile state and with a nervous bounce of your leg, your body heating up with what could be a horrible decision you’re about to make, you take a deep breath.

“Do you want to stay at my place? For the night? Just to rest?” You keep your eyes at his red sneakers, the black shoelaces frayed and faded. “I- It feels bad to leave you alone in an alleyway with just a bottle of water and a few medical supplies.

You can feel his stare on you. “We’re strangers.”

Your face burns and your stomach churns. “I introduced myself and gave you a fact about me.” You blow out a steady puff of air and tug on the end of your jacket. “You don’t have to but I- if you can get home by yourself-”

“Tomura,” he coughs out. “I’m Tomura.” You glance up at him and he refuses to meet your gaze. “I- I work in a bar.”

“Promise not to kill me?” You ask in a soft tone, holding up a pinky.

“What?” He asks, turning to you, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I’m not in the mood to get murdered tonight,” you state flatly, curling and uncurling your pinky, urging him to complete the promise.

He blinks once. Twice. And then a wide grin stretches across his face. His pinky loops over yours and he holds it tightly. “No promises.”

You chuckle nervously. “That’s concerning.”

He doesn’t respond and the dread that has made itself clear since the start is weighing heavy across your shoulders. You look at how he leans against the wall and flutter down to stuff everything into the plastic bag, holding it tight in one hand and with unspoken words, he drapes an arm over your shoulder, closing his fist as it nudges against your shoulder, eyes glancing to the spot where you fret over try to hold yourself steady as you stumble, with his added weight.

The walk normally short has doubled its time with the slow pace of Tomura, his head dipped down and legs sluggish as he tries to walk fast. You can feel exhaustion settle in your bones and you want to collapse there on the sidewalk. His hood is pulled up, head down as he struggles to walk next to you and with every person met on the late night- albeit not a lot but quite a few- you give them a polite smile and make a drinking motion to ease any worries that one might possess. It’s silent between the two of you, the occasional question if he’s all right is asked only to be responded by a groan of pain? Confirmation?

Soon your apartment complex comes into view and you breathe a sigh of relief, a burst of energy coursing through you as the promise of a bed and relaxation comes into view. You lead him around and stand at the end of the stairs, internally groaning at the obstacle. “Okay, we just need to take some steps, okay?”

“Steps?” He asks, tone weak and obviously tired.

“Stairs,” you sigh, urging him forehead, a tight grip on the bag as you two walk upwards, eyes wide as the strain against your muscles starts to ache. “I regret getting an apartment that wasn’t on the first floor.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Just hurry up. It’s starting to hurt.”

“We can sit-”

“No,” he hisses. “Just hurry up.”

You nod and make the trek towards your room, trying to keep steady breathing as you both finally reach your locked door. “Okay,” you huff, letting him rest against a wall, “we’re here.” You sigh and roll your shoulders, doubling over and holding your hands against your knees. “Fuck.” You rise and find him staring at you with a tight expression. “You’re heavy and it’s a long walk.” Without waiting for an answer, you grab at your backpack and unzip it, digging around until you grab at your keys, and unlock your door.

You hold the door open for him, and step welcome him in. He stumbles inside, not bothering to remove his shoes and you welcome him to sit down on the couch and without further encouragement, he collapses onto it, scrunching his face in pain and chest rising and dipping heavily.

You kick your shoes off by the entrance and with a distracted hand, turn the lights on inside your home and close the door with a kick. You drop your backpack on a moon chair and the plastic one beside him on the floor. You call his name and he hums in response, a leg draped over the edge of the couch, eyes fluttering open to look up at you, squeezing shut at the light that shines above him.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you here?” He furrows his eyes. “There isn’t enough room on the couch for me to keep an eye on you and sleeping on my moon is bad for my spine.” He doesn’t answer and slowly his breaths grow steadier and deeper. You brush the bangs that drape across his forehead and sigh. “I’m going to be in my room, okay? If You need anything, just knock. The hallway light will be on, the restroom is the door with the plant sticker on it.” He does not answer, his face relaxed and hands fisted above his chest.

You’re silent as you walk throughout your apartment, stopping every minute or so, to hold your fingertips over his neck to check if he still has a pulse, sighing in relief when he does. You peek into your closet and pull out a blanket, holding it close to you and walk into the living room, turning the fan on and draping the blanket over his still body.

You look at him for a second and rub over your neck where his cuts had laid. “Good night, Tomura,” you mutter, slipping off into your room, the lock clicking behind you as you sleep with a pair of scissors under your pillow.

[crabberoni]

every now and then i think of the times when i had so many ocs and my two (2) friends and i discussed our ocs and made headcanons together and........ i miss this thrill. are my ocs ok these days? do they work? do they have a place to live? shit i would love to know.

[lordabovehelpme]

Lipstick Stain - Din Djarin x Reader

A/n: So this is a little thought I had the other night and just had to write about. I hope you all like it!

Summary: Who knew chapstick could smudge on beskar?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you are on the way to Nevarro, Din needing to turn some quarries in, and you missing the luxury of fresh groceries.

You’re sitting down on the seat to his right, Grogu in your arms. His little hands are up in the air as your husband takes extra turns and spins.

“Almost there.” He looks over his shoulder to the two of you, helmet off and grinning wide. Smiling back, you nod, applying chapstick to your lips.

Finally the Crest reaches ground and you both sigh. Your husband grabs his helmet, but before he brings it to his head, he looks at you expectantly. Knowing exactly what he wants, you set the child down and climb over onto his lap. You meet his beautiful brown eyes and press a kiss to his lips.

Taking his helmet into your own hands, you lift it above his mop of curls and let it slide down, covering his face. You cup his head with your hands and press a kiss to the metal covering him.

Leaning back, you gasp.

Right there on the forehead of his helmet, is the glossy mark of your lips.

Biting back a giggle, you leave it and walk away.

“What?” He asks while picking the child up and following you.

“Oh nothing.”

“You gasped, why?”

The mark of your lips is even more noticeable in the bright light of day. You have to bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from breaking out into laughter. “I just forgot how handsome you are in that bucket.”

That commnet earns you a pinch to your bottom. You let your laughter flood the ship and out the open hatch, not only from his lingering touch but your obvious claim on him.

As the day goes on and you walk through the town, the mark stays on the usually polished armor. However, you’ve added a few. One rests on the sunken cheek of his helmet and another on his left pec. You grin every time that someone's eyes lock onto the marks and then move to look at you. Lot’s of old women have winked at you with their devilish smirks and youthful thoughts.

It’s starting to become a habit, everytime you apply chapstick you wait a minute, so the mandalorian doesn't catch on to your scheme, and then press a new mark to his armor. But the one on the middle of his forehead, the first one, stays strong and apparent.

The three of you walk over to where Greef is, Grogu happily in your arms and your husband behind you, his hands resting on the small of your back. The hand doesn’t lead you to make you move certain directions, but rather reminds you that you’re safe and your knight is right behind you.

The small cantina is lively with bounty hunters, they laugh loudly at one another's stories. But as the mandalorian walks in, his presence fills up the room becoming suffocating, they simmer down to only faint conversations.

“Ah Mando!” Greef calls from his booth. “Glad to see you buddy!”

Your husband nods at some hunters, before leading you to the booth. At the sight of him sitting down, the hunters go back to their energetic gossip. You slide in next to him and Grogu stays sat on your lap.

“Hey little babe!” Greef waves his fingers at the child and in response he coos. “And hello little lady, you look lovely as always.” He finally looks at the mandalorian and notices your marks. He chuckles and points at him. “Ah ha ha ha, love the new look there Mando.” He winks but starts to talk about business.

Din’s head tilts slightly at his comment, the telltale sign of his confusion. Albeit, he shakes it off and dives right into the conversation.

You squeak when a hand lands on your shoulder, turning to see who owns it. Cara smirks down at you before sitting down across from you. Your husband's hand squeezes your knee under the table as you sigh in relief at the sight of your friend.

Greef and Din converse back and forth about different bounties and hunters. You offer bits of information when appropriate but you're happy enough to sit back and listen to the gruff rumble of your husband's voice.

But what really takes the cake is when Cara’s eyes lock onto the mark on his forehead and then slowly turn to look at you. She smirks and winks at you. Smiling, you giggle as she utters “nice job.”

You offer a quiet but proud “thank you.” At the sound of your voice, your husband turns to look at you. The hand on your knee slides up and down your thigh, he hums, his way of asking you what's wrong. You meet his visor and dismiss him. “It’s nothing.” Patting his hand, you turn back to Greef and Cara and resume the chat.

***

After a long day of grocery shopping and quarry submitting, you finally make it back to the Crest. The child is fast asleep in your arms, having succumbed to his slumber a few hours ago. As the hatch closes your husband softly informs you that he’ll be in the cockpit, his fingers rub at the side of your face as he leaves to climb up the ladder.

You place Grogu in his hammock above your shared cot, and press a kiss to his wrinkly forehead. He coos in his sleep and a faint smile works its way onto your face. Warmth spreads through your chest as you gleem at the sight.

A few minutes later, you pull yourself away from the little bundle of love and climb up the ladder. The mandalorian presses buttons and flips switches as he engages the needed security for the night and checks the vitals of the ship.

“Hey handsome.” You plop down onto the copilot seat and smile at him.

“Hello mesh’la.” He looks over his shoulder at you. The mark of your lips is still discernible.

“Take that bucket off for me. I want to see your face. It’s been a long day and I need my medicine.” He chuckles as you bat your eyelashes at him.

You watch as he slides the helmet off and brings it into his lap. His motions stop though, obviously learning what his new look truly was. Anxiety washes through your bloodstream as you await his response. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

Slowly, he turns to look at you. Although he doesn’t say anything. He pats his thigh, beckoning you to his lap. You follow the silent command and sit across his legs.

He brushes your hair away from your neck and you gasp as he quickly leans in and attaches to your neck.

“Din! What are you doing?” His hands hold you still as he bites and sucks at your skin.

“Leaving my mark just as you left yours.”

Your heart seems to have jumped out of your skin at his blunt reply. But you can’t deny the excitement that sends shocks down your spine.

***

The three of you walk back towards Cara and Greef. But as you approach you notice the strong smirk Cara holds. She raises her eyebrows at you and makes a short wolf whistle.

Greef lets out a hearty laugh. “Love the new look there!”

Heat rises to your cheeks and it feels like the multiple marks on your neck have started to burn. Although, in your embarrassed shrinking, you don't miss the way the mandalorians chest puffs out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well I hope you all liked it! I was giggling the whole time wiritng this. I promise I’m back to writing requests, I just coundn’t not write this.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, I love hearing what you all have to say. It really makes my day!

Love you all, Lordy :)

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Taglist: @ficthots​ @along-the-lines-of-space​ @jedi-jesi​ @coldlilheart​@remmysbounty​ @t3a-bag​​

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[shadow-wulf82]

Success happens when you least expect it. 1 year ago I made a pleadge to myself thanks to #unusannus 💀🤍🖤🤍🖤 I told myself that I would follow in their footsteps and do something every single day from Nov 13, 2020 - Nov 13, 2021. I set my goals on different accounts for different purposes. The one I am sharing is for my career and passion of content creation. I told myself that I will do better. To stream every single day of this year. And I did it. I only missed about a week or two on things that were out of my control. Along the way I made some amazing friends, lived and relived some awesome stories, reconnected with peers that Im proud to see growing on their work and growth, (and Im trying not to cry as Im wiritng this), and found a stronger path of my visions, and what I want to do. To create. In this day and age, where success is quantifiable. I said fuck the numbers. It feels like yesterday, that Twitch number was 50. That Twitter number was one 0 short of where it is now. I barely hit 100 subs on Youtube this year. Here we are now. In my 7 years of this content creation journey, Ive made more progress in one than I did in the whole 7. Cheers to the next 7 my friends. I wanna be there and see your success alongside mine. I will be there by your sides cheering you on, learing from your growth, and making the leap. If you ever wanna work on a project. Do it. Get started. Thats the first step. #growth (at Twitch.tv) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWVxG-NJNuL/?utm_medium=tumblr

[hozierfic]

Submission by @ineffable-nalu​

Hey this is my first Hozier fic, and my first time ever posting a submission of my wiritng on Tumblr, I’m kind of scared but YOLO right ? I don’t know how this works if that wasn’t obvious. Well hope someone enjoys it. I think it will be a couple of chapters if someone likes it!

Thanks!

Calliope’s POV

The sound of Marimba fills the room waking me up in a bed that isn’t my own which sucks, even if it’s a fancy hotel room bed, there’s just something peaceful about waking up home knowing that it’s your space your time no rush even when you are rushing. Is any of this even making sense ?

I sigh as I look over at the clock, it’s 5 minutes passed 8 and I really should get up and start getting ready. Rolling out of bed and stretching out my joints I make my way into the bathroom for a shower, I really need the wake up call.

Nearly 30 minutes later and I’m done getting ready, my curly brown hair is as tamed as it can be and I decided on being as casual as acceptable when your sister is a super model, considering I’m meeting her for brunch I can’t show up in sweats, so I opted for skinny black jeans, a black turtle neck and my favorite high heel boot. I put on my liner and a red lip and grabbing my coat before stepping out, it’s still early and I’m not meeting Harmonia until later, but there are a few things I’d like to do.

I’m only in New York for 1 more day and I can’t miss the oprotunity to go to check out the Stephen A. Schwarzman library. You see I’m a published author, well a barely published author I wrote a fantasy novel that is supposed to be a trilogy, it was published 5 months ago and I was surprised by the fact that people really liked it, so here I am on my book tour. Thinking about my reading tonight I entered the elevator and pushed the button for lobby when I heard someone shout

“Hold the lift please” My hand jupms out at the closing doors and a tall man rushes in as they close “Thanks for that, you’re going down too? Great” he says in a charming Irish accent as he pushes the lobby button again and leans back on the wall with and took the guitar case strapped off of his shoulder

I took this as my chance to check him out. I was wrong he’s not tall, he’s very tall, I would say over 2 meters probably, his hair is long and hectic, curly and frizzy but god does it work for him. I was startled out my daze when the elevator jumped slightly, the lights flickering making me almost fall over if not for my reflexes and the rail I would’ve fallen, it made another clunking noise before finally stopping in place

“What the hell ?” I asked looking up at the counter that shows you what floor you’re on only to see it’s stuck between the fourth and fifth floor. Perfect.

“I do belive it’s stuck” The handsome stranger says and I look at him over my shoulder with an arched brow as if to say ‘Really I hadn’t noticed’

Sighing back into the wall I answered

“Yeah, it seems so. I just can’t belive that these things actually happen. I mean for 23 years I have never been stuck in an elevator and then this one, in a 5 star hotel may I add decides to brake down. Doesn’t this sort of thing usually happen in movies ?” I ramble on and look up to him as he just startes at me with an amused look on his face

“ Yes I think it does usually happen in movies, but in real life as well. I’ve been stuck in a lift before don’t worry they’ll get us out soon. You’re not claustrophobic are you ?”

I snort-laughed at his question

“No, and thank god, that would be unpleasant. For the both of us”

he nodded and extented his hand towards me “The name’s Andrew” cute name, it suits him I though as I shook his and smiled at him “Calliope”

“The Greek muse of epic poetry ? In the flesh ?” he gasped putting his hand on his heart “Forgive me my lady for I hadn’t a clue as to who’s presence I was in” he said dramatically making me scoff playfully, can you a blame a girl for flirting a little ? He’s gorgeous.

“If only you were half as funy as you think you are, you could be a comedian. My parents are historians and Greek mythology fanatics I would say, my sister’s name is Harmonia” he chuckled at that

“How do you know I’m not ? A comedian I mean. and I like your name, it suits you. I can see you isnpiring Homer to write the Illiad”

I chucked at that “Because you’re not funny, and that’s kind of esential to being a comedian. And If only I could inspire my self to write” I said the last part somewhat softly but he heard any way

“Oh, you’re a writer then ?” I turned my head to look at him, then realized he is a good head and a half taller so I craned my neck and shurgged “I suppose I am, barley”

He laughed at that and sat on the floor “What does 'Being barley a writer’ even mean ? You either are or you aren’t”

Following his example I plopped on the floor as well and sighed “ I am a writer, just been going through a funk and can’t seem to write a god damn word, you know ? Sometimes I think the first one was just a lucky break and I’m not actually a good writer” I stopped myself before I could continue, what was wrong with ne ? Just spilling my guts out to this beautiful relative stranger.

Andrew nods his head as he looks at me before leaning back and looking at the roof of the box we were currently trapped in “ I actually know well what that’s like”

“Are you a writer as well ?” I asked

“No, musician” his head tilts to the guitar next to him and I almost facepalm, what am I an idiot of course he’s a musician

“Oh yeah obviously, sorry I haven’t really had coffe yet so I’m a bit slow. Are you in a band ?” I ask him and he nods

“Don’t worry about it I feel the same, can barely keep my eyes open. And yes I am in a band” he says with a smile

“That’s cool, you do look familliar. Wait don’t tell me” I hold my hand up and I can see he’s trying to hold back a laugh, but he listens and sits back as I inspect him, top to bottom

“Ok, you’re Irish, you play the guitar but you also write the songs and you’re in a band.”

I mumble to myself as I look into his beautiful hazel eyes he smiled at me seeming quite entertained, brushing off his looks I keep thinking.

I know I’ve seen him but where ? “Andrew ? Andrew ? Where do-” and the it hit me and I jumped to my feet

“Oh, Oh I got it!”

I said loudly and this time he does laugh as he looks at me take my seat again “Already ? I was kind of enjoying the attention and proximity” I shoved his shoulder playfully

“Andrew Hozier-Byrne, How did I not see it ? I mean I love your music” I say laughing at myself for not seeing it.

“Ding ding, we have a winner.” He laughs

“To be perfectly honest I never looked at who was singing too engrossed in the lyrics and melodies . But your music is hauntingly beautiful you know ?”

I tell him and his face shifts from amusement to flattery and a bit of embarrassment

“Uhm, thanks always nice to know people like the music I create” he says scuffing his hair as he talks.

“And don’t even worry about not recognizing me, I prefer being as anonymous as possible”

I smile at him placing my head on the wall

“I can imagine how hectic life can be for a world renown musician” I say gently and he nods in agreement

“You are a writer though. Your music is poetry. If you were born in the 16th century you would’ve given Marlowe and Shakespeare a run fir their money”

He laughs at my statement rolling his head over to look at me

“That is high praise I am humbled, you said you have a book published?”

“Yeah, I’ve had the idea for it for so long and I finished the first book about a year ago, it was published about 6 months ago”

“What’s it called maybe I’ve read it ?”

I really laugh at that shaking my head “Oh no, no you haven’t trust me”

His brows furrow a bit at my words

“Why so self deprecating? I’m sure I’ve heard or read about it if not actually read. Come on” he urged making me want to sigh.

“Keepers of the rift” I say after a moment of silence.

“No way” he says quietly making me look at him “What ?”

Andrew beams at me akin to a child on Christmas morning “I absolutely loved your book, are you kidding me ? You’re Cal Andjelkovic? ”

he bewildered completely butchering my last name making me laugh

“It’s Andjelkovic actually but yes, I shortened the name. And you actually read my book ?”

I asked seemingly suspicious but in all honesty just sort of stunned. I still can’t believe that anyone’s read my book let alone well known artist

“Yes, yes I stumbled across it in a book shop while we were touring The UK and since you spend 90% if your free time on a bus while touring I love to fill the time by reading.

And when I started yours I couldn’t put it down until I finished it”

He said sincerely and it warmed every part of me.

I’ve met loads of people during my signing and reading sessions but this almost intimate setting with us on the floor, shoulders pressed against one another having him tell me he enjoyed my writing made it special

I nudged his shoulder slightly making him look at me with a raised brow I  smiled up at him

“That is high praise, especially from you. I am humbled” I repeat his words to him and he smirks slightly at me

“Cheek” he mumbles making me laugh

—————————

“So you’re struggling with the second one then ?” His voice resonates around me, he’s looking up at me from a journal of some sorts. We have been sitting in silence for, who knows how long.

I look at my watch seeing it’s 11:30 and we are still in this goddamn elevator. I’m going to be late for brunch, and as if icing in the cake there was no service in here.

“Yes you could say that. For almost 8 years I had this story in my mind, and every day it was slowly building itself. It took me some time to actually physically write a sentence of it.

I have an outline of all three volumes. Always saw it as a trilogy of sorts.

And even though I know what I want from the second one- Writing it is still a completely different story”

I say looking at him and seeing sympathy on his face

“I have been there, sometimes the music pours out, the lyrics come to me in dreams and during showers or cooking.

And then other times I’m close to banging my head against a wall just to think of a single note”

I hummed at him in understanding

“Soon you said, eh ?” I laughed after about a minute of silence making him chuckle in return

“Apparently things work differently in America, if we were in Ireland we’d already’ve been out of here and into the nearest pub for a celebratory drink” he says

“Drink? It’s not even noon yet ?”

I said laughing at his comeback

“It’s happy hour somewhere right?”

——————————

“Ok so I write something for you, you sing something for me ?” I ask and he nods his head in confirmation. It was a little after 1pm

“Deal, now would you like me to insert you into the world I created or just make up something new?” I asked

“Oooo, into the story you’ve already created I love the way you used certain folklore, myths and legends”

he replies with a childlike grin on his face making me chuckle at how cute he was

I took my own journal out of my bag and started writing, trying to find the best story to tell.

I found that writing came when writing about him, words flowed onto the page as my mind was overtaken by him.

His presence was calming, I enjoyed his conversation, he is charming and beautiful. And his music haunts me, it inspires me.

I skim over the the few pages I wrote and glanced up at him, only to find him staring at me with a intense look on his face

I cleared my throat and handed him the journal

“I- um I finished it, and to be clear this is a non proof read rough draft. So don’t expect some novelty” he takes it from my hands and starts reading intently.

Following the words with his eyes and tracing them with his fingers, I smiled looking at him

“A Fae ?” His voice brought me back and looking him in the eyes, amusement laced his voice as he looked at me with a raised brow

I shrugged my shoulders

“It was either that or a deity of the forest. But I believe Fae suits you. Hauntingly beautiful” I say

Smiling at my answer he gives me my journal back,

“It was a wonderful story, I quite enjoyed reading about me as one of the Fae”

He says

“I could put you in the second book ?” I tease

“I would be honored” he says, reaching for his guitar

“I’ll quote you on that. Oh, am I about to have the most privet Hozier concert ever ?” I joked

Making Andrew snort slightly and take his guitar out of the case slinging  it on his shoulder

“Hozier is me and my band, you are going to get an exclusive one man Andrew show. Which if you ask me is bit as good”

I slap his shoulder “Shut it, and play me something”

I smile and watch him tune his guitar for a couple of minutes before he clears his throat and looks at me

“May I sing to you a work in progress? Since you gave me an original I figured ?” I nod enthusiastically

He starts strumming the guitar gently for a while, as if trying to find the right sound and then-

“I still watch you when you’re grooving, as if through water from the bottom a pool.

You’re moving without moving.

And when you move I’m moved.

You are a call to motion, there all of you a verb in perfect view, Like Jonah on the ocean.

When you move I’m moved.

When you move I’m put to mind of all that I want to be , when you move I could never define all that you are to me”

The strumming stops and his heavenly voice fades leaving me staring at him, most likely with my mouth agape

“That was incredible, I’m awestruck to be completely honest. My god. You Sir are a poet. That was beautiful. Is there more?”

I ask and he shakes his head

“It came to me just now. While being stuck in this hellhole” he says laughing slightly but I’m just mesmerized by the lyrics he just sang

“I still watch you when you’re grooving,” I mumble to myself  reciting the lyrics “as if through water from the bottom of a pool”

I look at him

“And you’re moving without moving” I keep going

“When you move, I’m moved” he finishes for me making me smile at him

“So move me baby” I wink at him and he just stares at me for a moment

“Shake like the bough of a willow tree” and he smiles at me before scribbling down things in his journal.

I went back to scribbling notes on certain ideas I had for some of my characters, plot points needed to be addressed and such, not ten minutes passed and we heard a clunking noise and the elevator started moving.

Descending down to the lobby after 5 hours. Andrew and I get up right as the doors open

“Oh thank god man, we’ve been freaking the fuck out. I mean you’re never late to anything and then you don’t show up at rehearsals and not answering your phone, we drive together next time”

A man almost as tall as Andrew hugs him making me laugh at his ramble.

Stepping out of the elevator I looked around the lobby spotting Harmonia sitting at the bar,

I look over at Andrew and to see him talking to his band mates making me smile and move towards my sister.

Hopefully she won’t be too pissed. But them again it wasn’t really my fault.