#i💛rebels

[retquits]

hi i need help 🥲

after years of working from an old arm chair, my back is rebelling—i struggle with severe daily back pain, and it's starting to limit my work.

if you've enjoyed my art & would like to help me continue, i'd be so grateful if you considered pitching in towards a proper ergonomic work chair! 🥺💛

i am really bad at asking for help, but any assistance or reblogs would be so, so, so appreciated. thank you ㅠㅅㅠ !!!

https://ko-fi.com/retquits

[never-ending-fanfic]

You did not! Oh you did not...

OH MY, SALAMANDER I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! 🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵

I am holding you so gently and hoping my tears don't stain you too much oh God you made me just want to dance around while sobbing and ohhhhhhhhhh I'm just looking at it and the only thing I can think is "THE BABY"! Like she's just so freaking adorable, you absolutely did her justice! And all the little details I put into my work that you put into yours? The embroidered tunic alone had me squeaking like crazy! I'm so in love with this, I did not expect this in the slightest! Her hair looks so soft and oh you remembered the toothgap and her ear!

And all those outfits for her?! All those stunning, adorable outfits?! You drew so much of her! (But I understand, I also drew her and couldn't stop). That dress makes her look like she's a little lady, but it also gives off 'my dad made me wear this' vibe, the cute comfy fits with vibrant colours, the fancy looking clothes in the middle... And the outfit to school, oh you wouldn't believe the sound I made imagining her on Lira San, Kallus watching her go to school every morning 😭😭😭 and her facial expressions are so good bestie, so good and all the poses and she's just so so so cute!

Allow me to akxnxbnshcjzjsjfisicijxbxhancbbzbhsbcbxbsbxjjajxjznxnnxskxjjxjancbjdbcjxbxhhxbdbxgxgxbbxbxbxbxbzkjzjzjidhfhzjxjjsjsjjsjzjzjzjjxjxkxkksmxxjjsnxjzjnxncjzkmsjdkauhsgxiakxkks-

I'm so happy because of this. I've been very stressed lately and you made my day a whole lot brighter. You're a star, Salamander and I love you dearly ✨💛❤️🧡✨

P.S. Me:

For @never-ending-fanfic, Tala!! From her fic: All my love, which all of y'all should read its so good!! And Tala is just so cute I couldn't resist drawing her <3

And uhhhh.... she was too cute that I couldn't help but draw her in a bunch of outfits ;^^

[fanged-fanfics]

Hi, I would like to request Mk with a fem! Reader who is mean for him. This guy is TOO sweet he really needs a partner that can yell at people for him. How about a short fic? (It's been a minute since I've requested anything from anyone)

-🐙

💛🍜 Defending the Successor — MK x Fem Reader Drabble 🍜💛

Genres: Fluff, Romance || she/her pronouns for reader, he/they pronouns for MK || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🍜୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

It wasn't often that you got to do deliveries with MK, as he always seemed to jump around so much, and you had responsibilities of your own. But Pigsy tended to insist. He knew how easily distracted his son was, and you seemed to ground them. One day your schedule was clear enough to finally agree.

MK was happily chatting to you as he drove the noodle cart, the two of you making it to one of the few stops they had left for this shift. "And theennn Monkey King showed me all the stuff he's collected! He's got so much junk, but it's all really shiney". You chuckled as you nodded "Eyes on the road, hun" you reminded. "Right," MK said, pulling up to a stop a few feet from the house. He got out first, scrambling to open the cart door for you. You gave him an appreciative smile as you took their offered hand to get out. He held your hand tightly, his other hand carrying the delivery bag. "So, yeah! That's basically how my first week with Monkey King went" he wrapped up, before knocking on the door. A very unimpressed man opened it from the other side.

"Finally, you're here" the customer drawled irritably. MK raised an eyebrow, tilting their head a little "Oh- yeah, traffic was kinda bad today. But I made it within the time!" They replied, holding out the bag. The customer frowned, snatching the bag out of his hands. "This better be good then" he grumbled, opening up the box. After letting him look through it for a bit, MK spoke to the customer. "Soooo anyways, that'll be-"

"I'm not paying for this" the customer interrupted. MK blinked. "Uh... I don't know what to tell ya, guy, but you gotta pay for the food". "It's practically late, I'm not paying for you to be able to slack off" the man replied. MK wilted a tad. They knew they had a problem with being off task, but by his standards he'd been doing better recently. "Well, I still gave it to you, so". The customer scoffed. "Then go tell your boss you didn't do it fast enough" he said, attempting to close the door then and there. Before he could, he felt something stopping it. He looked down, seeing your shoe holding his door from closing.

"I think you owe him something" you said firmly. The customer rolled their eyes "I'm not-". "I'm not asking" you cut off. "He worked hard to come here and deliver this to you. He did it as on time as he could, and there's not a thing wrong with the meal". You nudged the door open, giving the customer a hard stare "so pay up". The man groaned, but pulled out a fistful of money from his pocket and held it out. You took it from him, before handing it to MK. "Enjoy your meal" you said flatly before closing the door on him. Once that was done, you sighed, relaxing again as you stood beside MK. "You didn't have to do that" the successor said with a small chuckle, walking with you back to the cart.

"You shouldn't let people walk over you like that, hon" you said to him, taking his hand like they'd done earlier "I know you like being the happy-go-lucky hero, but sometimes you gotta be a bit tougher than that. You deserve better". MK gave a small smile before nodding. He brushed his hair back with his free hand and said dramatically, "Would you like me more if I was a rebel, then? A real bad guy with a even worse attitude?". You chuckled, pecking his cheek so his faux serious expression melted away "I like you as how you are, MK. You're very sweet. But don't let that mean you get trampled on". "Got it" MK replied determinedly as they opened the door for you once more.

After you got in, MK gave you a cheek kiss "Thank you, though. For helping out back there". "It's no problem" you replied, ruffling his hair. He smiled and turned on the tunes to the radio, cranking up the volume for you two as you began heading off to the next stop as the sun started setting

[alphaofdarkness]

The First Annual Liberation of Lothal the beans are celebrating together 💛☀️🌾

I’ve done it once again y’all 🥳 I’ve redrawn the beans, using the photo taken of the amazing Eman and Natasha at the Birmingham Comic Con opening ceremony from almost 3-4 weekends ago 😊 I just wanted to redraw Sabezra in their place; happy and celebrating the next Libration of Lothal together for first time 🥹 free of war, conflict and their time apart; now together and blissfully at peace at last ♡ yes, they are married now by the Mandalorian Vows UwU

This time Sabine attends it happily, knowing that her dearest Cyra’ika is at her side; Ezra is just still amazed and very appreciative for everything his dear ‘Bine has done for his home 🥰 happy and in love these dorks are ah~

I don’t know yall, I feel like it would be a complete circle to end their story (and just the story of rebels, in general) where it all began on Lothal 💛 this time with both overlooking from their tower, happy and at peace, maybe during sunset 🌅😌🕯️

Mr. Hatman please, I can offer you my silly ideas 💡✨👀

[sylvanticus]

Rebelle 7 test! I honestly love it 💛 Generic raptor based on a Spinifex Pigeon

[lonelym00n]

OH MY!!!!

have a nice meal

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (20)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: 6k+

warnings: canon typical violence and weaponry, language, x fem!reader

a/n: wow - um, hey, guys. so after my year long hiatus, i am here. hello. i truthfully to not expect anyone to flock to this story again after how inconsistent i have been. but din & scout came to me fully formed almost four years ago, and i must finish the story within. you are, of course, welcome to come along for the ride. 💛

please forgive me if this is utter shite. it has been a long time since i wrote much of anything, so i am, as the kids say, pretty mid at this.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-TEN—LOCATION: HOTH 

The wind whips and rages, stinging your cheeks with nettles of ice. 

From the bowels of the Sunder, Din unearthed a paltry speeder, hardly big enough to hold you and him, let alone any apprehension. That barbed, scared part of you stayed behind, and there it will remain, buried beneath mounting layers of snow and the shadow of the Sunder . You are resolute now, sure in your finely-tuned senses. Your heart thumps against your ribcage: Ren-dell Cr-ik, Ren-dell Cr-ik.

By the stars, you’ll get the bastard if it is the last thing you do. 

Hoth is exactly as your father said it would be: hostile, fierce. Downright predatory. A cold unlike anything you have ever known crawls beneath your outermost layers and settles on your skin like permafrost. The wind screams as it whistles through the frozen ends of your hair. If a decade-old rage did not simmer in your gut, you might feel the urge to shiver. Even so, you have a sneaking suspicion the planet has the means and the motive to end your life before Crik even gets the chance. If the cold doesn’t finish you first, then the Wampa (Maker forbid you should stumble across one) surely will.

You twist your fingers beneath the frosted metal of Din’s pauldrons. Figures the Sunder would come equipped with a single-rider speeder. Figures you’d end up behind Din on that bike, your face against his shoulder blade, your ass out for Hoth’s taking. Your leg muscles scream, pressed tight against Din’s hips.

The speeder races across the snow-covered landscape, current destination unfolding. 

Crik’s fob blinks like a heartbeat from the sloped dash of the speeder. He’s here—on Hoth—breathing the same atmosphere, feeling the sting of the same snow. Though the fob confirms it, you can feel his slimy presence to the marrow of your bones. He is a phantom, caged in the corner of your mind, screaming in the shadows, shaking the iron bars which have kept him confined for so long. An hour more, a day longer, and the rusted door will swing open. You will stand face to face. 

And he will be the first to fall. 

Din tilts the speeder to the right, and you shift with the motion, leaning into the slant. With so few sentient lifeforms on Hoth, the options for where to begin your hunt are limited. Outpost Beta, Gamma Base—you could start at either but with rumblings of growing tension between the Rebels and the Empire, neither you or Din are sure a Rebel outpost is the best place to start. Hoth is too expansive to meander in the hopes of stumbling upon Crik, and without the aid of a heat signature, Din’s tracking tech does you a fat lot of good. You are left with the path of least resistance for now, even if it seems to you the least effective: find the closest cantina and ask around without raising suspicion. No self-respecting planet, sparsely populated or not, can get by without a cantina, and Din seems confident Hoth is sure to have at least one. You’ll start there and work your way out, carving through the snow and the ice and the bitter cold with your sheer determination and his iron fist. 

“Cantina. Three klicks ahead.” Din’s voice filters through your ear, tinny and warped by ill-used ear pieces. “Karga found it.” 

As the speeder darts across the frigid terrain, you rest your forehead against the back of Din’s helmet. You cannot afford to let your mind wander on this mission; there is precious time, precious energy, precious resources, and ruminating on previous conversations is wasteful. You push the thoughts of Mandalore, of your father’s proclamation of marriage, away. You must be single-minded, a sharp edged knife against the world and all in it.

The speeder angles upward over a rise, and you pull your head away from the chilled metal of the helmet. There, in the distance, a dark brown speck amidst the sparkling ice and snow: the cantina. It develops, blooming larger, unfurling, as the speeder draws closer. 

Your temporary destination is a brown craggy rock set in the base of a larger hill, carved into an oblong mass. Discrete, easy to miss on a ship overhead as a simple geological formation, but the slate gray door etched in the center of the rock speaks otherwise. Laid in white stone above the door, small red lights blink in alternating patterns. If you thought it meant anything, you may pause and determine if the lights communicate anything other than a siren’s call.

Din brings the speeder to a halt alongside a four legged creature tied to a post beside the door. Snow tangles and matts between the animal’s blue-hued fur, and a rusted chain at the beast’s ankle jangles as a bitter wind gusts over the hilltop. The creature swings its head as you dismount, braying woefully, revealing a mouth of sawn-off teeth. Pockets of puss and blood line the animal’s jaw where its teeth should stand upright. You look away and check the blaster at your hip. 

Din lifts Crik’s fob from the speeder, hides it within his pocket, then nods at you. “Let’s go.”

The door to the cantina slides open on a hiss, internal mechanisms excreting plumes of white-gray chemicals. You’re glad for the scarf wrapped around your nose and mouth. Chemicals aside, the cantina smells like shit. A foul odor hangs in the air, rotted flesh and spoiled meat. You cringe beneath your mask and steel yourself against the pervasive fumes as you follow Din through the scattered tables and chairs. 

The cantina’s sole room is quiet save for the sound of the wind outside and a scanner beeping behind the curved bar. A few patrons, none of any interest to you, duck their heads as Din passes. You feel them shrink into themselves, and it is just as well. You have no time for them. 

Only Crik.

Behind the counter, a lone man watches your approach. He braces both gloved hands against the bar, his brow knit in a tight frown. His eyes slide from Din to you then back again. 

“You’re not from around here.” His voice is knotted and thick, as though he rarely speaks above a whisper. 

Din looks over his shoulder, and you feel him look at you, nudging you forward with a pointed stare. Your mission, your bounty—Crik is all yours, and Din will not deny you the pleasure of taking him in by your own merit.

Pushing forward, you move to stand in front of Din. He towers over you, the breadth of his chest a comfort against your back. His hand, the one not resting on the counter, settles at your hip, fingers tucking around the grip of your holstered blaster. 

“My partner and I… we are looking for someone willing to part with information in exchange for credits.”

The bartender’s frown deepens. “Credits won’t get you nowhere here.”

You expected as much, but refuse to let the momentary disappointment show on your face. You arch a brow. “Really? The brand new cycler rifle hanging on the wall there tells me otherwise.” The bartender does not glance in the direction of the weapon, but his eyes narrow. “We deal in credits, not weapons, but we are willing to be generous.”

Tilting his head back, the bartender studies you. “What makes you think I have what you need?”

A saccharine smile unwinds the terse pout of your lips. “Call it women’s intuition.”

The bartender huffs and drops his hands from the bar counter. “You can ask, but I can’t promise I have the answer.”

“That’s fine. Give us what you can.” It is the first time Din speaks in the dimly lit cantina. He is impatient in these middling moments, but you don’t mind them. You have always enjoyed the seemingly inconsequential decisions and conversations that ultimately propel you to bringing down a bounty. It is in the series of unknowns before the inevitable downfall of your mark that you find the greatest thrill.

Cocking his head to the side, the bartender shuffles for a room adjacent to the bar. You follow, two steps, three, then pause as the man orders the straggling customers to fend for themselves. Five minutes, he says. You inhale, swallowing the lump in your throat. Five minutes.

The storeroom of the cantina is reminiscent of the storeroom in which you first met the Mandalorian. The same cramped and crowded closet in a backwater cantina. The same smell of dust in the air and spice hidden within boxes. The same man, cloaked in gray, corded with power. If you had the time, you would pause to reflect on the change in you, the change in him, these past one-hundred-ten days, but as it stands: time is running thin. 

“Before I tell you anything”—The bartender turns around from the door, leveling an accusatory finger at you—“you tell me who you are.” 

“No.” Din stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands set firmly on his hips. “The deal is information for credits. That’s it.”

“But I—”

“No info, no credits.”

Any further protest sours on the man’s tongue. His lips curl upward. “Fine.” He crosses his arms, shoulders hunched inward. “What do you want to know?”

You resist the urge to glance at Din for approval. It has been a long time since you took the lead on a bounty. Since the disaster with Breeth, you have felt uncertain about your abilities as a bounty hunter. But Din stands beside you, patient in his silence, so you will your thumping heart to settle. 

“What can you tell me about this man?” 

Reading your cue, Din unearths Crik’s blinking fob from his pocket. He presses the center button, revealing a holographic image of Rendell Crik that rotates in a circle. Pale blue illuminates the chrome of Din’s helmet as the bartender studies the image.

The bartender raises a finger to his chin in thought. His eyes narrow. His lips purse. A flash of impatience tightens your chest. How long does it take to string a thought together, for Maker’s sake? You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I’ve heard tell…”

Impatience gives way to intrigue. You lean forward. “And?”

“About thirty klicks from here. There’s a camp.”

“What kind of camp?”

With a smirk, the man tilts his head. In his eye, a greedy twinkle. “That will cost you.”

Thud. The bartender’s back hits the wall, and a row of jars on a neighboring shelf clang as they jostle together. Din holds his forearm against the bartender’s neck. He angles the visor of his helm so that the bartender must look down, down into the face of destruction itself.

“Answer the fucking question.”

“I told you! A camp—thirty klicks away!” 

Din leans in, his forearm pressing, pressing into the man’s neck. The bartender’s face contorts into a pained grimace. His ankles bang against the wall behind him as he struggles against Din’s grip. You hold your breath.

“That’s not enough.” Din’s voice is terse, the swipe of a whip against the ground. “You know more.”

Shaking his head, the bartender sputters. “Not much! Only rumors from the other bounty hunters!”

Din’s feet shuffle as he steps closer to the wall, pushing further into the man’s already limited space. A flush begins to rise from the base of the man’s neck. His eyes grow larger, wider, rounder as they bulge outward from the leathery flesh of his face. 

“Only what? Say it!”

The bartender will be of no use to you dead or unwilling. You see the opportunity for information begin to fade like blood in a watery pool. Your five minutes are almost up.

Stepping forward, you place a hand on Din’s shoulder. He stills, and the man’s panicked eyes dart to you. He pants against Din’s forearm, sweat like a crown upon his brow.

“Tell me what you know of Rendell Crik and the camp,” you say, tone even, gaze soft. “And my partner won’t kill you.”

/ 

The bartender was not bluffing when he said thirty klicks to Crik’s camp. 

By the time the speeder sputters to a stop behind a jagged outcrop of ice one klick away from the camp, you are sure the blood in your veins is frozen. Despite the layers covering you head to foot, a cold unlike anything you have ever known has melded to your bones, chilled the breath in your lungs, squeezed the life from your very soul. You are tired, bone weary from the frigid air and unrelenting wind. 

Gods-teeth! Hardly a few hours into the hunt and already the elements have taken their toll. Your father’s warning rings loud in your ear: Hoth?! No one survives out there. Maybe he was right. Maybe, after everything that has transpired, Hoth is too much of a risk. After all, you have rekindled the relationship with your parents. Isn’t it enough to be returned to the family fold? 

No, it’s not. So long as Jeelia’s space at the table your father carved with his own hand is empty, it will never be enough. You cannot stop now, not when you have come this far. 

Leaning against the wide base of the ice block, you lift your head from the crook of your arm where you press your forehead into the dark and frigid abyss. Frost hangs at the end of your lashes. You blink, searching for Din and his stupid helmet between the swirling colors of gray sky and white snow. Panic grips the raw edges of your psyche, and for a moment, you are in Coruscant, alone and afraid.

But he is there, as he always is, beside you. He kneels at the edge of the ice block, one hand against the ice itself, the other tight around a pair of binoculars. 

“So, what now?” 

Din twists to look at you over his shoulder. Something in your face—perhaps the chapped skin at your cheeks, the glassy look that surely clouds your eyes—makes him turn away from the camp. He hooks the binoculars to his hip. 

“First we eat something.”

You frown and sit up as Din shuffles through the contents of a pannier draped over the speeder. “I can go on. We don’t need to stop. Not when that guy said he heard from others that—” 

“Forget what he said. We got the information we needed and we made it to the camp. Anything else he said was bullshit. Don’t let it fester.” Din passes you a cloth secured with a piece of twine. “Now eat. We won’t get to Crik on an empty stomach.”

You unwrap the cloth to reveal a triangle of tea-smoked silk bread. A lump forms in your throat. You skim your thumb across the flaky crust, layers of sugared and spiced silkwheat falling from the confection. Your favorite, your mother’s best recipe. Memories of afternoons beside the hearth, your fingers sticky with fresh dough, flood your mind.

“She gave it to me.” Din’s whisper cuts through your reverie. You look up to search the impassible gleam of his helm. “Before we left Inora. She said it was your favorite and I should keep it for the moment you need it most.”

With a rueful chuff, you tear off a corner of the bread. “Is this that moment?”

“You’re doubting yourself. I can see that much.”

You wince. His words ring true, clanging against the rising fear that clutches your throat. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cannot help but feel that your future rests in the outcome of this hunt. Is it worth it—to go on after catching Crik? Could you continue to skate through the stars on a whim and a prayer and the hope that you (or Din) don’t fall to a well-aimed blaster? Would the Mandalorian come with you if you asked him to shirk the Guild, or Mandalore, or his son?

You suppose the outcome of this hunt will answer the unanswerable. 

You hesitate before putting the bread in your mouth. “Am I really so obvious?”

“Usually.” Din’s voice glows, as much a warmth to your core as any fire. 

“I can hear your smile and I don’t like it.” Grin fading, you finish the silk bread. The flavor barely registers as you consider the hours before you. “I can do this,” you say.

“I know.” Din moves from his haunches to a crouch. He pulls his blaster from the holster at his side. “Ready?”

Ghosts of your mother’s tender touch seep through the bread cloth in your hand, warming you. Ghosts of your sister’s gentle spirit tangle within the memories dancing in your mind. Your mother, your sister—they urge you onward. 

You shove the bread cloth in your pocket. “Ready.”

/

Crik’s alleged-camp sits square in the middle of fuck nowhere. It stands in contrast with the rest of its surroundings: a hastily built circle of tan buildings, each connected by long rectangular passageways, like a spider sinking in a glass of bantha milk. A flickering orange light emanates from the center of the compound, creating a halo over a godless palace. 

Clearing your throat, you swipe the sleeve of your arm under your dripping nose. No more time to waste. No more moments of silence to descend into murky pits of the unknown. You told Din you were ready—and you are. Once and for all. 

“What’s our plan?” You cock your head in the direction of the camp. “We can’t just waltz up and knock on the door.”

Din huffs in amusement. “Looks like some already tried.” 

He passes you the heavy electrobinoculars. Pressing the lens to your eyes, you swing your gaze around the corner of the ice block. The world shifts to a hazy blue, lines of numbers and text bleeding across the top of and bottom of your vision, but you are able to make out the entrance of the camp in the distance. You zoom in. 

A head on a spike. Bloated, black tongue hanging from a broken jaw. Blood frozen in thick streams that never reached the ground. Above, dangling from a watchtower, a body. Neck snapped, head bowed, indistinguishable. Swaying, gently twisting in the harsh wind.

You push the binoculars away. “So the plan?”

Din considers your question before pointing to the right side of the compound. “We go in that way. A service entrance from what I can tell. A carrier went in not too long ago. Crik seems to be stocking up for the long haul.”

Before you stop yourself, you mumble, “Not if I can help it.”

Din pierces you with a sharp look. “Now isn’t the time to get cocky.” 

“I know. I just—”

“Take the binoculars again. Look up at the guard tower.” Ever the student, you do as he commands. “What do you see?”

“Guards.” You struggle to keep the bite out of your voice. 

“How many?”

“At least four.”

“Count them.”

Irritation tightens your jaw, but you obey, pausing long enough to count each individual stalking the length of the compound. “Five. And that’s only outside.” You lower the binoculars and pass them back with a none-too-gentle slap to the hand. “Point taken.”

“Good. So we go in through the service entrance and work our way closer to Crik from there. But before we go any further”—Din wrestles with the chest plate beneath his cloak—“put this on.” 

He offers his chest plate with little fanfare. It is merely a thing in his hand which he is presenting. The flight suit beneath his armor is dark. His uncovered chest rises and falls, patient, even breaths as he waits for you to accept the offering. 

“What?” You balk, spreading your hands in a sign of rejection. “Absolutely not! That’s yours! What are you even thinking?”

“Take it, Scout.” 

“Mando, I won’t take it.”

“Yes, you will.” Din grabs your hands, forcing them to wrap around the chilled metal. The outward facing side is cold, but the inside is still warm where it rested against his chest, where it covered his heart. “You will put it on and then maybe I will be able to fucking breathe through this thing.”

You look up, and not for the first time, you feel as though you are looking onto his naked face. The chest plate weighs heavy in your hands, but Din’s words weigh heavier. The warning signs posted around the camp are clear enough: this won’t be easy. It won’t be safe either. Din Djarin will do whatever it takes to get you the justice you so deserve. He will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, too.

You refuse to look at him as you press the chest plate to your body. He leans forward, reaching around your back to fold and adjust the clasps at either side. His touch is light. His movements are unsure. Reality hangs tenuous between you, fragile like thin glass. One wrong step, and Maker, you may break. 

He pulls back, chest plate secure, and his fingertips skim the rough fabric of your trousers. 

“Thanks.” Your whisper plumes in the air. You hold your hand to your armored chest. 

He nods. And then he is moving, reaching for you, and you cannot help but reach for him too. 

Your arms clutch his pauldrons, fingernails digging into the human flesh you find there. He is real. Right now he is real, and you are safe, and you can still touch him. Moisture lifts behind your eyes, but you push it down. There’s no time; not now.

“We’ll be fine.” You close your eyes, digging your teeth into the skin of your cheek to keep the mounting emotions at bay. “We will laugh about this on the other side.”

Hands clasped against either side of your face, Din presses his forehead to yours. “I lo—”

“No. Don’t say it.” You press your fingertips to his helm, to the shape of his mouth somewhere beneath layers of steel. “After. Tell me after.”

He hesitates then nods. “Okay.” A single finger catches in your hair, and you wonder if he is memorizing you. “After.”

You are the first to move, rising from your crouch to a battle-ready stance. 

By your rough estimate, the service entrance to the compound is one klick away. Five guards patrolling the perimeter, barely any natural formations to give you cover as you cross the terrain. With Din’s reduced armor, his black flight suit may as well be a beacon in this white tundra. You could go by foot and risk someone catching sight of Din’s flight suit, or you could use the speeder and take the chance that someone may hear the engine running as you approach. 

You decide to go on foot. Between the unrelenting wind and drifting snow, you will pray to the Maker the patrolmen are shortsighted. Once you get closer to the service entrance itself, you will transition to a crawl. From there—

You’ll figure it out if you manage to make it that far.

At his behest, Din walks in front of you. He is bigger and therefore blocks more of the wind. His footfalls create an easy path for you to follow through the mounting snow. Both combined will make for a shorter trek. 

Step after step, you trudge through the shin-deep blizzard. You clutch your scarf to your mouth, breathing hard as you slog. 

“Forty yards then we crawl.” Din’s voice crackles through the earpiece snug in your left ear.

Large flakes of snow catch in your eyelashes when you glance up to the battlement. The camp widens as you draw nearer. A well-camouflaged cancer, you think. Tucked away in some remote corner of the universe, silent but deadly, growing with every passing day. Sickness oozes from every crack and crevice of the stone facade. You can practically smell it. 

He’s there—in the camp—lounging or eating or fucking—and you are here, outside, waiting to strike.

Din lowers to his stomach when the camp’s shadow falls across his boots. Though the snowfall has picked up, adding another layer of cover, you can never be too careful. You follow his lead, crawling across the ground, using your knees and forearms to propel your movement.

Snow and ice gathers in the folds of your suit; the damp, moist feeling is quick to follow. The mineral-taste of fresh snow laden with atmospheric junk sours on your tongue. You spit, shaking your head free of the snow catching and freezing to your hair.

“Almost there.”

Your forearms ache, and you can feel the warm trickle of blood at your knee. Rugged ground beneath your arms and ice at every turn threatens to push you to injury before crossing the threshold of the camp. You suck in a breath and push forward. 

Finally, the service entrance pokes through the thickening wall of snow. The hangar door stands open, and a pale yellow light attempts to pierce the unrelenting white of the landscape.

When Din stands, you too rise on quaking limbs. “The snow,” you gasp. “I think it helped.”

He checks his vambrace. “Sensors read an incoming blizzard. We got here at the right time.”

You could say something about the total whiteout surrounding you already being of help, but you save your breath.

Din holds his blaster close, gesturing to the one at your hip with the muzzle of his weapon. “Be ready,” he says. “Whoever, whatever—take it out.”

You nod. 

He hesitates, as though he wants to say something more, and you think this would be the moment he could shed his helmet and kiss you. Man to woman. Human to human. You would readily accept the moment, bleed into his kiss, meld into his body, but—

He simply nods. 

Turning, Din hugs the wall as he stalks the length of the empty hangar. You keep to his shadow, footsteps light and practiced. At the other side of the room, there is a door which must enter the sanctity of the camp itself. After skirting workbenches and mislaid tools, you reach it. Din tries the handle. It swings open.

Warmth billows from the corridor like the breath of hell. You squint against the firelight that swallows the hallway and the meeting room beyond. No time for hesitation; no time for adjustment. You squeeze your eyes open and shut and follow Din into the hallway wrapping around a communal hall.

The hall, square and narrow beneath a triangular roof, is void of life. A fire roars in the center of the room, logs piled high, flames licking out like demon tongues. You step quietly, studying the crates and barrels cluttered around the fire. No discernible features on any of the wooden boxes. Still, you doubt anyone will be feeding them to the fire anytime soon. The compound is too silent, too distracted. You feel it in the air, the false security of an incoming storm. 

Only the storm is already here.

Din’s footfalls thud in the stone hallway. You grit your teeth, praying to the gods everyone is asleep or otherwise distracted. You are here for Crik and only Crik. 

You curl your trigger finger against the blaster’s sear. 

“Hey!”

A voice—behind you. 

Twisting at the hip, you shoot before you see, but it does not matter. Din said whoever, whatever and you agree. If it takes Crik down, if it gets your sister the eternal rest she deserves, you will tear the camp to pieces with your bare hands.

Your shot hits the shoulder of a guard at the opposite end of the hallway. He grabs his wound, doubling over with a shout of pain and alarm. Din pushes past you, moving fast, his blaster holstered, his hands free. He grabs the guard before he can right himself. The guard looks up, eyes wild, mouth open to shout a warning signal. 

But you are there before he can make a sound. Your blood runs hot. This is it. It is happening, unfolding before you in slow motion. Justice tastes sweet. 

You cram the muzzle of your blaster in the slack-jawed guard’s mouth. His eyes drop to you, and he grunts, his tongue flailing against the barrel of your blaster. You shoot, you retreat, the body hits the ground as Din steps back. 

Down the hall now—away from the fire and the body, into a darker part of the camp.

Music wafts from some secret corner of the compound. Din looks at you as if to ask the question: That way? You nod. 

Your footsteps are the only sound as you follow the stonework of the compound’s hallways. The music, some lilting birdsong, grows louder, and your blood runs thicker, hungrier as Crick draws nearer. 

Another guard steps out of a dark alcove, blaster raised. Din withdraws a throwing star from a compartment in his vambrace. He flicks it outward, catching the guard’s wrist. The blaster falls, and you scoop it from the ground. Din’s fist lands against the guard’s cheekbone. He falls back, holding his face in pain. You bring the blaster grip down on his temple. 

Onward. The music pulses now, or maybe it is just your heartbeat. Your sister’s face floats before you, some ghostly image or vision that buoys you forward.

“Wait.” Din holds out his arm, and you nearly run into it.  

You stand in the doorway of a new common area. Music spills into the hall. A singer you cannot see from your vantage point sings about love. Their voice lifts over the sound of conversation, each syllable a honeyed-tenor. The song builds, words of devotion and ardor, feelings of passion and desire. You do not allow yourself to fall prey to the heightening emotion; you keep your eyes fixed on the room within. On the man with the shaved head and the scar on his cheek.

The song hits its crescendo, the singer’s voice frozen in a high note.

Din snaps his fingers. “Now.”

Bursting into the room, you shoot blindly. You counted five men when in the doorway. Five of them, two of you. You like those odds. 

Blasterfire pings in every corner. You drop, rolling across the floor to swing your leg outward against a pudgy man’s knee. He curses as he falls, and you bring your dagger to his neck. You slice without thought. Blood gushes over your hand, staining your fingers, but you press on, knocking the man to his side.

On the other side of the room, Din carves his way through Crik’s sycophants. He moves with ease, throwing his elbow, bending to a twist when a blaster shot arcs over his head. He is heading for Crik, and you are eager to get there with him.

A female Twi’lek crosses your path. She bares teeth sharpened to a point. You raise your dagger, and she lifts a shortsword, grinning.

She thrusts first, and you parry. You whirl on your heel, bringing your blade in a wide arc over your head and shoulders. The Twi’lek ducks and catches the back of your leg with the point of her sword. You clench your jaw, but do no more to let the pain show on your face. Lurching forward, you grab the back of a nearby chair. The Twi’lek pauses for breath, pauses to watch her surroundings, pauses to watch the blood that streams down your leg. 

Big mistake.

You lift the chair in your hand and swing. It catches the Twi’lek in the stomach. She stumbles backward. You do not let go. You run, pushing against the Twi’lek with the seat of the chair. She frowns, fingers grabbing for the legs of the chair for some upperhand, but you push harder, forcing her across the floor until she hits the wall with a heavy thud. You drop the chair and bring your blaster up, eye level with your opponent. 

“Fucking bitch,” she mutters. 

You can’t help but grin. “Always.”

You slam your forehead against her face. Stars wash over your vision, but you feel her nose crack against your forehead. 

Stumbling backward, you shake your head free of the immediate pain of the headbutt. The Twi’lek curses as she clutches her nose, blood dripping from beneath her fingers. She looks up at you, rage like a steel trap in her eyes. 

She bolts. Blood flows from her nose, leaking onto the neck of her shirt, flinging in a shower of droplets onto the ground. Arms pumping, she advances on you. You stand your ground, dagger in one hand, blaster in the other. 

You’ll take her down. You know you can.

You brace for impact, but the Twi’lek veers for the right. You frown, stepping back to adjust your position. Only she is up, in the air, jumping, her foot hitting off a support beam in the center of the room. She pounces, and she is flying, circling over you like a predator over prey.

Now it is you who is stumbling. You card backward, glancing from the incoming Twi’lek to Din, who advances on Crik with one of the remaining guards at his back. Crik strikes outward with a shortsword. He hits Din’s unarmored stomach, and Din stops his advance, pausing long enough to show a moment of pain. 

Your attention slips. The Twi’lek descends. The hilt of her sword lands hard on the left side of your skull.

Pain explodes over your head in radiant bursts of light and fire. You fall, shouting out as you collapse. Your forearms break the fall as you catch yourself with whatever sense you have left, but you cannot rise to your feet. A bell clangs in your head; your mind feels sluggish. It is as if you have been rendered mute and immoveable. You have become a rock, and the stream of life flows all around you. The fight continues on, but you cannot join in. 

Blood pools in your mouth. A tooth? Your tongue? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

Tears well in your eyes as the clanging continues. Your head feels heavy, and your stomach heaves against the pain. You wretch, and the revolt in your stomach pushes you on to your hands and knees. You vomit, and somewhere overhead the Twi’lek laughs. 

“Yes,” she says. “Definitely a bitch.”

You stumble to your feet, eyes lazy as they swing from one side of the room to the other. You are underwater, surely. You cannot hear, and you cannot see, and you cannot think. You must be drowning. This is what drowning feels like.

You mumble something around a thick tongue. The Twi’lek cocks her head, laughing still. “What was that?” she asks. “I didn’t really hear you.”

There are two of her now, twins that ebb and flow like the tide, a double of evil. You cannot determine the true twin, the one who must have come first, but you see them both, and you hate them both, and that must be enough. 

With a cry, you fall forward, your dagger pointed and at the ready. The Twi’lek catches you, but she does not catch your dagger, the one hidden beneath your sleeve. It sinks into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. You grit your teeth as you push harder, harder, until the hilt seems to disappear within her oozing and bleeding flesh.

She is silent as she falls, her eyes bouncing between yours. Blood rises to the corners of her mouth, and she gasps for breath. You drop to your knees with her as the life floods from her face. You place her head on the ground, and you hover over her, watching as her soul slips.

“Fuck-k-ing bii-tchh,” she gargles. Blood spills over her lips as she gags. 

Gasping, sucking air into your throat and your lungs and your soul, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, that’s never been a question.”

Her head lolls to the side. 

You look up across the room to Din. He stands face to helmet, arm in arm, with Rendell Crik. Though your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, you cannot stop. He is near, at your fingertips. He is surrounded by the bodies of his stupid, oafish lackeys, and you are here, and he is held by the most powerful man on the planet. 

You rise on shaking legs. You swipe your hand over your mouth. Rendell Crik fills your vision. You take one step forward.

A shot rings out.

The Mandalorian falls.

NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

We end up talking for hours, completely losing track of time, and before we know it, we’re blinded as all the lights flick on at once, our dark corner suddenly bright and exposed.

“I think that’s our cue,” Ash says, squinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

As we stand to walk out, Ash stops and asks, “So, you’ll do it? You’re in?”

“Definitely. I think it’s brilliant!” And I mean it. I haven’t been this excited to work on a project in years, his passion suddenly reigniting my own. He looks so thrilled by my response that I can’t help but smile back at him. I think I’d do just about anything if it would make him this happy.

We step out into the cool fall air, both of us still buzzing from the alcohol and the possibilities of what we can create together, walking so close that our shoulders brush up against one another, and yet it’s not close enough.

As a kid, I used to play with magnets, always fascinated by the fact that when you flip one of them around the force drives them away rather than bringing them together. I always felt like that was me, the one flipped the wrong way, forced to keep separate from everyone around me. But with Ash, I feel pulled toward him, and if there was nothing holding us back, I’m certain we’d snap right to each other. 

It would be so easy, now, to lift my arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. He’d probably let me, but then what?

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even noticed we’d reached the edge of the sidewalk, so abrupt and final, like the night is trying to end. But we rebel, both of us unwilling to say goodbye. Instead, we hesitate, turning towards each other. He looks up at me, his eyes practically silver the way they shine in the moonlight, and asks, “Now what?”

“Good question,” I say, “What do you wanna do?”

His usual smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he steps closer, close enough now that I can feel the heat from his body radiating in the cold. I consider taking a step forward too, it wouldn’t take much, to lean in slightly and brush my lips against his just to see. See what it might feel like. Ash’s eyes draw a slow triangle from my eyes to my mouth and I realize he’s thinking about it too.

The thought seizes my body with a mix of anxiety and desire, and I’m frozen in place as he raises his hand slowly, letting it come to rest on the side of my face, just as warm as I imagined it to be. He pauses for a moment, perhaps waiting for me to stop him. When I don’t, something flashes behind his eyes, a decision.

“I want you to kiss me,” he says, the playful smirk on his lips daring me, bold and confident. But I see him. I see the way his shoulders rise and fall with short, nervous breaths. I feel the way his hand, warming my cheek, trembles just below the surface. Even still, the statement catches me off guard and a renewed storm of anxiety arcs through my entire body. I’ve never been so acutely aware of something as I am of Asher’s hand now, of the nearness of him, the way his breath feathers over my jaw and how it smells sweet, like whiskey and something else, something uniquely him. He’s so close, all I have to do is move a little, an inch maybe. His long, delicate fingers stroke the side of my face softly, reassuringly, keeping me grounded in place, keeping me present in this moment with him, and saving me from being lost in the sea of my own thoughts.

I shift my gaze down to his mouth and lift my hand to his jaw, running my thumb along the ridge of his lower lip, causing him to part them slightly and let out a small shuddering sigh. Then I look him in the eyes, giving him a slight, almost imperceptible, smile as I lean in.

Taking my time, I brush my lips lightly against his before kissing him softly. Holding myself back, not because I’m unsure, but because I’ve never been more certain of anything. I want to savor this moment, commit it to memory so I can revisit it tomorrow, and every day after.

A thrill runs through me when he kisses me back, not that I doubted he would. It was his idea, after all.

He follows my lead at first, but he’s not one to be cautious or restrained, and soon he’s pulling me closer to him, wanting something more. He drags his teeth along my lower lip in a surprising move, but I suppose this is what it’s like to kiss him, wild and overconfident, passionate and assertive, just like him.

The sensation makes me weak, and a small moan escapes me which seems to ignite something between us. We yank each other closer, snapping to each other, as our kisses become deeper and more desperate, and the world around us falls away until there is nothing else. Nothing but this, feeling, sensation and touch and taste and smell. Lips, tongues, and hands under the shimmering glow of the moonlight.

Prev // Next

[sanjoongie]

𝒟𝒶𝓎 𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓋𝑒~ 𝐸𝒹𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔

The Menu

💛Pairing: Galaxy Dragon! Choi San x Ex-Commodore! Reader (f)

💛Au: sci fi au, dragon au, from this world

💛Trope: e2l, mates

💛Genre: smut, angst

💛Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

💛Warnings: mentions of war, fighting, death, edging, outerjob, ass slapping, ass grabbing, begging (f), unprotected sex, orgasm denial, hand around throat but no choking, dacryphilia, dirty talk

💛Word Count: 1,672

💛Summary: You and San are in the middle of a rebellion, but the possessive dragon has demands of his own

💛Day Eleven: Yeosang | Masterlist | Day Thirteen: Yunho💙

You were in the middle of a battlefield, ships swirling above you in combat and rebel soldiers around you yelling and you couldn't have felt more alive. As the ex-commodore of the Halazia Empire, you thrived in the chaos that was war. They had used you for their own gains and so you threw back all that you had learned at them to help the man that owned your heart.

Speak of the devil, the galaxy dragon was filling the sky with his incredible form. A roar ripped through the air as he plucked a ship from the air and threw it to the ground at terrifying speeds. 

If you’re done playing with the ships, we could use your powers down here, you spoke mind to mind with the dragon that was now your mate. The two bites that you had shared upon swearing you would take your vengeance on the Empire allowed such a link.

You could feel San’s faint amusement through the bond as well. You’re just jealous I’m in the air and you’re not

You shot a soldier of the empire in the knee and then used your rare titanium cutlass and brought it down to slice into his neck as he fell. 

No, I’m having plenty of fun. The rebels, however…

An explosion happened from a few miles away from you and you winced. Hopefully the miners turned rebels had measured their explosions correctly and hadn't killed themselves.

San’s dragon form shot through the sky towards the explosion. He found the Empire’s tanks and blew his fire towards the machines. It was black fire that rippled with purple upon the air of Sector 1’s poisonous air. 

You grinned at the utter ruin San had caused the Empire but you didn’t have much time to drink in the feeling because next, San snatched you up in his claws and flew you away from the battle. 

That explosion was entirely too close to you for my liking, the dragon grumbled in your head.

Are you forgetting I showed them how to make the explosion?, you grumbled back. 

San dropped you off at your base camp and transformed to his humanoid form. He was covered in soot and oil from ripping apart the ships that dare invade his world. His eyes blazed with intensity and you sighed, knowing you’d have to bank any emotion about being taken from the battle. San was extremely possessive now that you were his mate. 

You stood patiently as he removed your cloak and inspected your body for any harm that had come to you. You did acquire a split lip from headbutt but you hadn't been shot or cut by any of the Halazia soldiers. 

“See, I’m perfectly fine,” You mumbled.

San’s eyes bore into your own. “Get in the tent. Now.”

“San, seriously, I’m fine. There’s no great bath here on the battlefield, this is war, we can’t do this every time!”

“Get. In. The. Tent.” He bore his teeth at you and you rolled your eyes. 

You marched into the tent and were about to remove your clothes when San descended upon you. Your clothes were pulled off you or ripped if necessary and suddenly you were naked as the day you were born. 

San’s hands moved to your ass immediately, to press your body to his. His face went to the junction of your shoulder, where he proceeded to rub his cheek against your skin. “You’re not allowed to lose yourself in the call of war,” he muttered against your skin.

You put your hands on San’s broad shoulders and pushed him back a bit so you could look him in the eyes. “San, the only reason why I stand here with you today is because of my battle-lust.”

San pursed his lips, suppressing a pout that was not fitting of a dragon. Then his eyes became hooded as the gears turned in his head. “Then turn that lust upon me.”

“A man after my heart,” You smirked before tipping your head and kissing your mate.

The hands on your ass only get tighter as your tongue flashes out to play with San’s. The dragon pulled away from the kiss, if only to bite playful on your lower lip, tugging at it outwards. He let go with a slow, crooked smile. “Brace yourself against the bed. I would have you from behind.”

You sent San a bewildered look but did as commanded. San preferred eye contact over everything, so it was odd to ask to have you from behind. 

You heard some shuffling of clothes and then you felt his hard cock against your ass. San clenched his hands around your hips, rutting himself between your ass cheeks. He even gave your ass a cheeky slap, then on the other cheek. 

“San!” You snapped. “Fuck me already.”

“No,” San said simply. “I will not.”

San grabbed both of your hands, locking his hand around your wrists, and you effectively lost control. He moved his cock to simply move against your folds but he did not enter you. 

“Why?” You attempted to not whine in need.

“Because,” San emphasized by slapping your ass again, “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what, San?!” You scoffed.

“That you won’t lose yourself to the heat of battle. That you will ensure that you protect what is mine. That you will not be lost to me,” San said with each stroke of his cock against your wet folds. 

“You bastard,” You snarled. 

You struggled in his hold but you couldn't win against his immortal strength. San bent over your back, keeping his hold on you tight. “I can do this all day. Can you?”

San’s cock rubbed against your folds, nudging your hole, playing along your clit, but never enough to properly stimulate you. “San, you fuck me right now!”

“Sorry, Commodore, but you don’t give the orders around here,” San said with mocking apologetic tone. 

“San…Please…” You whined, pushing back on San’s cock with all your might.

San stopped moving against you. Both of his hands planted on your ass, squeezing it and probably leaving finger marks. “Please, what?”

You brought your arms down from behind your back and pushed yourself up to be adjacent with his body. You wound your arms behind his head and held it close to yours. “Shove your cock so deep into me I forget we’re in a tent with the battlefield only miles away.”

San growled and complied. He slotted his cock against your weeping hole and pushed in until his hips were flush with your ass. You exchanged a lazy kiss with him as he slowly thrusted into you, moaning into his mouth when he brushed that spongy part inside of you. 

“That’s it, my mate, take all of me inside of you. That’s where I belong, isn’t it? Inside of you, filling you up, making you scream my name?” San said in a husky voice. 

“Yeah,” You whined, almost dumb from the way you finally got what you wanted. 

“When we get back to the villa, I think I’m gonna fuck your face like an animal possessed, just like you wanted me to,” San promised, biting playfully into your shoulder.

You swallowed loudly at the imagery of San doing exactly that. “In…in the bath?” You whimpered.

“I’ll do it wherever I damn well want to, my love,” San growled. 

Soon San’s thrusts became faster and pushed deeper inside of you. You could feel your nerves singing as your climax approached. Both of San’s hands played with your breasts as your ass bounced off his pelvis and you opened your mouth to scream his name when!--

San halted just before you could come. You let out a great whine as you felt your climax flee you. “San… San, why would you? The fuck is… wrong with you?” You panted.

San’s hands travelled down the planes of your stomach and rubbed your hips. “You haven’t promised me yet, my mate, that you’ll do everything in your power to stay away from danger.”

“San we are in the middle of a goddamn rebellion, I cannot!” You cried out. 

San, to prove a point, started to fuck you again, fingers digging into your hip bones harshly. He fucked you fast and your mind fogged with how intense your lower half was clenching. And San stopped again. You could feel tears filling up the corners of your eyes in frustration.

San grabbed your throat, loosely, and brought your cheek to his lips. He kissed you there almost reverently. “Promise me that you won’t die on me.”

“I promise,” You whispered hoarsely, blinking away your tears, and making them travel down your cheek. 

San licked your tears and then kissed your cheek again. “Good.”

San released you and you let yourself fold for him, cheek against the bed. You let the dragon fuck you face down ass up like a common fucking whore because all that mattered was that San’s heart never broke and you got your orgasm right now.

San’s pace came at you with renewed vigor, his hands slapping your ass, probably making more marks there. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want  you to come hard right now, Commodore. Be good for me and come.”

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Because of all the denied orgasms, your pleasure flooded into you and you saw white. You thought you passed out, if not for hearing San finally come behind you. He cried out as well, moans punctuated out of his chest as he fucked through his high and then finally he collapsed on top of you, pancaking you both to the bed. 

“If you ever EVER think you can pull something like that again, I will personally remove your balls from your body,” You groaned under San’s weight.

San chuckled deeply in his chest, making you clench around his length that was still inside of you. “I’d like to see you try, my mate.”

💛Day Eleven: Yeosang | Masterlist | Day Thirteen: Yunho💙

[never-ending-fanfic]

WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT IT WAS A SCREENSHOT-

THIS IS INCREDIBLE! 💛🧡❤️

Stupid idiots on a stupid ice moon

[ladyxskywalker]

Beneath the Stars

Poe Dameron x F!Reader/OFC

poe wants you to stay with him overnight, but - do you really have to go?

I wrote this a while ago =] hope you enjoy 💫 based on happy moments & memories 💌

"I have to leave soon, it's getting late..."

"Shh...just five more minutes..."

"You're sleeping ."

"So...just...you could stay right here . And...and, I could keep you safe and protect you."

With a soft sigh of your breath, you lean into him closer. The warmth of his broad chest, pressed to the heat he makes of your own skin, and the feeling of his strong hands, grasping your body further toward his heart.

He wants you to feel it.

And you do.

"You're always... too far away."

He says - muffling all of his slowly strung words together into your neck - burying his face there when you try to turn slightly just to kiss him.

Gently.

As though he might be dreaming ...

Just to remind him of where you both truly are .

Safe.

Tired.

Over on a quiet hilltop beneath the stars.

A borrowed ship, waiting in the distance to reluctantly bring you back home...

If only you didn't have to go.

"I'll be back to visit before you know it."

" Fine ..."

He groans to himself. Frustrated.

Upset that the more you love one another, the more you both become separated by war .

To leave this man during a moment just like this, would be absolutely unimaginable .

And then - it lingers .

That ache in your chest that runs away with itself just as fast as the trail of his gritty stubble leads the way beneath your ear.

Tracing you there, catching onto you.

First - with the subtle dip of his chin.

Then - the distinct tickle of his eyelashes to wake you back up again.

Waves of dark hair, curling round your fingertips selfishly because you want to cradle him longer there while you kiss . His forehead, now resting upon yours - catching his breath where the bow of his lips now soften.

"Just a few minutes more. Please, just stay with me."

"Poe...then I'll never go."

He smirks, tiredly .

"That's the point, Sweets."

But, when you have each other like this, the moments are rare and your eyes become sleepy just as well. Closing and then opening again and again. The dew of hot, Summer air, reeling you back in once more.

"This is perfect..."

Poe whispers, his eyes opening within the light and shadows glistening off of a nearby lake acting as your backdrop. The sounds of fireflies & midnight crickets, illuminating and filling all of the trees with kind and heartwarming sounds.

"It is."

You smile. Holding his face affectionately.

Remembering .

Just in case you had ever felt lost .

"You're beautiful ..."

And it's as if his arms are doing all the begging for him then. Wanting you trapped playfully between the slotting of his limbs around yours. Your hips, joining together lazily in a loving glide of endless touch.

He can feel the slipping of a few stray tears falling hopelessly down your face. Hoping that he hasn't hurt you. Wanting nothing more than to be the reason for your joy and not for your sadness when it comes.

If only missing someone wasn't so hard .

But maybe the simple act of comfort with the man you love isn't so terrible.

Maybe surrendering to the here and now, is the only thing that the universe can tell that you both want.

A night spent together where you can wish upon the moon.

And, aren't we rebels for a reason?

Would it be so bad if you just happened to turn off your comms? 😉

... 🧡

thanks so much for reading ! 😊🌼💛

[jaychrilo1144]

Y'all we gotta talk.

Just because someone says "hot take" when talking about fictional characters, DOES NOT MEAN THAT THEY ARE SAYING ITS OFFICIALLY CANON!! ITS THEIR INTERPRETATION OF THE CHARACTER!!! If you dont like it, then look at stuff you do like.

I dont like overly soft Remus. I dont. ATYD is probably one of my fav interpretations of him. I dont like prongsfoot or moonwater. I love rockstar sirius. I like slutty sirius. I dont like forgotten younger Peter. I dont know how to feel about Jegulus, but im not opposed to Jegulily. I could go on. I like what I like or dont, and everyone feels the same, and the world keeps spinning.

I hate seeing someone say hot take and then getting SHIT on like crazy.

Heres what I think. As long as the CORE of the character is kept, then the interpretations of said character are free grounds.

For example. Sirius black is a rebel at heart and always has been. He hates tradition in any shape or form. That is core to his character. If someone wants to interpret that as sirius liking makeup, sirius as a rockstar, sirius as a manwhore, nonbinary sirius, THEN WHATEVER!!

Another example is that James Potter is fiercly loyal and is kinda a prick at times. Cool! So if someone wants to write him as a frat boy, it makes sense.

Remus has an aura of mystery and seems to always have secrets. Whether thats him being a werewolf, being gay, bi, disabled, running an underground business, or harboring other secrets, cool. Ur still playing along within the character.

If you dont like it, find the things you do like and move on. You're not going to agree with everyone, and not everyone is gonna agree with you. I think wolfstar should always be canon no matter what, but others dont agree and thats fine, we dont have to.

Look, I get it, I love and obsess these characters just as much as the next, trust me. But at the end of the day, We are talking about fictional characters. Let people creatively express themselves and enjoy the world of fiction.

Thank you 💛

[sephirthoughts]

Unpopular opinion ask game: 💛

(from this ask game)

💛: What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

Oh there are ever so many. i usually keep my mouth shut because i don't want to yuck anyone's yums or draw aggro from crusaders, but this is an unpopular opinion game sooooo

WARNING: UNFILTERED OPINIONS UNDER THE CUT

The one that i think burns my ass the worst is Cloud/Tifa, mostly because the game and fandom tries so hard to shove it down our throats. In the FF7 games, there is this blatant assumption all through the narrative that "of course the player is into this girl" which instantly makes me rebel against anything in any game, especially when it's heteronormative bullshit.

cyberpunk was the worst, when they tried to force me to like that leatherfaced blow-up-doll panam, who was so egregiously written by misogynist cismales, that i nearly quit the game. the grossly overt assumption the game made that i the (obviously cishet male) player would automatically be into her led to me abandoning her dirt nomad questline and never going back. i checked later, they just stand around in the desert waiting forever if you don't go back.

the problem with tifa is very similar. hetshippers always like to try and carve out a moral highground for their "canon" ship, by acting like it's misogynist not to like the female love interest in a game. i have news for you, babes, i don't have to eat garbage just because it's labeled organic.

a female character designed and written in a lazy, misogynist way is the same. consuming that fictional relationship uncritically is not something i am required to do, nor will i. the women in final fantasy games, for the most part, are badly written, terribly designed artifacts of a time when women were just objects and that was ok to say out loud. they're hardly even trying to hide it, now, but at least they are a little.

my theory on tifa's design is that the otaku devs had never seen a girl irl and when they tried to make one, what they came up with was a pair of massive tits and the personality of a wad of dryer lint. then they gave her some tossed together martial arts to justify why she's following cloud around taking up a party slot, instead of staying at home minding the children and elderly like a good girl.

also the business with her and aerith seeming to get catty and jealous over cloud several times (which they mercifully cut from remake) is such revoltingly juvenile and misogynist writing, it's almost funny. almost.

honestly the whole romance they are pushing between cloud and tifa is revoltingly juvenile and misogynist, since she's a personality-free prize for the male hero, not to mention homophobic, since it primarily seems to function as a beard, so sephiroth and cloud don't seem too gay (MISSION FAILED).

Cloud Strife is a character with whom i deeply connected and fully inhabited, and he is not a heterosexual neurotypical male in any way whatsoever. and yet i'm supposed to like seeing him shoved into the blandest wish-fulfillment, 'winning the titted-up tomboy hometown girl as a prize for being awesome' fantasy that some chuuni would've written in the back of their school notebook when they were 11. please.

examined fully, there's literally no reason for the pair to be romantically interested in one another, outside the pervasive and poisonous heterosumption of boy+girl=love. and i know what people are going to say about them being friends, but she doesn't like him. she never does. she likes the idea of the person she thinks he should be, and persistently tries to force him to become, throughout the series. she thinks the way he is needs to be fixed, because he's wrong somehow. we can still see it happening in advent children.

that's fine though, because he doesn't like her, either. he kind of remembers her from the past. that's all. he does not have the capacity to form that kind of attachment, when they first reconnect, and by the time he could form a meaningful connection with someone (circa advent children), he's already been fully railroaded into the domesticated role everyone has decided he's supposed to be in, and she is reduced to a nagging wife, by the writers. he is very clearly unhappy, and it's not because of sephiroth.

last but not least, is the lack of any kind of romantic tension between them. there is more chemistry between cloud and biggs, than cloud and tifa. hell there's more chemistry between cloud and those alley cats. it's very clearly a manufactured relationship for the sake of gratifying the decreasingly cishetmale player base of yesteryear.

in conclusion, cloud x tifa is the cold oatmeal of ships and i just want to spit it out yack

[yellowflowerartz]

Next fan series I finished is actually an og of mine, created way before Star Twinkle became a season. These are cleaned up designs since I still liked them but they now have a new team name. Meet, Galactic Guardians Pretty Cure!

Constellation is a rebel princess and daughter of the big bad, emperor of an entire planet. From war after war, she figures out that her tyrant father is now going after other planets, including Earth, to find her missing mother and take over the Galaxy. Using her already existing cure powers, she has to stop her father to save Earth. However, two humans soon gain the power of pretty cure to aid her in battle, much to her dismay.

Cures: Cure Cynthia 🩷 Cure Comet 💙 Cure Constellation 💛 Cure Celestial 💜

I have about a week left and I’m finally heading towards spring break! Art might take a little longer as midterms are this week but hopefully my next group of fan series to draw is posted soon! Thank you for following me on this journey so far! 6 more to go! 😊

[cool-thymus]

Hello there! To answer some of your questions in the tags (mind you, it's going to be long):

The overall story-idea was Good/Konoha loyal!Obito being Kakashi's lover on the battlefield. He thinks, but never vocalises his concerns about Kakashi. Kakashi, who is always doing his utmost best, always so dependable, strong, the perfect soldier. But Kakashi isn't invincible, and he's crumbling under all the weight the world (and himself) puts on his shoulders. Kakashi, who can only ever be vulnerable when no one sees him. But Obito knows but doesn't say. So he lets his actions speak and picks up his lover and embraces him, tries to soothe him.

BUT even if this is the original idea, there are many possibilities and I couldn't choose one so I changed the outcome of the few pages a lot. This is a bit my problem, soI struggle with flow and paneling a lot.

There are so many interesting ideas to explore after all!

It is his Father's signature sleeve pattern! I just kinda love the idea of Kakashi wearing it to honor his father (and sometimes/most of the time I HC it as a clan thingy!)

The rest is more 'up to interpretation of the viewer' but I'll type my thoughts on it:

Storywise:

The idea started - like I mentioned - as Good-Obito finding a distressed Kakashi. But I started to draw Obito in his War/arc uniform, but then I thought 'hmmmm maybe Obito is Akatsuki here?' So this can both be 'Teammate Obito in a fancy outfit' OR 'Akatsuki/Mizukage/stalker!Obito' who keeps an eye on Kakashi.

Then another idea I got: "What if it is Konoha-loyal-Kakashi and Akatsuki!Obito having a forbidden/secret relationship??" Like, the loyaltyconflict Kakashi must have! The pull Obito feels towards a past and furture with Kakashi by his side (lover or friendship-wise), the 'what did I get myself into??' of both of them.

The scarred arm: or a slip of control on Kakashi's part where he couldn't control his Chidori OR/AND afterwards he'd had flashbacks and started tearing up his arm like he did in the anime after Rin's death. (Rin is still deceased in this short comic)

Outfit-wise:

The War!arc Obito outfit is one of my faves overall (except the high neck, but hey... can't have everything can we?) and I have a great dislike for the standard Konoha vest in general. Idk. It's not his colour? So I decided to draw that.

Voilà, my thoughts on the little comic ^.^

OMG!! Rose, thank you for sharing your vision! 😍🙏🌻 Obito soothing Kakashi by just being gentle with him is very Obito of him. I frequently find myself thinking that in their dark moments, obkk would be mostly silent, relying on proximity that would give them comfort and a sense of security. Especially the way you drew that embrace - i'm sure it worked on Kakashi and made him feel if not better, but safer.

"A forbidden/secret relationship" between Konoha loyal Kakashi and Akatsuki Obito! YES! I'm a big fan! I have a personal daydream au where good Jounin Obito leaves the village bc he doesn't support the cruel politics of the hokage and the higher-ups and essentially becomes a rebel. Kakashi doesn't follow him, but they can't stay apart for too long, bc they worry sick about each other and still meet in secret. Your illustrations fall in line with this hc of mine and it makes me daydream HARDER xD These are the comments for this beautiful post, check it out if you've missed it 💛

[thewritingofspencerrose]

mclaren masterlist : masterlist

Monaco to Indy

saturday, may 25th, 2024 : monaco

liked by patriciooward, landonorris, and 101,349 others

etta.norris split custody weekend 🧡💛 good luck to team mclaren here in monaco (landonorris) and to my boy and arrow mclaren in the states at the indy 500 (patriciooward)!

patriociooward mi amor, really that photo?

patriciooward miss you endlessly!

etta.norris miss you more patito 🧡

alexanderrossi etta, begging you to come and pick up your boyfriend

etta.norris sorry rossi! you have custody this weekend, remember?

landonorris ha! take that patriciooward! i get ettie this weekend!

patriciooward rude.

"Fuck!" My brothers voice calls over the radio, voice indicating all the attitude his colorful language emphasizes, pulling into the pits. Qualifying is over, and Lando is just out of reach of the podium spots at a track where qualifying is everything and overtaking is nonexistent.

His car is rolled in, hands already removing his steering wheel and placing in on the nose of the car.

Lan's helmet is off next, being handed over to one of the engineers before he's approaching where I stand with Jon. "The pace wasn't there."

"We know," I am quick to assure, more than aware that if I don't, he'll spiral away before he can even hand off his gloves. "You pushed to get everything from the car that you could."

Lando throws his arm over my shoulder, sweaty and heavy but no where near uncomfortable enough to complain about. "How's Arrow doing stateside?" He asks, eyes on the monitors in front of us, picking apart each and every lap he completed.

"Good, Pato called just before quali. From the sounds of it he's a contender to win this weekend," My smile wouldn't dim even if I wanted it to, the idea of him pulling off an Indy 500 win.

From the moment I met Pato at the Mclaren mixer just after his signing, he followed me around like a puppy, and I found it adorable.

And it took me a total of three months to realize I was falling for the man with the infectious personality who didn't seem to waiver, even with my brother and Danny Ric threatening him at every chance they get.

And here we are, a year together later, and I'm split custody between two Mclaren teams.

"I'm sure I could get Max to let you borrow the jet."

What have I missed?

"What?"

Lan's eyes meet mine, matching hues meeting, as he smiles. Not out of joy, but smiling all the same.

"The chances of me making the podium tomorrow are slim. If you catch a plane now you can make it in time for the Indy, surprise your boy."

"Lan, it's your weekend-"

"This isn't a custody battle," He interrupts before I can even finish. "This is the biggest race of Patricio's year and he might win it. Go be his lucky charm or whatever," He's still smiling, and for a moment I can't help but admire my brother for the kind human he is.

But I can't help the smile on my face as I think over the idea.

"I'd have to text Elba."

"Text her, I'll ask Max about the plane." This is why he's my favorite human.

My arms wrap around him, pulling his sweaty body into a tight hug. "Thank you, Lan."

"Anytime, Ettie Mae, any time," He returns, curls brushing against my head as he pulls me close.

sunday, may 26th, 2024 : indianapolis

liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1, and 136,028 others

etta.norris shhhh no one tell pato! i made it for the final ten laps, and could not be prouder of my boy! let's go number five! (shoutout to landonorris and maxverstappen1 for getting me here on time)

maxverstappen1 anytime kid! enjoy the race and good luck to patriciooward

zakbrown you surprised me too! biggest papaya supporter there is!

etta.norris you know it!

landonorris glad you made it! zakbrown look after her for me!

zakbrown i'm sure pato has it covered, but i'll keep an eye!

etta.norris are we forgetting that i'm 21?

landonorris no you're not, you're fifteen and a little rebel

He had been ahead. He was in first for so long.

And then Josef popped up, not out of nowhere but still in surprise, there's nothing that can be done to soothe my heart. My nails are getting sorter and shorter by the second, heart beating out of my chest until the crowd cheers out, all of the air leaving my body.

Pato was so close, yet not close enough.

Zak's hand lands on my shoulder in an attempt at comfort, but all I can focus on is my boy making his last lap, Josef celebrating just in front of him as they lap around to the pits.

Here he is, pulling in, and stopping, making no move to get out of the car. Pato simply leans forward, body wracking with what I can only assume to be sobs as Zak and I approach.

Zak goes in first, patting him on the back and whispering something, whatever it is earning a soft nod before Zak's eyes are meeting my own, his head ushering me over.

"Patito?"

In our time of knowing one another, I don't think I have ever seen his head move as fast as he does, tearful eyes being the only thing clear through his helmet that is still on his head, body scrambling to leave the confines of his car and tear off his helmet, tossing it to Zak.

And I'm right here to catch him when he manages his escape, throwing himself into my arms, hugging me with his entire being.

"You're here," he whispers, fingertips digging into my sides as I run my own through his sweaty hair. "You're actually here."

"I'm always going to be here," Is what my heart inspires me to respond, kissing the side of his head. He's pulling back though, arms still around my waist as his watery eyes look me over.

"You were supposed to be in Monaco, Lando got you this weekend," He doesn't sound upset at my spontaneous arrival, but rather entirely confused.

My thumbs brush across his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have been shed. "He realized he wouldn't be making the podium," Is the beginning of my explanation. "After quali, we knew. So I texted your sister to see if she could get me a ticket, and Lando texted Max to get me on his jet. It was all Lan's idea, honestly."

He pulls me back into his arms, a sigh leaving his body as he deflates.

"Remind me to thank your brother. You're exactly what I needed."