#idk it’s sounds like such a lonely existence too to be a star

[fanfreakinfiction]

My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers

Chapter 1: Don’t Cry

Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤

14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!

Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.

Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.

A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.

His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that. 

From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.

His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.

Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.

The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.

In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.

With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.

"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet. 

After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.

But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.

The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.

Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit. 

Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.

"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.

The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.

In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.

"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."

"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.

With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.

—

The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.

The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.

"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.

The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.

“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.

“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)

Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."

I am a lonely mother.

—

The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.

Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.

"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.

In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.

Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.

Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.

It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you

"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.

"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.

With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.

In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.

"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.

Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.

"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.

The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.

The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.

"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.

Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history. 

"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"

“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.

Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"

"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.

"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.

"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.

Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.

Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely. 

“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man. 

"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"

The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.

"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.

Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.

The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.

Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.

Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.

"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.

"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.

"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.

The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys. 

As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.

"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.

The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.

The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.

— 

The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.

Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.

As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you. 

"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly. 

The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.

You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.

Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.

With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.

Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff. 

After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.

Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.

“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.

You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.

Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack. 

With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.

Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.

An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing. 

Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.

You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.

After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.

Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.

A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.

Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.

"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.

After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.

After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.

You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.

Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.

It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.

Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.

While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.

At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.

Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers. 

This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.

Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.

In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations. 

You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.

—

The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night… 

The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.

Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.

But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar. 

As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.

In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm? 

When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu. 

Years. Actual, years.

In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.

Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?

"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.

“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.

But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.

Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.

The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.

Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.

"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.

"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.

“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."

Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."

The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.

The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.

At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.

Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right. 

This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.

As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.

Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.

He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.

Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.

Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.

He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.

Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life. 

He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.

That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar. 

With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.

Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.

— 

After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.

With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.

As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.

With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.

The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.

You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.

But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.

Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.

With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool. 

A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.

“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.

“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety. 

Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.

He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.

“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.

Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment. 

With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.

As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.

“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.

Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head. 

Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.

In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.

“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.

You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.

The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.

The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms. 

She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy. 

— 

The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.

Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.

Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.

Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.

Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.

His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.

Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.

He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible. 

The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.

— 

Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.

The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.

“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.

As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning. 

Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.

As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.

Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.

To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.

Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.

From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.

—

Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.

As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.

“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.

Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.

"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.

— 

"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.

The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.

You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.

As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.

It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.

However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.

You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers. 

He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him. 

His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more. 

“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light. 

He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t. 

You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.

You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you. 

His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place. 

He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.

"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.

—

"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.

Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.

He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm. 

"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.

"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.

Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then. 

"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.

For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.

"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.

You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.

"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.

Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.

He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.

Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.

As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.

Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.

"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.

Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.

"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you. 

"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.

"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.

"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.

"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.

"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)

Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him. 

He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.

He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.

With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.

You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering. 

In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.

"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.

Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.

"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.

"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.

As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.

Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.

A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.

He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.

In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned. 

His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.

"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither. 

[thir10th]

hellooo! i’ve only recently found your blog and needed to tell you how much i enjoy your writing! i just keep coming back here to read more, it’s been so fun! i’ve been loving the getaway series and i’m wondering if you were planning on continuing it? if you were planning on it, would it be possible to request some more fluff and some more smut, maybe where emily and fem!reader sc!ssor a little? 👀 honestly would read whatever you felt like writing as well, tysm🤎

tysm anon this is super sweet! <3 i'm so so sorry this took so long to get done but here it is at last!

The getaway pt.5 - Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

ALL OF THESE CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONES

summary: You decide to enjoy the steam room, and then you can't stop thinking about a certain thing tw: smut, semi-public sex, tribadism, lesbian sex, dom-sub undertones, fingering, english isn't my first language, i think that's it a/n: the bitch is BACK but for how long idk (it's me, i'm the bitch) This one's also based in a Huff scene! If you want the clip lmk!

You unwrap from the softness of the bathrobe to hang it outside, leaving you just on your small bikini. Your back muscles still feel all tingly and relaxed from the massage,

it was Emily's idea, really, she loves couple activities way more than anyone would think, she had been the one to book the couples massage for you after breakfast.

Your massage therapist had been a little faster than Emily's, having you decided to skip the last part having some trouble with your cervical muscles, and being reluctant to someone digging up too much into your skin, you jumped from the bed, whispering a goodbye to Emily, head down on the table, she answered what you deduced was a muffled "yeah", way too relaxed to pay much attention to you.

A warm and dense wave of steam hits you straight on the face, a woman passes next to you, leaving the room empty, and you carefully place your towel on the wooden bench, slowly lowering yourself on it, closing your eyes, you enjoy the fully relaxed state you're in.

The sound of the door opening slightly startles you, Emily enters and stops to close the door behind her. You take a small moment to admire her.

The toned muscles on her back, shoulders down and relaxed, her soft, dark hair falls wet on strands, her small bikini bottoms haging on her hips seductively, or maybe casually, but everything about this woman drives you nuts, everything she does turns you on, she makes your heart race by just existing.

She turns around and smiles when she catches you starring at her.

"That massage, was amazing" she says in almost a whisper, and you can feel a certain heat on your lower stomach that you already know too well.

"It was, right?" you smile, as she slowly walks up to you, and leans down to give you a chaste kiss on your lips, she oh so soft you think you might just melt on the contact of her soft lips against yours.

She sits next to you, so close that your elbows are touching, she holds your hand tenderly. Her smile is of pure joy and full of intention, the same that she’s been pulling the whole weekend.

You hold her face to pull her in for another kiss. This time your mouth opens in an invitation, Emily bites your lower lip in that way that she knows drive you crazy, and you let out a satisfied whimper.

“It is so lonely in here is it?” She asks with fake innocence, pulling away from the kiss.

“So?” You smile, knowing what she probably has in mind.

“And it’s so hot in here too” she adds, now looking around as if to make sure there’s no one else on the reduced space of the room.

Her soft fingers on your stomach, she works wonders on your skin. Her lips brushing against your ear, you can feel her breath against your skin, she kisses the flesh of your ear, softly first, before trapping your earlobe between her teeth, making you gasp.

This is so wrong, you cannot do this here right now, but the way Emily's soft caresses your skin, lowering her tough behind your bellybutton towards your lower stomach, you think you might just melt right that second.

"Em- Emily, stop!" you scold her when you feel her fingertips reaching the string of your bikini bottoms.

"shh" she whispers on your ear, you feel her warm breath, it's all a combination that might just drive you crazy right now "c'mon, love. Look around" she encourages you, and you subconsciously oblige. Not because you think you've missed anything there, but because Emily's commanding voice could make anyone do whatever she asked.

"It's just us" you can feel the smile on her lips which makes you look. Her face and yours now so close to each other, you want to give in and kiss her right now right there, and have your way with her. You know she will pull out her badge if it means it will get to avoid having anyone entering the room.

Her fingers trace the line of your bikini bottoms, teasing the edge in a way that has your breath hitching. Emily's eyes are locked on yours, dark and full of heat, but there's a playfulness too. She loves seeing you squirm, loves having this control over you.

"Relax," she whispers, voice soft but laced with desire. Her other hand drifts up your side, her fingertips grazing your ribcage before sliding around to your back, pulling you closer to her. You shiver, both from the touch and the heady atmosphere of the steam-filled room.

"Emily," you try to sound firm, but it comes out more like a breathless plea.

She chuckles softly, lips ghosting over your collarbone before placing feather-light kisses there, sending small shocks of electricity through your body. Her fingers dance lower, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath your belly button, and you can feel your pulse quicken in response.

"Just a little fun," she murmurs against your skin, her mouth finding your neck now, where she presses open-mouthed kisses that make your breath hitch even more. Her hand continues its slow descent, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh.

The steam clings to both of you, heat wrapping around you like a blanket, but all you can focus on is Emily—her lips, her touch, her body pressed close to yours. It feels dangerous, exhilarating. Every nerve in your body is tuned to her, and it’s almost unbearable, the way she’s drawing this out.

When her fingers finally slip beneath your bikini bottoms, you gasp, your body reacting instantly to her touch. She’s gentle at first, her fingers barely grazing your folds, but even that slight contact is enough to make your hips shift involuntarily, seeking more. Her mouth finds yours again, but this time the kiss is anything but chaste. It’s hungry, demanding, and you give yourself over to it, moaning softly into her mouth as her fingers start to move more deliberately against you.

"God," you pant, your head falling back against the wall of the steam room as Emily’s mouth trails down your neck. Her fingers continue their slow, torturous rhythm, slipping between your folds, slick and teasing, and you can feel that heat coiling in your stomach, threatening to unravel at any second.

"Oh, love, you're drenched" you moan in response and she smiles triumphantly, knowing the effect her words have on you.

But just as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, lost in her touch, the door creaks open.

Both of you freeze.

Emily’s hand stills against you, her lips hovering just above your collarbone. You can hear the soft shuffling of someone stepping inside, the sound of feet on the wooden floor.

You can barely think, your body still burning with unfulfilled desire, but the sudden shock of being caught makes your heart race for an entirely different reason.

Emily pulls away, her fingers slipping out from your bikini as she tries to regain her composure, her eyes wide with a mixture of amusement and frustration. You stifle a laugh, biting your lip to keep quiet, your body still trembling from how close you’d been to release.

The person in the room doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, thankfully. They settle on the bench across the room, their back turned to you. Emily glances at you, an eyebrow raised in silent mischief, as if to say we got away with it. You shake your head slightly, still trying to catch your breath, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips.

She leans in one last time, brushing her lips over your ear and whispering, “To be continued.”

Your heart skips at the promise, and despite the interruption, you know this weekend with Emily is far from over.

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

Lunch with Emily is always relaxing, or at least it usually is. But today, as you sit across from her in the cozy hotel restaurant, you can barely focus on the food in front of you. Your body is still buzzing with leftover tension from the steam room, your mind running in circles, replaying the way Emily’s fingers had teased you, the heat in her eyes before you were interrupted.

You stab at your salad, but the frustration gnawing at you is impossible to ignore.

Emily’s fork pauses mid-air, and she looks at you with a knowing smirk. “You seem a little… distracted.”

You glance up at her, trying to play it cool. “Oh, really? I wonder why.”

She arches a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “Is someone upset because they didn’t get to finish what we started in the steam room?”

The way she says it, with that playful lilt in her voice, makes you squirm in your seat. You try to hide it behind a sip of your drink, but Emily’s eyes never miss anything. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, and that amused glint in her eye only deepens.

"You're terrible," you mutter, but there's no heat behind it. In fact, you're trying not to smile, even if your body still hums with unresolved tension.

“Am I?” she says, her voice low and teasing. “I thought I was being quite generous, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, feigning annoyance, but your heart races. “Generous? Emily, you left me hanging.”

She chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “If I recall, you were the one who said 'stop.' I was being considerate.”

You huff, folding your arms across your chest. "Someone walked in. What was I supposed to do? Keep going and give them a show?"

Emily leans back in her chair, her gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. There’s a mischievous spark in her dark eyes that sets your pulse racing. “Well, we do have one more night here,” she muses casually, but you know her too well to believe she’s as casual as she’s pretending to be. “It’d be a shame to waste that king-sized bed upstairs, don’t you think?”

You feel your breath catch, your mind already jumping ahead to the possibilities. Her voice is laced with suggestion, and it sends a wave of heat through you, the same kind of heat you felt in the steam room.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Prentiss?” you ask, trying to match her playfulness, but your voice betrays your anticipation.

Emily’s grin is slow and confident, the kind that makes your stomach flip. “I’m suggesting we go back to the room. Let me make it up to you properly.”

Your heart skips at the promise in her words. There’s nothing casual about the way she’s looking at you now, the way her eyes are dark with intent. She knows exactly what she’s doing to you, and she’s enjoying every second of it.

You don’t even finish your drink. The moment the check is settled, Emily stands and holds her hand out to you with that same irresistible grin, and you take it, already feeling the anticipation building again.

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

The moment the door to the hotel room closes behind you, Emily’s hands are on you. She presses you up against the wall, her mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the teasing ones from earlier. It’s full of hunger, full of need, and you return it just as fiercely, your hands tangling in her hair as you pull her closer.

She breaks the kiss only to breathe out, "I think we left something unfinished earlier."

You don’t even have time to respond before she’s tugging your shirt over your head, her lips back on yours as she pushes you toward the bed, you smile against her mouth at the sudden urgency, and you can tell she feels it by the scoff she lets out.

Your body’s on fire, and the weight of her against you only fuels the flames. By the time you collapse onto the bed together, your skin is already flushed with heat.

Emily straddles you, her dark eyes locked onto yours as she leans down to kiss you again, slower this time, savoring the taste of you. Her hands roam over your body, fingers brushing over your bare skin with deliberate slowness, driving you mad with anticipation.

“I think it’s time to take care of you, don’t you?” she whispers against your lips.

You nod breathlessly, your body aching for her touch. “Yes, please.”

Her lips curl into that smug smile again as she shifts, her body aligning with yours in a way that makes your breath catch. She’s not teasing anymore. She’s focused, determined, and when her thigh slides between yours, pressing up against you, you let out a shaky gasp.

Her eyes darken as she watches your reaction, her hand sliding down to tug at your bottoms until they’re off, discarded somewhere on the floor. You help her with her own, and when her bare skin presses against yours, you feel like you might lose your mind.

"God, Emily," you pant as she presses herself against you, her thigh slipping between your legs as she moves her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The pressure is perfect, but it’s not enough—you want more, need more.

"Patience," she murmurs, her lips ghosting over your neck as she moves, her body sliding against yours in a way that makes you gasp. Her hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer until you can feel her slick heat against yours, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

You can’t stop the soft moan that escapes your lips as your hips move together, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you. Emily’s breath hitches, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she rolls her hips, finding that perfect rhythm. The pressure, the heat, the way your bodies slide against each other—it’s almost too much, and yet it’s not enough at the same time. It's never enough when it comes to Emily.

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours as she presses her forehead against yours, her breath coming in shallow pants. "You feel so good," she whispers, her voice thick with desire.

You cling to her, your bodies moving in sync, the friction building higher and higher with every grind of her hips. It’s desperate, raw, and you can feel that tension coiling in your stomach again, tighter and tighter with each thrust.

"Emily," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

"I’ve got you," she whispers back, her voice a promise as her pace quickens, her body moving against yours with more urgency now. "Come for me."

And that’s all it takes. With a cry, you tumble over the edge, your body shuddering against hers as waves of pleasure crash over you. Emily follows right after, her moans mingling with yours as her body tenses, her grip on you tightening as she rides out her own release.

For a moment, neither of you move, both of you catching your breath, your bodies still pressed together in the aftermath. Emily’s hand cups your cheek, and she presses a soft kiss to your lips, her touch now tender and loving.

"Better?" she asks, her voice low and teasing again, but there’s a softness in her eyes that makes your heart swell.

You nod, still breathless, smiling up at her. "Much better."

Emily smirks, rolling over to lie beside you, pulling you into her arms. "Good. We’ve still got some time left before checkout. I might have more making up to do."

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

This was my october writing challenge day 1! Hope you love it <3

For now, this is the ending of the getaway, if you'd like to request something else for it i could consider it, but for now it's done! thank you all for the support and specially the patience!! <3

reqs are still super open!

[necromelli]

Cherry Wine

[ next part ]

you meet your soulmate every night in your dreams, and tonight is no different. you just wish you knew his name is all.

tw: emotional cheating (maybe?), talk of abusive relationships (nothing descriptive, just mention), allusions to prostitution (I don't think it's outright stated?), mention of drowning, let me know if I missed something!

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i may or may not do another part depending on if people like this. idk it was really cathartic to write + i kinda wanna expand on reader's background + writing them meet

This was the only time you could ever meet. When the waves crashed over a dark beach, angry and relentless. Not even the moon existed in this place — nothing but skies as dark as the water stretched on forever. Even still, you looked forward to it every night. Sitting on the beach with him as the waves continued raging, until they eventually overtook you and you woke up gasping.

He insisted the beach never looked this dark. That it was never this terrifying. That it didn't continue to rise until it tried to drown you. He promised that one day, when you finally meet, he’d show you how lovely the beach truly was. How bright and warm the sun was, how cool and gentle the waves were when they lapped at your ankles. You didn't think you'd care what the beach looked like as long as he was there. If it was important enough to him to somehow make it through both of the clouded grays tormenting your minds, it was important to you too.

As long as it was him and not her. As long as it was the boy who’d hold your hand, who'd rub his thumb across your knuckles mindlessly, who’d try to comfort you and make you forget about your home life. On those nights, when he seemed able to calm you down, the ocean remained calmer for a longer time. On those nights, you half believed his promise of the beach being kind.

Even now, he looked so at peace standing by the rushing water. There wasn't an ounce of fear tensing his wide shoulders. Despite all his problems — at least the ones he confided in you — he still looked happy. When he saw the outline of your figure, a wide smile split across his face. He always beamed when he saw you — as bright as the sun, as pretty as the stars, as delphic as the moon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice barely carried to your lonely spot on the beach. He started towards you, his smile never faltering. You followed suit, as fast as you could in the wet sand. “You look as pretty as ever.”

You knew he was messing with you. You were covered by your silk nightgown, arms crossed on your chest tight, trying to ignore the wind that nipped your skin. Still, though, you returned his smile with one of your own. “You look warm.” You answered back, laughing softly. “Be honest — is that real fur?”

For a moment, he was confused, as if he had forgotten all about the fact he was dressed to the nines. Looking down, he remembered. He wasn't at home and he didn't have the energy to change. He was quickly shrugging the coat off and draping it across your shoulders. “No. No, it's faux. In fact, if you look right here,” He stood behind you, lifting the arm of the coat closer to your eyes. “You’ll see how the fibers melted together.”

You wanted to look down at the sleeve, but you were distracted by the way his chest pressed against your back, how his arms slipped underneath your arms and wrapped around to your front, how his slow breaths were warm against your skin. You didn't think you’d be cold anymore, with or without the fur coat.

“How did they melt?” You asked curiously, your fingers clutching the open sides of the coat closer to your body. It smelled like honey and strawberries, it smelled like him. It washed over you, erasing the smell of cherries and wine. It made you forget.

“Well,” Finnick hummed, his chin coming down to rest on your shoulder. You were sure his eyes were closed softly, intent on listening to you breathe and the sound of the ocean. “Would you believe me if I said I couldn't tell you?”

You pushed the disappointment that buried deep in your chest, a feeling you were all too familiar with. But, despite the hollowness in your chest, you nodded. You understood better than anyone why some things, even with your soulmate, had to be a secret. “I would. Makes it mysterious,” He laughed, which made you smile. “I can make up all sorts of stories.”

“Oh really?” Your words had caught his attention. You knew because his nose pressed against your neck. You knew because you could feel the smirk form. “Like what, darling?”

You didn't respond. Instead, you looked at the ocean, which had since calmed into a low roar. His large hands splayed across your stomach, pressing into your ribs as he tried to warm them between the silk of your nightgown and fur of his coat.

You wished you could have known his name or the district he lived in, but that wasn't allowed. Anytime you tried, the ocean screamed or washed away the letters in the sand before they were even formed. Or the sky darkened so much you couldn't see your own hands, most certainly not each other's lips.

“Mm. I don't know.” You responded quietly as your own hands slipped through the arms of his coat and wrapped around your waist. You held him closer with the excuse of trying to warm his hands up. “If I told you, it would ruin the mystery of it.”

“That's true, love.” He pressed a warm kiss against your neck. It filled you with so much warmth you thought you’d combust into a million stars. “I look forward to this every night. I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night.”

His apology threatened to split your heart in half. There was no reason to apologize in your eyes. Sure, the hollow disappointment that filled your aching chest when he didn't arrive hurt, but it wasn't his fault. You knew that something needed his attention more than you. “It's okay,” you promised. “I’m not mad.”

“I know,” Finnick mused softly. He pressed another warm kiss against your neck, your bodies swaying together. “But, you still deserve the apology.”

You swallowed thickly, forcing the lump growing in your throat back down. As if the ocean reflected your emotions, the waves started crashing against the beach in larger pulls, nipping your toes with icy cold water. He was everything you wished she was. Even after everything, an apology never slipped past her lips. Not that it would've made a difference anyways, because her actions never matched.

Not wanting to lose you just yet, he hummed once again. His fingers found yours and interlocked them. As if on instinct, his thumbs brushed across your knuckles tenderly. “How’s your wife?” He asked, but not really caring in the slightest. He wanted to find everything about you out, about your life, so that he might be able to find you and whisk you away.

You took a moment to respond, not trusting your voice. “She’s fine.” You felt him squeeze your hand, encouraging you to continue. “She’s, well, she’s stressed. She won't tell me why, though, so I can only help in limited ways.”

“Limited ways?” He questioned you, knowing better than the sweet way you put it. It wasn't fair the way she had the audacity to turn your skin cherry red. If he could have fixed it, he would have. You’d never have to worry about her again.

“It helps.” You insisted, eyes burning. Humiliation clawed your throat. Part of you wished you had never told him, but then, he wouldn't be able to comfort you. To be the one thing saving you. “She doesn't mean it. The anger just takes her over and overwhelms her.”

“Still not a reason to hurt you.” He reminded, and you could tell he was on edge. His fingers tightened their hold, holding you closer to his chest. “What was it this time?”

You pursed your lips as you debated whether or not to tell him. You decided against it. “Would you believe me if I said I couldn't tell you?”

He sighed softly against your neck and picked his head up to kiss your temple. “I would.” A beat passed before he continued. “But, I wish I knew so I could kiss it better.”

Your head dipped as you smiled softly, swallowing the laughing sob that swelled in your throat. You knew he was entirely serious, that if you told him all the broken parts of you, he would spend all the time he had fixing it. It was tempting to tell him, so that he could kiss it better, but there wasn't enough time in the world for him to do that. Not with the ocean at your ankles now.

“How was work?” You asked, gently trying to change the subject. You didn't want to think about her. Not when he was here, holding you closely. In this dreamscape, where you got to be with your soulmate, nothing else mattered.

It was you, your soulmate, and the ocean.

It was his turn to contemplate whether or not he told you. A heavy sigh escaped through his nose, his hands guiding yours over your stomach. He squeezed you close, as if just having you there made it easier. It probably did.

“Stressful.” he admitted, debating how much he should truly tell you. “Last night was hard. Tonight was even harder.”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, turning inwards so you could kiss his neck. His breath caught in his throat, the longing of truly holding you threatening to suffocate him. You felt the water crash against your knees and pretended to ignore it.

“I’m sorry, love.” You whispered, and he knew you felt it deep in your bones with how tight your voice sounded. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

His initial answer was almost no, but he decided to offer something. “Just tired of people thinking pretty jewels and expensive gifts make what they do acceptable.”

The fur coat grew heavy on your shoulders as you realized it was one of his gifts. He would have never worn something so gaudy. Part of you wished you realized the moment he put it on you, so that you could've dropped it into the ocean and watched it disappear from the dreamscape altogether, forever.

“Or fancy baths that smell like mulled wine,” You offered in addition. You felt him smile despite the dark narrative. At least you had that in common; the way those in your life refused to see you as human.

“I much prefer my baths with flowers.” He laughed, kissing your cheek. “Sea thrift, to be exact.”

The water at your thighs didn't bother you. Not with him behind you, holding you tightly. Not with him kissing your cheek — careful not to brush against your lips. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him fully, but he insisted on waiting until he saw you in person. Until the moment you saw each other awake, you’d have to make do with this. But, he made up for it all with his doting and warm affection.

“Sea thrift?”

“Sea thrift.” He nodded, instinctively holding you closer to him. His fingers squeezed yours so tightly it hurt, but you didn't stop him. “Armeria Maritima. With as many books as your wife has, I'm sure there's one about them.”

You raised a brow, giggling. The sound made his chest swell with warmth. He loved you so much he was sure it would kill him one day. “Are you giving me homework?”

“Something to remind you of me tomorrow.” He answered — more so corrected. He would have loved to sit on the beach with you, card his fingers through your hair, and watch the waves, but tonight wasn't the night.

Usually, you got to spend almost all night together, only being torn apart when it was time to wake, but not tonight. Not with him away from home. Late to bed and early to rise. Your favorite moment was when you got to lay together, your head on his chest, half asleep with the buzz of the waves.

You were sure the beach could be a kind place. Full of kind, warm waters and sands. Even without ever visiting a real beach, it was your happy spot. All because of him. He pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I expect you to be able to tell me all about them.”

You turned around in his arms and buried your face in his chest. Her fingers gripped his white shirt, as his own slipped beneath the fur coat and clutched your silk nightgown. He didn't want to wake up. Not yet. It felt like he had just fallen asleep, and it truly wasn't fair that it wasn't your pretty face he got to wake up to.

“I love you, sugar.” He whispered and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You struggled to keep your head above water, but still found the voice to whisper back. “I love you, too.”

[carlos-in-glasses]

I'm having some thoughts and feelings, for reasons.

The feelings are that I'm so grateful for this beautiful fandom and the beautiful couple in the picture above. The thoughts are beneath the read more and can be taken or left. The picture cannot be left, however. Taken is the only option. You need to see it because look how cute they are!

For prosperity:

Something I always 'explore', if you will, in my own writing is how people process the concept of time. Endings, beginnings, the past and the future linking up. Your past self always being with you like a spectre. The present feeling like a marble rolling around a tube... I think this is because I'm not good with change or saying goodbye, but I do know that endings always lead to something else. Which is scary, because you don't necessarily know what that will bring.

Thinking about all of the above in terms of Lone Star is a different beast for me personally, because I've never had this kind of experience with a show or characters before, where I'm so compelled by it that I found my way into the fandom and have been creatively stimulated to the point of writing 25+ fics for it (which isn't nearly as many as others have produced! But to me it feels significant). So for that reason I want to say: When the show ends -(WHENEVER THAT MAY BE) - the characters don't. They don't end, not really. As long as we choose to keep talking about the themes, sharing meta posts, writing them or drawing them or creating gif sets, and revisiting them in rewatches or YouTube clips - there they are. Always. Either suspended in their moment and so easy to revisit in all their glory, or put in new situations in fic and art even years into the future. If this hiatus has taught us anything, it's that even without the show on air, there are still plenty of stories to tell and interpretations to be had, based on what came before. When the show ends, the thing that will unfortunately go is the speculation aspect, but what we have instead is a beautiful completed work that can inspire and be meaningful forever to those who already love it and for those who will find it in the future - and it will be found. Anything that exists can be found. (See: deep sea fish that glow in the dark (!)). And things that don't exist can be imagined.

We're so lucky to be the ones in the know when it comes to the show and to Tarlos. We know how special it is, what a gift it is. I'm not a spiritual person but I do feel oddly spiritual when it comes to this. Idk.

Something I've always hoped (as I'm sure we all have) is that we would know ahead of time that it's over. The show not being renewed between seasons is a thought that horrifies me to my core. I remember thinking towards the end of season 4: "At least if it doesn't get renewed, it ends with Tarlos being canon-married." Which, as a Tarlos super-fan, was my no.1. concern, but I love and care about the other characters too of course.

Going into season 5 and fearing it could be the last season, I had a huge tummy ache wondering if Tarlos would be on the rocks. If they ended on a cliffhanger having assumed season 6 was on the cards, we'd never get a resolution. But Rafa's Cameos have really eased my mind in that regard. Based not only on the tiny amount he's given away, but the way he talks about them loving each other, it sounds like they're going to be okay - and we're going to see it for ourselves that Tarlos really is endgame. In a time when hope is needed, we do have this. AND we have each other! As long as Tarlos ends happy, I for one intend to keep dancing, even if it means I'm the eccentric up on the table on my own doing the robot. But I would always like others to dance with.

Whatever happens, which we don't officially know yet, we can get through it together.

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

IN CELEBRATION OF THE ECLIPSE I AM RELEASING A (SUPER ROUGH) PART OF CHAPTER 26!!!

Please enjoy the Cepheus Lore ft Asha laughing ((I just realized that she doesn't really smile or laugh a lot in this story??? Maybe she does but it feels like it's superficial to me??? IDK))

He nodded, but his gaze nearly looked distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. “So you’ve always lived with your family,” the star said softly. Strangely, it almost sounded like more of an observation or a confirmation than a statement. “You stayed with your father here, and you live with your mother and grandfather at home.”

She nodded, picking up a few more books and scrolls that had been scattered across her desk.. “Well yeah…that’s how most humans live. We’re social creatures. Unless you’re extremely introverted, but even then, we need social interactions” The star hummed, as she risked a glance in his direction, asking, “are stars not social creatures?”

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes nearly lost in thought for a moment or so until he slowly shook his head. His voice was low and quiet, he nearly sounded tired.“No. Not quite…when stars are born…we’re sent to a nebulas where our caretakers look after us. I suppose it’s what you’d equate to a nursery, at least that’s what she told me.” 

“The wishing star?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. Her. But during our stay there we are usually visited until we undergo our naming ceremony. After that whether or not we are visited is -,” Hold on. Cepheus-Sirius had a family?! Cepheus had parents?!? What did they look like?! He continued peacefully oblivious to the shock she was experiencing at his words. “-ultimately up to our parents or family. So it’s not uncommon for some nebulas to be more popular than others.”

More Popular? So were there nebulas out there with tiny stars neglected and lonely? Waiting and hoping for the day that their parents would acknowledge their existence? Something about that image didn’t sit right with her. Every child deserved to have a parent, even if said child wasn’t human…

“Asha?” he was staring at her.

“Huh” she shook her head, snapping herself out of her daze. “What? What is it?”

Much to her chagrin, his smile returned in full force. “Oh nothing you were just staring at me so intently that for a second I thought you were about to pull out your telescope to get a better view.”

She rolled her eyes stepping past him as she turned her attention to the rest of the room that she promptly decided would have to be dealt with ‘later’. “Ha ha very funny. I wasn’t staring at you. I was just wondering…Was your nebula popular?”

His expression somewhat soured as she watched him run his hand through his hair, completely combing away the black strands from his now bluish grayish eyes as they narrowed at her. “Maybe? I don’t know..” 

She couldn’t stop herself from asking her next question, “Were you the most or least popular star in your nebula?”

His brow furrowed in thought as he frowned, “Hmm neither? I was the only ‘child’ there so to speak.”

“Well were you popular with your caretakers?”

He shrugged, “Ehh I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I had them on rotation. I wasn’t exactly an angel back then per se.” 

She grinned, imagining a toddler Cepheus wreaking havoc on his poor caretakers. “So you were a bad child huh? I guess it checks out.”

He smiled sheepishly, as he scratched the back of his neck “Ok so I might have started out bad, but-,”

“But?” She repeated, not quite able to completely stifle her own chuckle.

“I got better.” She snorted. “I swear I did!” 

She could barely keep herself from laughing as she asked, “So you’re what you’d consider good now? A reformed person? You’ve (no pun intended) seen the light?”

“Eh…Close enough, I suppose,” he smiled. Now she was laughing, not necessarily at him but at the whole revelation of Sirius- Sirius, being a bad child.

“Don’t feel too bad about it starboy,” she smiled as she sat next to him. “it’s not a bad thing to be a boisterous child, alright? Trust me, when I was little, I don’t think I was exactly an amazing child either.”

[cryptic-rainfall]

So I've been putting together this playlist (shameless plug for my playlist here) in response to my phone getting stolen a year ago, which triggered probably the worst, most intense depressive episode I've ever had. Like I was standing on the edge of a cliff bad. Making a playlist to "commemorate" that time you were super depressed doesn't really sound like a good idea, but I've been trying to use it as a way to work through the trauma of it all. Mostly it's songs that I heard on the radio on the drive to and from work, plus a couple songs I heard on repeat to stave off the insanity. There's a lot of Marina and Green Day on there because I have those on CD, easy to turn on without having to think about what I wanna listen to.

Anyways, I thought very long and hard about including Green Day's Wake Me Up When September Ends on the playlist, because of how well it captures the feeling of grief. I ultimately decided against adding it, a little because my bad depressive episode started when September ended, ironically, but mostly because I didn't want to compare the loss of a cellular phone with the loss of a close family member (I know that grief exists for many things and you can grieve deeply and heavily for objects or your own life even without death or someone close to you dying, but it still felt disrespectful).

However, I do wanna talk about how accurately I think Wake Me Up When September Ends depicts grief (because over-analysis of music is what I do for fun for some reason, and dealing with grief has been a big Thing for me this past year in general). The song starts off with soft guitar, soft vocals, and not many instruments. Grief starts quiet sometimes, like the processing time? I think it's also important to note that the song that comes right before this one in the album (Side note: Green Day is incredibly good at constructing albums, the way they sequence and connect their songs in an album is phenomenal, that is it's own post entirely however.) is Letterbomb, which is very upbeat, and the contrast in tempo and lack of instruments that comes at the start of Wake Me Up When September Ends makes you just sort of sit in the quiet that the song starts with. Sit with the grief.

And the whole first verse has that soft guitar and quiet lack of background instruments. I'm not gonna go crazy over lyrics, I'm sure a million people have more to say on it than me, but I do love the themes and imagery. "The innocent can never last" - no one can remain free from grief. "Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars" - idk I just really love this. You don't see stars when it rains, and the slight disconnect draws me deeper into the imagery here. "Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are" - I also really love the imagery of soaking in grief, drenched is really such a great word choice here. And then "becoming who we are," this idea I think is a hard one to come to terms with when it comes to grief or bad things in general. That grief is a part of you. All your experiences go into you, into this process of you becoming yourself. That process never stops, and it's especially hard when grief or loss change you, but also other things will change you too. Bittersweet. "As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost" - I think it's interesting here that it's the memory that rests, not the person who passed. You don't forget your loss, but your memory of it rests.

After the first verse, the instrumentals pick up a bit and the second verse is very similar to the first vocally, but the instrumentals are more intense. Grief isn't always quiet, a lone tear running down your face. When you really start to process it, it gets intense. I also love the contrast of spring and summer, and then the end of September, nice little touch.

After the second verse there is a longer instrumental bit, the music swells, and then pulls back to the soft guitar, transitioning us to the third verse, which is literally like the first few lines of the first verse with two notable differences: 1) instrumentals come in bringing the intensity up after the first line, 2) instead of 7 years, 20 years has gone so fast. Whenever a song does a repeat line but changes one (1) word, it literally drives me crazy, that shit is so good. I still grieve about things from when I was a kid and sometimes it blindsights me, like why am I crying about a friend I haven't seen since I was 8. It also really brings out the "gone so fast" aspect, by the end of the song we've gone from 7 years to 20 years.

I didn't talk about the title lyric from the song, "wake me up when September ends," because that's pretty well documented I think (for those that don't know, Billie Joe Armstrong wanted sleep through September after his father died). It is a very good line in the song though, grief is like that. It wasn't until Halloween/Nov. 1 of last year that I felt ok for even a moment. Grieving periods are obviously different per person but it was nearly exactly a month for me, when the first rains came, that I had a moment that wasn't agony.

Very last note, this song transitions beautifully to the next song, Homecoming, it puts you in this morose moment which is a great place to start the next song, tone-wise. I have no ending so :3

[straykats]

kat talks: 5-star

tldr; it did not take long at all for this comeback to grow on me i love it so much. i find that with most new songs my first listen is always very apathetic and/or ??? LOL and there exists only a small handful of songs that i immediately was like oH MY GOD (this is across all artists i listen to) but yeah i always forget that when listening to new music and i think this comeback is the first time i fully acknowledged that my first listen is rarely (and doesnt need to be) instant likesies. theres a lot of small bits throughout the album that remind me of other songs (not a bad thing, just smth i noticed i kept noticing?). topline, dlc, the sound and time out were/are my favs hehe (update: relistening to the album again and collision and fnf are creeping up to my favs too help)

hall of fame

okay im pretty sure i've heard this in my brief listen before but i also dont remember it at all

i cant describe it but that alien-sounding melody actually has me seeing like a weird alien brainwashing thing

WHOS FUCKING-- WAS THAT JEONGIN??? AT 1:24???? that was so pretty i want that framed

during hyunjins bit i got weird b me flashbacks??? i dont think it sounds similar but my mind immediately went 'b me !!'

jesus felix

the moon landing audio is such a cool inclusion,,, 5 star,,, hall of fame,,, a star/celestial body themed comeback,,,,

s-class

okay wbk i was so confused the first time round but its grown sm on me

i LOVE the power of the opening

the cartoon boing/spring sound and (its not but) the tom and jerry running sound hehe

this song definitely sounds.. grand? and wide? and a good title track

"[im] up above the world so high" nice nice twinkle twinkle reference hehe

i absolutely love jeongin's bit in the bridge and i love the choreo of it too

item

i love the game sounds they use in this hehe

seungmin's prechorus reminds me of smth but i cant place what it is

felixs ... tone? like? the voice he uses???

hyunjin/changbin bit in the bridge >>>>> i cant explain it but it sounds so good

super bowl

the instrumental at the beginning took me by surprise.. i also am sitting ehre trying to identity the?? The Sound. digital/synth. like the almost cowbell almost snare one. ive replayed it so many times.

i thought this when i first heard it (while doing the dishes lol) but is this song all in english?

whats that sound between 'have a bite' and 'make it mine'

screams TFDGVJABVAD the whisper im sorry i cant do it HAHAHAHAHA

topline

to be mad honest i was SO excited for this based on just the teaser

'we skedaddle intoxicated razzle dazzle' best line fr

okay ik i didnt say much for this one but its one of my favs

underground rebellious kinda vibes i love it (i described that wrong but i have a very specific img in my head)

dlc

im trying to play this on the pino and its driving my nuts but in a good way

the 'amudo moreuge' line throughout the entire song is so [deep breaths] like i cant explain it but it BUT AHHHHHH (fun fact for any pokemon people LOL the song oracion has the same kinda thing in it. idk what to call it.)

oh i LOVE love the piano during the second verse AHHHHHHHHH not gonna be able to replicate it but thats okay

the song/chorus has a.. an urban tropical feel? like it's ALMOST something you would hear with a tropical background but smth about the key, maybe, plavces it instead in an urban setting at night (bc lyrics) and seems kinda bittersweet

THATS WHAT THE AMUDO MOREUGE LINE DOES it adds such a sad kinda tired/resigned feel to the song which is like. on one hand the lyrics are so 'lets dance like crazy without a care in the world' but on the other hand the song feels so lonely and kind of. 'don't worry about me, i'll manage my sadness alone'??? like, 'let's have fun together but i'm really sad even though i'm smiling' kinda thing ARGHHHHH

get lit

seungmin's line rmeinds me of smth ARGHH its another skz song i know that for sure but i cant remember which one (ngl a lot of the songs in this album have parts that remind me of another kpop song,,, one of the above reminded me of nct but icr which song)

oh wait i think its my pace @ seungmins line

the instrumental would be so cool for mashups etc

wait one of the lines is 'today im so cocky' which is interesting bc theres a previous line (sueprbowl?) thats about not being cocky or smth HMMM i would revisit but tbh i cbb rn rip

collision

tRUMPETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT... i think

trumpets reminded me of maknae on top and this song also suits jeongin's voice sm i love it here

oh??? the ringing at the end???

fnf

this REMINDS ME OF SMTH TOO an dits not kpop

but i do really like it

'ashes up in the sky' ,,,, thinkingthinkingthinking

this feels like the opposite of time out and idk how to explain it

lix singing !!!!!! i love it sm

WAIT THSI ONE ACTUALLY REMINDS ME OF B ME wait no or is it levanter

the flaura and fauna line also reminds me of venom

both of the above points refer to the melody ,, seungmin's venom prechorus "cant escape-" and then it jumps The Other Song which i cant figure out what it is AHH

was that an eagle did i just hear an eagle

the minho/chan ending is so <3 <3 <3

youtiful

the muted piano i [crying] also almost gives me knnw vibes

'must be an oracle' ????? trying to understand this. like. it must be predicting smth,, but what,,, 'look at the stars fall / they leave the sky, goodbye' which part of this is the oracle i-- ad oracle as in like a person or a message but either way

if anyone covers this song please use a xylophone or marimba hehe would be so <3

oh i can see this second verse being animated so beautifully

why did changbin singing at the end make me so incredibly soft

the sound

okay this song has been out for ages but i think the only thing i said about it was smth about the bass and also how it sounds like a 'final stand' kinda song

okay ngl i liked the jpn lyrics better for the chorus oopsies im sorry

the piano sounds so RAW like the ringing of it the way the key falls and the mallet hits the string like you can HEAR it like thats exactly how it sounds when you play that high on a piano and also like. imo i notice the sound more on older pianos and just bc of that personal association (???) this song gets a bit sadder

adding to the 'final stand' feel is the police sirens in the chorus

time out

i just love this song sm man like idk what to say at this point

OH IT REMINDS ME OF A DEEMO SONG AHHAHA WAIT LEMME FIND IT // this song omg i've never thought about it before but listening to time out just then, i literally went 'you ready?' and then i was like WAIT THATS A DIFFERENT SONG

this song would be such a fun end-of-concert/encore song woah

yeah no i really dont have much to say i just love this song sm

[abysshare]

Yellow again 👋

Sorry if this question is obvious but what's an IRL? And what's the difference between that and Otherkin?

I love finding art of my kintype that depicts what mine was/did specifically too it's always a joy (especially with my seaserpent kintype)That sounds really pretty and it also sounds like a species that might actually exist in show or something. The star also reminds me of Starlight from Rainbow Brite (he's not a unicorn tho)

I love how you're kintypes are like: Siren⚡, Zombie🧟, Hellhound 🐕‍🦺🖤, The Void 🕳️,... and 😸Kitty✨

Never heard of a Harlequin bunny so that's definitely rare. The Void being a kintype is super cool, what's that like? That specific type of Hellhound is definitely unique but I'm not sure how rare they are in general. I'm not angelkin or fallen angelkin so I can't say anything but maybe looking at the angel hierarchy system or what your kintype wanted to accomplish could tell if it was an angel or something else. I think anything that's everywhere that doesn't fit your kintype will seem like too much (also the amount of people who are not even otherkin that use that tag 🤢) I have seen a lot more people use #actually angelic when they're angelkin so you can look at that.

I'd love to talk about my rare kintypes too but this is getting long so I'll probably do it in the next ask 😅 but mine are: Skeletonkin

Red foxkin

Seaserpentkin (kinda, it's more of a sea lindworm)

Daimonkin (helper demon basically)

hi again!!!!

Its okay! I'm not the best at describing things, but best way i can put it is IRLs ( or maybe you have heard them also as Delusional Attatchments / DAs ) is connected to folks with Psychosis / Schizo spec. They ARE that animal/object/character and its hard to seperate them from whatever they ID as.

Like i have an IRL of Vanny from FNAF. I am Vanny, no I'm not a murderer in this life and i do not condone it, but shes apart of me.

The differences ? I am not clear other than one is psychosis/schizophrenia exclusive and one isn't. I'm sure someone has a better explaination!

RIGHT? i love finding art and going "oh hey thats me/familiar". At some point i should try to draw some of my kins once i remember more things about em. Ohh i'll have to look that up 👀

HAHA YEAH. I think that may be a good summary of our personality ( emo emo hater emo... HAPPY FELLOW!!!!!!!!! RAINBOWS!!! ).

sometimes you're the devil, sometimes you're the angel /silly

The Void has heavy ties to our Host, who is a Black Hole Celestial. In general its like.. being cold and dark and mysterious. Kind of lonely. I think it helps us with our constant lonesomeness in real life ( not a vent, just an explaination <3 )

Thank you!! Yeah its crazy :/ I have been trying to look for actual otherkin and therian folks but sometimes they.. aren't that??? They're just ?? Idk what they are doing but its so bad.

sure go ahead!!!

I haven't heard of any of those!!! I think I've heard of fennec and snow foxes?? But not a red fox.

Skeleton kin GOES SO HARD. I'm interested to hear about that as well as Daimonkin.

LETS GO!!! sea serpent rocks!!!

Maybe I'll drop my full list one day.

[hildorien]

The irony like, if we really assume this as the case, then the real parallel becomes "Elwi perceives Luthien as sacrificing her elvishness for the sake of her lover -> she decides to live as elf on her behalf -> ironically it means her spouse decides to give up his fate beyond stars to stay with her (extra tragic considering his personality) which is more like what the original couple did.

Oh I like that! That makes a lot of sense. Honestly, I wanna talk about someday the idea of Lúthien (the person) vs Lúthien (the myth) in the elvish history inside the narrative itself and how acceptance and want of humanity/mortality becomes removed to enhance the idea of elves falling to mortal decay rather then the idea that if given the chance not everyone would actually be happier with mortality than without and the idea that mortality can be fulfilling is scary because it means there is something there that elves can never have and I don’t think on the whole elves are used to being denied something. That being said, there is obviously idolization of Lúthien as a pinnacle of the elvish supremacy over the world in the first age with her death it marks the elves decline in relevance and feeds into their idea that the best is behind them and their own sense of pessimism around the state of the word: it pays to have the idea that she was sad about it because then they can project their own feelings of the loss of their control over the world and their fears of what it must be like to fade from middle earth onto the idea of Lúthien even though everything we see of her shows that these were probably not the feelings on her own mortality. In a sense, what Lúthien felt ceases to matter, and what matters more is how Lúthien makes the ELVES feel. 

But she’s dead. She can no longer defend herself, like any human after death, her legacy is now in the hands of other people who can spin her in many different directions to the point Lúthien, the person, is almost gone in the collective elvish consequence. I think that happens to a lot of mortals in elvish history, like unlike writing a story about like the Noldor who left which at some point you can just ask them what happened after their reborn, the humans have moved on. This leaves elves to interject their own opinions onto them. They stop being people and become (maybe for the first time in elvish society) a type of myth, of folklore, free of the constraints of worrying if someone will question your work. The dead cannot ask you to cite a source or call you out on claiming fake stuff happened. I wonder if it leaves the elves who did know those mortals feeling uncomfortable in some way. Like seeing your friends, maybe lovers even, debated upon as If they were just characters in a story, which don’t get me wrong, they are, history is just a long story sometimes, but it’s like the existential horror of being talked about in the past tense if you get me. Especially when those mortals are still so alive in those elves hearts and minds and souls.

Well, this got long and pretentious. But yeah, I like the symbolism of it. This is all my opinion of course, it’s only one way of looking at it. But thank you for letting me babble on about ideas on in universe Arda history.

[tellerluna-stories]

"sa ilalim ng puting ilaw..."

PAIRING: kazuha x reader!

GENRE: pure angst. good-byes, unrequited (?) love. open ending.

TW/CW: contains some self-depreciative comments. read with caution!

A/N: yee man idk what this is but I actually just wrote this when feeling rlly gloomy and was like “writing is cheaper than therapy” HAHAHA. this was inspired by ‘buwan’ by juan karlos, and well,, maybe some of my own personal angst is in here too. hope you kazustans are okay after reading this, i tried to cut back on the full angst that i was originally planning~~

Ever since you were a young child, the moon was your witness.

It was your only friend and confidante, the only one who you could entrust your deepest secrets to without fear of being judged. When there was no-one who was willing to listen, the moon shone quietly as you whispered to it; a perfect conversation partner for one as lonely as you. It gleamed bright in the sky at your most memorable occasions, lending you its support in absence of all the friends you’d never made— and tonight was no exception.

Soft moonlight swept over the docks, giving Inazuma a gentle good-night kiss and wishing sweet dreams upon its inhabitants. The moonbeams lingered, tarrying just a little longer to frolic on the rippling waves and in the ruby-red eyes of Kazuha, who stood only a few feet away from you. After coming to the aid of the Resistance at the plea of Sangonomiya Kokomi and the dissolution of the Vision Hunt Decree, the Crux’s stay in Inazuma was officially over.

It was time to return to Liyue, which you didn’t necessarily mind— but Kazuha wasn’t returning with you.

An admittedly selfish part of you wished you had some magical, main-character power to sway him, to convince him to come with the Crux, but reality was cruel like that; you were just someone who was kind to him and helped him out on occasion, as friends did. A good crewmate, a valuable ally in battle— in your foolish, lovesick daze, you had sought to become as helpful as you could, half-hoping that he would reciprocate your feelings. But here you stood now, with that reminder that pierced like a hot knife in your chest; the bitter realization that you were powerless and alone, just like you always had been. You were never, ever going to be the first choice, and that was that.

How selfish, you chided yourself. It’s up to him whether he stays or goes; I should just be happy for him. Just like I’ve always been.

Kazuha gazed at you intently, the salty sea-breeze ruffling his hair and carrying with it some of his soft maple scent. You had always looked up at midday to see him basking in the sunlight, even on top of the most precarious rigging— he almost looked like a different man in the pale moonlight.

“I’ll be leaving at dawn,” You said, hoping that the cheer in your voice would hide all the misery that lay underneath. “This was fun.”

Ruby eyes glistened in the white light of the moon, shining brighter than a thousand stars in a way that you knew you would never be able to forget. “…So soon?”

Please, don’t say that, you begged. Don’t raise my hopes to dash them again, I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What, ya miss me already?” Leaning against a nearby crate, you forced a hearty laugh to muffle the sound of a heart breaking. “We’ll see each other soon enough. Come visit Liyue sometime once things have cleared up here.”

Kazuha's bandaged hand reached out to cradle yours gently, the darkness of night concealing his expression. “Could you… could you promise you won’t forget me?”

I want nothing more than to forget you ever came into my life, you screamed silently. If the fountain of oblivion existed, I would’ve already drowned my sorrows in forgetfulness and washed my hands of you.

However, the other, treacherous half of you didn’t want to forget him, despite the heartache, despite how wretchedly pathetic you felt. You wanted to capture this moment in a sparkling bottle of moonshine— the curve of his smile in the pale light, the way your hands burned in your pockets, itching to reach out and grab his sleeve. A confession burned like fire on the tip of your tongue, on the verge of releasing itself like a messenger pigeon flying home… I can never forget you. I will miss you and think of you years from now, even if you don’t remember my name.

But you were too much of a coward.

So instead, you hid behind your goofy, happy facade as his crewmate. A manufactured laugh escaped from your lips as you chattered noisily— “Do you really think my memory is that bad? I’m not senile—”

The ronin interrupted you with a bone-crushing hug, pulling you so close that you thought your heart would explode. In fact, you almost wished that it would; one deafening explosion to end it all, both your heartbreak and the flickering joy that bloomed from being held by him.

“Goodbye,” He whispered hoarsely.

The moon watched as you gently pushed him away, turning away quickly so he wouldn’t see the streaks of tears running down your face.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Four / Irish Coffee

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

W/C: 3k

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual harassment, physical fighting, Javi is a legend for this chapter/next lmao, reader wears makeup and heels but clothing is otherwise not described

A/N: HI I’m gonna forgo summaries for this series from now on, if anyone has an issue with that pls lmk and we can go back to it, I’m just sick of using like the same summary lmao! Hope you guys like it, idk when chapter 5 will come but somewhat soon!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Irish coffee: a cocktail consisting of hot coffee, Irish whiskey, and sugar, stirred, and topped with cream. The coffee is drunk through the cream.

Four nights after you first kissed Javier, and now many kisses later, Javier insists he take you to the one place he knows in D.C.: a nice bar in the downtown area. You’d spent the days visiting museums and monuments, giving him a tour of the Georgetown campus too. He’d hum along to the radio in your shitty car while you drove place to place. He surprised you with how much modern music he knew.

If the past four days have been getting to know Javier, privately becoming acquainted with each other’s minds and lips, tonight is some kind of grand exposition. Your brief whirlwind of a romance has been contained to your coffee shop and small restaurants off the beaten path. Javier is a well-connected man; he’s sure to know people downtown. From what he’s explained to you, he’s somewhat of a powerhouse in the DEA. Everyone downtown knows a version of the man, who goes by Agent Peña, but all you know is your Javi, your Javi who kisses you goodnight after buying you cupcakes, who drinks your peppermint mochas like it’s the nectar of the gods.

So, it’s safe to say you’re nervous. If he’s bringing you somewhere where he will know people, which he offhandedly told you, you’re going to be the living legend’s date for the night. As you stare into the mirror, your brow furrows in concentration, drawing a line across your eyelid with a pencil of kohl, your phone rings on the vanity in front of you. It makes you jump and the eye pencil drag upwards across your eyelid- most definitely not where you intended it to go. “Fuck!” you shout in annoyance and toss the pencil down. When you pick up, your voice shows your frustration. “Hello?” You ask sharply.

“Hey, abejita,” a smooth voice answers: who else but Javier. 

“Hi, Javi,” you sigh as you press the button, moving the call to the speakerphone. “You made me fuck up my eyeliner.”

“Sorry. Just calling to talk.”

His words make you smile and your ears feel warm as they rush with blood. You aren’t picking him up for another hour. “What, you couldn’t wait that long to talk?” You ask him, biting down on your painted lips with a smile. 

“No. I’m bored and I miss you.” It’s true, he thinks to himself. He hasn’t seen you all day. After spending the last three days in nearly 24-hour contact, he misses the sound of your laughter and the way your soft lips feel pressed against his stubbled cheek. 

“Well, I suppose it’s been…” you trail off as you calculate, “about 20 hours since I’ve seen you. I”m practically going through withdrawals,” you laugh, and it makes Javier’s chest warm to hear that beautiful sound, even through the tinny receiver of the hotel’s phone. “You know, if you have a cute nickname for me, I need to have something equally cute for you.”

“There’s a difference, abejita,” Javier teases, opening the hotel window to smoke out of. “You’re cute. I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I am many things, little bee, but I am not cute,” Javier chuckles as he sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it up.

“Well, I think you are,” you refute in a stubborn tone. “You bought me cupcakes on our first date. That’s cute. You come to my work and bring me treats and kiss me in front of my coworkers. That’s cute too.”

Javier shakes his head. Sure, the things could be classified as cute, he supposes, but they’re not the normal Javier. Sexy, rude, intelligent, any of those words could describe him. He’s a playboy, a heartbreaker, and all in all is, by principle, a lone wolf. Well, he was. He’s been chasing Escobar for years and years… and now he’s dead. Maybe he can allow himself to start anew, and this new beginning has to have you in it.

He takes a slow drag from the cigarette, getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting to answer. The silence makes you suspicious. “Javi? Did I lose you?”

The words snap him back to reality. “No, I’m here. I’m sorry, I… zoned out there.”

“Good,” you smile as you wipe off the messy eyeliner and apply a new, perfectly winged layer of the dark makeup. “I suppose I’ll just have to see what comes. Nicknames have to be earned, not given. Did you ever have any nicknames when you were little?” You ask as you brush a sparkling powder over your eyes.

Javier thinks for a second, almost to the point where you have to ask again if he’s there. That seems to be Javier’s biggest flaw so far. “No, not really. Sometimes the other kids would call me Peñita. Didn’t like that one,” he chuckles, and you can hear air rush past the microphone as he exhales the smoke into the ever-darkening D.C. sky. “My mom had all kinds of names for me, but they were the things you’d call a little kid.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you and you need to speak. “That’s cute. Tell me about your parents,” you ask him as you continue to brush various makeup products across your face.

Javier shakes his head. “That’s more of an over-drinks topic, I think.”

“When have you ever held back information from me?” You scoff lightly, as if you’ve known him a thousand years. It hits you as you say it, the whirlwind this entire thing has been. You’ve known Javier for five days, and he’s already everything to you. And he’s going back to Colombia in 3 weeks. It makes your heart sink in your chest, and anxiety creeps in, the realization that he might not be falling as quickly as you are. Maybe it’s time to pull back a little, you tell yourself. He won’t be here long.

“Ha,” he says dryly and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Well, I’m ready when you are, if you want to come get me a little earlier.”

His emotionless tone makes you panic. You wonder if you just went somewhere you shouldn’t have by asking about his parents, if you’ve just crossed some line you didn’t know existed. You desperately want to ask him, to reassure yourself and get rid of the worry slowly collecting in your gut, but you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t. “I’m still getting ready,” you tell him, and it’s truthful. “I’ll be there at 7, like we said. Is that alright?” you ask. 

Javier blows a breath of smoke into the night, the cloud of smoke mingling with the heat puff of his breath. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave you alone to get ready,” he tells you with a small smile.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. You’re wearing something nice, right?” You clarify one last time. 

“Whatever you wear will be beautiful on you. Don’t worry about it.” Javier, ever the king of flattery, looks down and appraises his own outfit. “But yes, I’m wearing something nice.”

You smile at the reassurance, looking down at the swirling colors of your makeup palette. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you in a bit.” -

You have to say you’re surprised at the level of refinement of the hotel. You’d expected the DEA would’ve put Javier at some shitty little hotel, but it’s surprisingly nice. You remember a few days ago, the sheer terror masked behind a stoic face, but you chuckle as you consider that this famed agent had very few context clue skills. This hotel is nice, a couple of stars at least. Why would they put him here if they were firing him?

Javier stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray when he sees your car approaching, straightening his sport coat. You hold back a grin as he walks over, but the fighting ends when you see him smile as he opens the door and slides in. 

“Hi,” you beam at him, and he leans across the center console, stealing a kiss.

“Hey.” He sneaks one more kiss, one that lasts a little longer and dares to use a bit of tongue. He only breaks away when you do with a laugh. 

“My foot is on the brake right now; be careful but kiss me one more time,” you ask of him with a grin, and he happily complies, cupping your face and kissing you. When he breaks away, your eyes open slowly and you can’t hold in your happiness. “Alright, now we’re going. You’ll have to guide me,” you tell him, and he nods. 

“Sure. You’re just going to go out of here and onto that street to the right,” he says and points the way for you.

Your car follows the path, nodding along to Javier’s instructions. “Jesus, that’s a fancy place. How much does that hotel cost a night?” You marvel as you stare at the gorgeous building in your rearview mirror.  

Javier shrugs. “I’m about to find out. They’re only paying for a few nights for me, then I’m on my own. I’m guessing it isn’t cheap,” he chuckles as he looks over his shoulder. “Or I might switch hotels. Don’t know yet.”

Frowning, you take a turn he’d earlier instructed you to follow. The hotel fades from sight, the dark blue of the December night filling your rearview instead. “Well, I know of a place you could stay for way cheaper.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, adjusting in his seat to face toward you more. “What is that, pretty thing?” He asks, a hand resting on your thigh. 

“Stop,” you giggle and rest one hand atop of his. His fingers are much larger than yours, a fact that makes you shudder as his fingertips find bare skin there. “Pretty thing? That’s weak,” you tease, and Javier just rolls his eyes. “I was going to say you could stay with me, but now I’m not sure,” you say teasingly, eyes locked on the road and most certainly off of Javier. 

His brow furrows. “Well, I can pay you then.”

You shake your head. “Javi. We’re dating… aren’t we?” You ask, the hesitancy creeping into your voice. Now that you say it aloud, you’re not entirely sure that you are. “I mean, I don’t know, I just kind of thought,” you stumble over your speech, word-vomiting out whatever you can to backtrack. 

The man next to you tilts his head, but he nods. “I… I haven’t dated anyone in a long time,” he admits, his fingers starting to slowly grip your thigh rather than rest atop it. “Is this what dating is like to you?”

You nod too, knowing he’s watching you, staring down at the steering wheel. “I… yeah?”

A small smile cracks on his face, making the mustache there twitch softly. “Then I guess I’d say we’re dating. But that doesn’t matter, I don’t want to live in your place rent-free for three weeks.”

“It’s an extended vacation,” you chuckle and bring your hand back to the steering wheel to have two hands for a turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’d like having you around. We’ve already been together nonstop for a couple of days. What’s a little more?” You ask as you look over at him, seeing his eyes soften and his forehead relax from its tightened state. “And besides, any hotel is going to be painfully expensive right now. D.C. during the holidays makes the hotel rates skyrocket.”

He nods as you speak, processing the idea. “Well, do you have a guest room? I don’t want to invade your space, I can sleep on the couch if you don’t, or I can stay in a hotel.”

“Javier,” you chuckle, putting your own hand on his thigh to reassure him. “We’re not moving in together permanently. You’ll stay with me until you need to go back to Colombia, and that’s that.” Your mind has been made up. He can’t argue it, and he knows it from the firmness in your grip on his leg, in the way your body goes rigid as if the words are some formal deal that requires a handshake.

“How do you know I’m not some serial killer who does exactly this to lure you to your death?” Javier asks dryly as he looks over at you, lifting a hand to trace the side of your face slowly.

“Because you’re Javier Peña. Your name was in the newspaper next to Steve’s. You work for the DEA.”

“Some of the guys I work with could definitely be serial killers, that doesn’t discount anything,” Javier grumbles, which makes you laugh and makes him even grumpier. 

“The fact that you said that to me in the first place is my proof, Javi,” you chuckle and pat his thigh softly. “I’m an excellent judge of character. I just graduated from 7 straight years of studying psychology. Remember that?” Javier’s quiet and you know you’ve won. “Then tonight we’ll get your stuff after dinner and get you settled in my place. How does that sound?”

He’s quiet again, studying your face and the way your cheeks move with your lips, the way your brows rise and fall when he’s being ridiculous. He’s just as trained as you are, with 10+ years on you to prove his competence. You like him. You might even love him already, he thinks to himself. Your pretty lips purse at his silence and he finally cracks. “That sounds great, abejita.” Javier leans across the console to kiss your cheek, which makes you shiver softly, like any touch from the man does. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by buying me some drinks, huh?” You tease, turning back to focus on the road. 

-

The bar was nice. Really nice, you learned as you walked in. It projected the essence of Javier to you; naturally, you loved it from the moment you looked around. The room had a low ceiling and wood paneling around the walls, a floor that your short heels clacked upon as you walked to the only open stools- well, only one stool, you realized as you walked. Javier walked behind you, a hand on the small of your back, admiring your legs in the outfit you wore. 

When you finally found the available spot, where you’re now sipping a drink, you’d found that there was only one stool. 

“Do you want to go sit in the restaurant?” You asked Javier as you nodded with your head to the side of the establishment with tables and booths.

He shook his head and pulled out the stool. “You sit. I’ll stand.”

“Javi-”

“Just sit, abejita. I’ve been sitting all day. I can handle a little standing,” he chuckles and kisses your head, gesturing to the stool. When you sit, he smiles down at you and wraps his arms around you loosely from behind. You lean back against his strong chest.

Over the past few days, you and Javier have made infrequent contact, a hug in greeting or in goodbye and plenty of shared kisses. This, however, speaks directly to your touch-starved soul, the way his body practically encompasses you. He orders himself a whiskey and the drink you’d ordered on the first night you met him for you, then continues to stand there.

You crane your head around to look at him, smiling. “I love this place already,” you say, admiring the way you can hear over the hum of the other patrons and the quiet music playing. You’re much more accustomed to places your friends would drag you, where it was more for the cheap drinks than the atmosphere. 

The crow’s feet by his eyes are more pronounced as he smiles at you, but he looks even younger as his lips curve up softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Shit, is that Peña?” A loud voice calls from somewhere else in the building, and Javier turns, his face falling flat then smiling as he sees the voice behind it. 

“Be right back,” he murmurs and presses a kiss into the top of your head. 

It’s someone he recognizes, that’s for sure, as the man and Javier wrap their arms around each other and firmly pat the other’s back. “No shit! When did you get back to D.C., man?” The other guy asks. “Escobar just died and they’re already sending you back?”

The bartender delivers your drink, and you turn your back to Javier, thanking them and sipping at your liquor. Over your shoulder, you can hear the man and Javier talk shop, about Colombia and their days as DEA trainees, about Escobar’s recent death and Javi’s recent promotion. You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling as he easily talks with the group. You’ve not had the privilege of seeing Javier with his friends- or what seem to be his friends- yet, and he seems fairly social but humble. You appreciate that.

The talking goes on for a while, and you sip at your drink and look around the bar, appreciating the wood that makes a nice noise as your fingernails tap against it rhythmically. 

When your drink is about half-drained, the bartender sets another in front of you. It’s different from what you were drinking, a fluorescent neon color surely made by a mix of ridiculously fruity liqueurs. You look at the bartender with confusion and they nod to a man at the end of the bar. He’s not looking at you, which makes it all the easier to stare at the drink in confusion and disgust rather than drink it. His tie is absolutely egregious, boldly patterned in bright colors. There’s not an ounce of taste about this man.

The drink goes untouched, sitting in front of you as you study it. There seems to be layers, maybe, or maybe the mixed alcohols just congealed awkwardly. You sip your drink and then Javier’s whiskey, refusing to drink whatever fucking concotion sits in front of you.

Five or ten more minutes pass of Javier talking with his friends. You don’t mind- you know the feeling of catching up with people you haven’t seen in a long time. In that time, the drink remains untouched, and you ask the bartender for a refill of your go-to drink.

Not long after the second one arrives, you feel a hand on the curve of your back. You turn, hoping it’s Javier, and instead find it to be the man at the end of the bar who ordered you the drink: Tie Guy. Panic sets in immediately and you arch your back to dodge the hand, which only follows your spine. “Hey. Thought you’d like this drink. You tried it yet?” The man asks, voice clearly showing that he knows you haven’t. 

“No,” you say with a swallow, turning away from him. “Not exactly my style.”

“I thought it was such a pretty drink for such a pretty thing.”

Pretty thing. When Javier called you that earlier, even though the name wasn’t one you liked, it was at least endearing. To hear it again, dripping with sleaze and ill intentions, you shiver and push it further away. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s not my type of drink. My boyfriend will be right back, and-” you try, hating the defense you try to pull.

“He drinks whiskey,” Tie Guy says and gestures to Javier’s ¾ full glass. “No fun. Boring. Too manly, pretentious. Real men can drink something fun like these and not need to worry about someone thinking they don’t have a set of balls,” he says and his fingers trace the rim of the martini glass the concoction sits in. Now you’re definitely not drinking it, now that he’s touched it. 

“Please, I’m not interested,” you try, turning around to face the man that towers over your seated body. “I’d appreciate it if-”

“Hey,” a familiar voice- thank fuck, it’s Javier- calls from behind you. “Excuse me,” he says and pushes Tie Guy out of the way, his arm wrapping around you. It’s a relief, a grip meant entirely for comfort and not for the coercion the man across from you had tried. You melt into it instantly. “She said to back the fuck off, or could you not fucking tell?” He hisses at the man. Javier pulls away from you, stepping towards the man who instinctively steps back.

“Whiskey drinker,” the man snorts and rolls his eyes. “So manly, so over the top. Gotta let everyone know that you’re the alpha, the dominant male, huh?” He asks, getting in Javier’s face. He’s taller than your Javier, but lankier. The fact that Javier could take him crosses your mind, though you hope desperately that it doesn’t come to that.

“What I drink doesn’t fucking matter,” Javier says and shoves his chest. “What matters is that you’re fucking harassing my girlfriend. Back the fuck off,” he says and turns from the man, back to you, his hand on your upper arm. “You okay?” he asks quietly, and you respond with a nod and a forced, close-lipped smile.

“Yep, go ahead, go back to your little prude,” the man laughs drunkenly, his voice full of vitriol. “Oh, no, I bet she loves to act all shy, but then she’s a kinky little thing in bed, isn’t she?” He asks, taunting Javier. “Ties your ass up and whips you, with that sass. I wonder if she-”

The sentence isn’t finished. Javier’s fist flies through the air and connects with the man’s face, followed by a loud, ringing thud as the taller body hits the floor.

-

caffeine rush taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles

[zontiky]

au where reginald got all 42

*cracks knuckles* *my fingers shatter*

reginald voice: if i cannot bribe my way into having child soldiers i will CRIME my way into having child soldiers

reginald during that one interview in s1e1: *hides gun* the mothers have been suitably... compensated

me beating the shit out of him with my bare hands: i hate you i hate you you stinky old man im tempted to kill you off 20 years earlier in this au just because of this

anyway

reginald acquires 42 magical babies

i refuse to believe vanya is the only mega destructive little child there exists in that horde of children. i refuse it.

what im saying is that he goes through a lot of nannies

is there multiple graces? do they all look like grace or are they different so its less weird for everyone involved? does reggie even give a shit at all? i dont know lol so imagine w/e you want for the robomoms but grace is definitely a thing

bc the handler doesnt get the chance to crime on lilas parents lila is there too she can be #8 because i love her lol

wait wasnt it 43? i feel like its 43 am i tripping one sec let me consult the wiki

i think it was 43. im so tired so pardon me and my bs

ummm with the pressure of taking care of 43(42?) children and seeing their obvious unhappiness every single day grace snaps and kills reggie <3 queen shit

jk lol that would end this too fast and im not done talking

unfortunately delila is incest in this situation. sorry diego 😔

FORTUNATELY, there is 42(41?) other dysfunctional adults to help five stop the apocalypse this time. i want them to organize a commission break in. because that would be cool as hell

listen. with that amount of siblings there is no way that they dont all support each other. and if that sounds unrealistic to you consider that they all have at least 1 or 2 people that are absolutely ride or die, ultimate support systems for them. ok? ok

so basically nobody dies, nobody ends up on the streets, diego doesnt live in a boiler room like a sad gym rat (affectionate), luther is not on the moon and also not monkeyfied because out of 36 kids i sincerely doubt there isn’t at least one with healing powers, 2 if you count lila and her copycat tendencies

umm what else. allison has friends growing up and learns quicker that u cant just rumour people to get ur way and that actions have consequences so she never rumours claire and never loses custody and does she become a movie star at all? i say yes but thru talent this time and she doesnt use her rumour to nudge ppl to decisions unless those ppl major suck lmao

before anyone gets on my ass abt this pls consider: she deserves to make bigots lose important papers and hire her. ok. she can have a little rumour. as a treat. but shes responsible about it

i dont think as a 4 year old allisons power was strong enough to rumour 42 people into forgetting vanya has powers. so vanya keeps her powers and learns how to ✨control them✨

vanya is no longer a sad lonely violinist. she is a goth moderately well adjusted violinist. good for her

NO APOCALYPSE. IM SAYING IT AGAIN. THE FIRST ONE HAPPENS BUT THEN IT DOES NOT

honestly five might not even run away in the first place but i highly doubt reggie would yk. tell them. to prepare for an apocalypse. so theyd be taken unawares the first time without five there to warn them

but OOOH BC VANYA IS MODERATELY WELL ADJUSTED AND HAS AN OK SUPPORT SYSTEM SHE WOULDNT FALL FOR HAROLDS BS AND BLOW UP THE MOON IN THE FIRST PLACE... OHOHO

but also we dont know how it happened the first time so maybe its still on? idk lets say its still on. its on but only once

LDSFKASJDF EVEN IF THEY DONT PREVENT IT THE 2ND TIME THIS MAKES S2 SO MUCH FUNNIER

five having to teleport 42 other people to the 60s and then out of the 60s: ouch

AND THAT NEGATES THE SPARROW ACADEMY. COMPLETELY. THAT’S OUT THE WINDOW BC REGGIE ALREADY ADOPTED THEM ALL THE FIRST TIME LMAOOO SALKFJSH

they get back to 2019 and are like dad??? and reginald never adopted anyone he’s just living alone in his mansion and 43 random people just appear in his house JKDHFIWHFSH IM DYING OMG

ok back to the nopocalypse

lol im done talking so

grace snaps and kills reggie before all of this happens in the first place and all 43 of them have happy well-adjusted no evil parent childhoods <3 the end

[tintinwrites]

when love is all that i recall | Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: “poe and cockwarming🤡” - Anon

A/N: This isn’t Smutfest 2020 but I hope it is satisfying enough for everyone and idk if ships in Star Wars have autopilot but ya know this is fiction dang it

Rating: M

Warning: Cockwarming y’all. Naughty words.

Word count: 1,025, apparently!!

Summary: You and Poe have a moment of deep intimacy in the quiet of the Millennium Falcon.

GIF credit: leons-kennedys

                                               ---------------------------

You'd been watching Poe pilot the ship for a few minutes, everything quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and the occasional click of a button as everyone else slept.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye when you sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"You should be sleeping," his own voice was low with exhaustion, and he was blinking heavily and often.

"I can't. I want you there."

His hand moved to squeeze your knee. "Why don't you sleep a couple hours next to me then and I can have your company?"

You gripped his fingers, then slid your hand over his arm. "I'm not much company while I'm sleeping."

"You talk a lot."

"I don't talk in my sleep!"

"Sometimes you snuggle your hips up to my ass and you're all wiggly while you spoon me."

"Shut up."

You smacked his arm and he laughed, then grabbed you when you stood up like you were actually angry, pulling you to sit on his knee.

He kissed the back of your shoulder.

"You think we're having sex in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon when you insulted me?"

"I wasn't insulting you. I like that you grind on me." He tugged you further into his lap, where he was already half-hard.

"Somehow being turned on without me touching you is your biggest talent."

"I'm lonely."

His face was pressed to your shoulder and he sounded honest; not that he ever lied to you, but the playful mood had softened a little at how genuinely lonely he was.

You nudged him gently. "Everyone on this ship would kill us if they found the pilot's seat covered in...sex things."

"I mean, Finn, Rey, and Chewie are usually the ones in here and I don't think any of them would know what cum looks like."

"Stop it. I have an idea that we can be close without ruining this seat."

"I'm listening."

"You could hold me and be inside me?"

You turned in his lap to face him, gently kissing away his confused furrowed brow. You kissed his eyes and the very tip of his nose, then pressed your lips to his in a tender, loving kiss.

He searched for you when you pulled away, opening his questioning eyes and pushing his face into hands that were cupping his jaw. "More kissing."

The whine of disapproval he made when you stood up was almost cute, and you opened his pants with a smile.

He was smart enough to realize this was going somewhere he would enjoy and he lifted his hips for you to shimmy his pants down his thighs.

You took your pants off entirely much to his approval, straddling his lap again.

Then you pulled his hand between your legs, gasping as he immediately started stroking familiar circles on your clit.

"I've fantasized about this. I wanna do you in every kind of ship there is."

"That's a lot of places to have sex."

"You know I'd have sex with you everywhere if that was possible."

"What if I made you a deal?"

He hummed, watching you guide his cock to your entrance with pleasure.

You sank onto him.

"When the war is all done, we can try to have sex as many places as possible."

"Mhm, yep, fuck, baby..." He probably wasn't paying much attention, hips bucking into you.

"No, Poe, this isn't about sex."

"It's not?"

"I want to keep you warm and be sure that you're not lonely."

"You're...you're actually fucking warming my cock."

You could tell he liked the idea as his aforementioned cock twitched, but he closed his eyes tightly for a moment as he quickly trained himself not to rut into you.

His gaze was lustful and yet soft when he looked at you, your foreheads pressing together.

For a second it was only you two, sitting with your bodies pressed together as closely as they could be, Poe's hand gently squeezing your hip, your fingers grasping onto his shirt.

Poe kissed you earnestly, twice, a way to let you know how much he loved you.

"Thank you for existing. Thank you for being this warm and wet. Thank you for being incredibly beautiful, and as brave as you are, and radically kind, and funny. Thank you for picking me when you could've had anyone in the entire galaxy. Thank you for keeping me company when I'm lonely like this or making me go to sleep when I'm being tired and stubborn. Thank you for making it easy to fall in love with you."

"Poe...I..."

His compliments had been silly at first and you had been giggling, but now you were staring at him.

Tears filled your eyes and he gripped onto the back of your head, letting you weep softly against his neck.

He kissed your hair, whispered the sweetest things to you, almost hating himself for the fact that your gentle shaking felt good on his cock.

But he was paying attention to the softness of the activity, happy to merely be inside you.

Your tears were rolling down your cheeks when you pulled back and he wiped them away, stroking your hair and your face.

You sobbed and he kissed your trembling bottom lip, and he looked at you in confusion when you pulled him away, stroking his cheeks like you'd never touched anyone during a life of being touch-starved.

"You make everything different. I...I look into your eyes and there's no war anymore."

"If I could shield you from the war, I would."

"You carry enough now."

"Then I'm inside you and it's like I'm carrying nothing, but hell if I wouldn't put the entire fucking galaxy on my shoulders for you."

You kissed him until you were panting, then pressed your face into his shoulder.

He knew you were asleep when your head was heavy against him and he slipped his hand into your shirt, tracing some patterns on your back.

And for a second, he almost thought there really was no war.

With the ship flying by itself, and Poe safe and warm inside of you, he fell asleep too.

[oldtvandcomics]

About no-homo friendships between men in the 2010′s

Ok, since I opened that can of worms with the post about Steve and Tony, here are my full thoughts about the way close male friendships have been treated in big screen adaptations in the 2010′s:

Basically, it seems to me that the creators are all conscious of how readily fans would read them as queer, and tried to prevent that by some (more or less) subtle ways that kind of result in the characters in question being less close than they were in the original. So far, I could pinpoint these tactics:

1) Everybody’s favorite Straight Female Love Interest Ex Machina. A character who in his original version didn’t have a female love interest suddenly has one. Bonus point if she was already an existing character in the original. Double bonus if BOTH men are in love with her, which would effectively make them both look more straight without you needing to add any more female characters to the story. While adding in a straight romantic subpolt is not a bad thing per se (personally, I don’t want to see it, but many people do, so eh, go on I guess), the Straight Female Love Interest Ex Machina usually feels fake because she and her relationship with the male character(s) is not enough developed.

Movies that did this include the Star Trek reboot with Spock, Kirk and Uhura, The Lone Ranger (2013) with John and Rebecca, The Green Hornet (2011) with Kato, Britt and Casey, and the MCU actually managed to do this to a canon love interest TWICE with both Steve and Sharon Carter, and Steve and Peggy.

2) "You know this really close and loving friendship that is almost legendary within the Western literally canon? They hate each other now." What it sounds like, instead of being very close friends, the two characters fight and generally barely get along. It is usually implied at the end of the movie that they make peace and kind of become friends, but you still don’t really get to see any of it. A subcategory is when the story, COMPLETELY BY ACCIDENT, is set during the one canon fallout in the friendship.

Like the Straight Female Love Interest Ex Machina this is actually surprisingly common, just think of Kirk and Spock from the Star Trek reboot, Steve and Tony from the MCU, Batman and Superman from the DC movies, John and Tonto from The Lone Ranger (2013), and even Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson from the RDJ movies.

3) The plot only just happens to keep said characters apart. Not only don’t they have much serious interaction, they are even barely in the same room together. It’s actually a great strategy, because it doesn’t impact the story itself and if the writing is any good, no-one will even notice unless they are keeping an eye out for it.

The MCU used this both on Steve and Tony and later on Steve and Bucky, Star Trek Beyond (2016) did it with Kirk and Spock and The Last Jedi (2017) with Finn and Poe.

4) When everything else fails, one of the two characters just... vanishes. Not completely, of course, that would be too suspicious. But he is degraded to a secondary character, kept out of the plot and off the screen and this naturally creates distance between him and his friend. It’s 3) taken to further extremes.

See what the MCU did to Bucky, to keep him and Steve apart.

Bonus 1) When the writing for the movie is just so bad that any relationship, friends or otherwise, stops working.

The Green Hornet (2011), who did try to use multiple of the tricks above on Britt and Kato, but in the end failed to achieve success with either of them. They did, however, achieve said effect by being so awfully written that not a single relationship in there feels authentic. Also The Lone Ranger (2013), who, at least to me, was so terribly racist that Tonto didn’t feel very much like an actual person, which can kind of nerf any potential ships involving him.

Bonus 2) Whatever the Heck Supernatural (2005 - 2020) is playing at, more precisely, what they have been playing at since November 2020. I know that they don’t technically fit in this list because 1) it’s a TV show, and 2) it didn’t happen in the 2010′s any more, but it’s hecking weird and I can’t get them out of my head, so here you are.

IDK, maybe I’m just always looking in the wrong direction, but I haven’t seen these patterns discussed anywhere yet. Which is weird, because they would normally fit EXACTLY in fandoms’ favorite discussions: They are about popular ships, and movies working hard on keeping people from shipping them. Which I guess leads straight to homophobia, and how it affects even straight characters and (also straight) men who identify with them.

Because look. I love shipping every single one of the friendships mentioned above, maybe not quite as much as the next girl, sometimes more, sometimes less. But I love even more seeing them as friends, the shipping is just a game for the Internet. These are, first and foremost, friendships. Very, very close and loving friendships between men, that everyone, but most of all Real Life men, would profit from seeing represented on the big screen. Instead, the studios nerfed them to... keep some people from reading it as queer? COME ON, you can do better than this!

The 2010′s has seen a lot of increased visibility of queer identities and of queer reading of media, and the creative forces behind the movie industry are still struggling to figure out what to do about this. Queerbaiting is one of the resulting trends, but the no-homoing of close male friendships is another.

I don’t really have any conclusion to this. In a way, it is necessary to define what the nature of a relationship between your characters is, and that is what all of the points listed above are there for. They are, more or less, working. On the other hand, they are FAR from perfect, and I for one think that it would be very important to find a way of conveying that a relationship is purely platonic WITHOUT making it any less close or loving than it was in the original. I’m sure that they will find a way to do that at some point in the future.

TL;DR: In the 2010′s, movies used different storytelling tricks to make the very close and loving male friendships they were adapting look less close, to keep people from reading them as gay. This resulted in the loss of the kind of close and loving male friendships that they were in the original in 2010′s media. Movies should please stop doing this and find a different way to convey to the audience that their characters aren’t romantically in love.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Superman & Lois - Ep. 102 “Heritage”

In which the Sad Dad vibes and teen angst continues!

Spoilers!

Lois gets the opening and closing narration this week! And generally has more to do, which is nice.

The fam has officially moved to Smallville, so the boys are gearing up to start school...or are they???

Well, Jon is. Jordan is told he has to stay home until he can get his nascent powers under control because they don’t want him to accidentally flash frying a classmate. Which he almost did. Last week. 

Clark calls Jordan’s accidental heat vision an ‘ocular release of energy.’

This decision, of course, leads to some FAMILY DRAMA. Jordan feels like a freak! Jonathan is upset that they’ve had to move! Clark feels like he’s failing as a parent!

Oh and also the guy in the Master Chief suit is on the hunt for Kryptonite. Which is, you know. Troubling.

SO it’s off to school for Jonathan and off to the Fortress for Jordan!

Lois, upon Jonathan asking why Jordan gets to go flying with dad: “At least we have the radio!”

One plus side about the show being ‘grounded’ and ‘prestige-y’: the high school drama is of a more believable variety. Still tedious, but at least it’s not dated 90s tropes.

...Well, okay. Not entirely true. Sarah Cushing’s personality thus far is ‘nice girl who’s dating a jerk’ and yes, the line “What do you see in that guy?” is said aloud. So.

Win some, lose some.

MEANWHILE, AT THE FORTRESS:

Love the actor they got for Jor-El. He’s perfect, in that he feels like an homage to Brando, Crowe, but is also his own distinct version. I dig it. 

But there’s no giant key made of dwarf star matter because this is GROUNDED and REALISTIC and none of that SILLY CW NONSENSE, WE GOT HBO MAX MONEY. 

Back to the Lois vs. Edge plot:

For all the folks wondering how Lois working at the Planet was going to continue, what with the show being set in Smallville...

WELL.

Edge now owns the Planet, so he re-writes a negative article she’s written about him, which leads to her quitting, and going to write for the Smallville Gazette.

Which is operated by Chrissy Beppo.

Who is...named after the super monkey? 

Does this mean we’ll eventually meet other Smallville residents named after super pets? Like Marsha Whizzy, or maybe Kenneth Comet.

Seems a weird choice when ‘Bibbo’ is right there.

ANYWAYS.

Best line of the episode: “You know what babe? You do your Superman stuff, and I will do my Lois Lane stuff.”

MEANWHILE, THE SAD DAD VIBES INTENSIFY as Grandpa Jor-El reveals: Jordan...will never be like you, Kal-El. His human DNA is too limiting.

Which is a very interesting plot point (that was sorta mentioned/explored in Future State!)

So, about the boys: I still find them...mostly annoying. But I appreciate the dynamic they’re establishing: Jordan has always required more time and attention due to his anxiety disorder, and Jonathan has always had to look after him and compensate--this carries over into the new status quo where Jordan has the super powers and Jonathan further feels that his brother is getting time and attention and he needs to make sacrifices and changes for him/the family. 

This leads to a really lovely moment between the brothers at the end of the episode that I genuinely enjoyed, so. I’m hoping that there will be more of that and less of ‘drama with Sarah’.

(Also if you think that sounds a little like another pair of Super siblings...it does! And also hold that thought.)

The OTHER big twist is that Master Chief AKA Captain Luthor comes from a world with an EVIL SUPERMAN.

To be clear, the set-up is very obviously, ‘Our Clark will prove Captain Luthor wrong re: thinking he’ll turn evil,’ so I’m not seriously suggesting we’re in for a full-on Injustice situation. I just find it funny, how quickly they pulled out the ol’ evil Supes.

(The one we saw in Elseworlds doesn’t count since that wasn’t Clark.)

And maybe this one isn’t either! I admit complete ignorance as to the comics stuff they’re pulling from; I guess it’s somehow connected to Project 7734 (Which is ‘hell’ upside down, as any fifth grader with a calculator will tell you) a counter-Kryptonian force put together by Sam Lane, I think? 

IDK. Like I said, comics blind spot.

The episode ends with Grandpa Lane looking a bit spooked at the ominous 7734 keychain Captain Luthor gave him, and Captain Luthor still on the hunt for Kryptonite! DUN DUN DUUNNNNNN.  

And now, time for a segment I’ll call: Gettin’ Super Salty w/Stranger wherein I will stash all of my frustration regarding the fact that this spin-off doesn’t really want to be a spin-off.

Okay, so first up! As mentioned, the Fortress design has been changed because the silly Supergirl version does not vibe with the new serious aesthetic.

Their loss! More Legion Rings, baby Sun Eaters, and impractical front door keys for Supergirl!

The sunstone AI details the last days of Krypton, and only one (1) pod is shown escaping the destruction.

Thanks, I hate it.

I do appreciate that Jor-El at least kinda appears to be wearing clothes that match the look of Supergirl’s Krypton. I wasn’t paying close attention to the buildings in the hologram, no clue if they match the architecture we’ve seen thus far.

Like, I get it. There’s no time to pause the plot and be like, ‘hey, just FYI, I’m not the sole survivor of Krypton, my cousin escaped as well’ but also AAAARRRRRGHHHHHH. 

You’re using the versions of the characters introduced in Supergirl, the least you can do is namedrop her once. ONCE. That’s all I’m asking. XD

They missed their opportunity, actually; when the boys were like, ‘We have so many questions!’ All you had to do was slip in, ‘Are we related to Supergirl?’ Bam. Done. Never need to go back to it, you’ve acknowledged it, continue on with your solo Sad Dad adventures!

(Except I guess that wouldn’t work, since so much of this is built on Clark being the Lone Protector of the earth. If you allude to other heroes being around, your whole character motivation/struggle makes less sense.)

I get it but I don’t have to like it. XD

They shoulda just set this on another Earth!

Circling back to the sibling dynamic: I hate how now I really want Kara to someday appear on this show and hang out with the boys and be like, ‘ah, yes, I know the feeling, my sister and I were the same.’

That’s it, that’s all the crossover content I need. I realize Melissa is moving on to bigger and better things but MAYBE SOMEDAY. XD (Or maybe I’ll just write a fic, who knows.)

I can’t remember if I brought this up already but it is hilarious to me that anyone still thinks of Superman as a reporter--most modern takes treat it as an afterthought and here, it’s dispensed in the first episode.

It has not been brought up since.

Like, much is made about Lois leaving Metropolis, and what that’ll mean for her career, but no one in Smallville is like, ‘Clark, wow! Farming? That’s quite a career change!’

(I assume he’ll be farming, since they mentioned starting the farm up again.)  

...You think anyone will drag the writers for tossing aside Clark’s ‘true calling?’ 

Who am I kidding? Supergirl fandom is not watching this show, they’re just harassing the people running the social media accounts. 

SO OVERALL: The good remains good! The meh remains meh! I appreciate that this version of Clark and Lois exist as we inch ever closer to the release of the Snyder Cut! But also the behind-the-scenes stuff continues to hang over everything like a terrible cloud! Here’s hoping those problems are addressed!

[lord-explosion-baku]

Awfully Lonely

Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: meh? Angst? Comfort? Bro idk

A/N: I’m in it deep today and I love Shinsou, so have this snoot.

The flickering lights that shine down on you do not mirror your current mood like how they always rave about in the movies. It’s a nice night out— not a cloud in the sky, and the light pollution is so minuscule that it’s hardly noticeable, so the stars are bright and twinkling. They are beautiful, and right now, you don’t feel as if you are, too. They are boundless, and you are singular. You’re just a blip compared to the infinite celestial beauty that is the slight mass of stars available for your viewing pleasure.

“Do you ever wish-“ you pause before considering your words more carefully. You don’t want to scare poor Shinsou, but you need to get your thoughts out before you implode “-that maybe for a single day, you could cease to exist— just walk into simple nothingness for twenty-four hours and then come back and continue on with your life?”

Shinsou lets the question roll over him. He looks from the sky, to you. He blinks once, twice, then purses his lips and scrutinizes you. You don’t seem to be in a bad mood, but one doesn’t need to be feeling sour to warrant such a question. He thinks about the universe and about non-existence. Shinsou thinks he’s felt non-existent before, but he doesn’t now, and he hasn’t since you’ve come into his life.

“No,” he says, and his response surprises you. Not his answer in particular, but he let plenty of time pass since you’ve asked. You hum.

It bothers Shinsou that he can’t tell if you’re satisfied or not. So contemplative this one is. He wishes he could just read your mind, but then, what fun would that be?

Shinsou slings his arm over your stomach and pulls you into him. He kisses the back of your neck for a long moment while he breathes you in; you smell like raspberry and shea butter body scrub. He likes it, so he kisses you again.

“Want me to explain?” He asks.

“Please do.”

“It’s simple,” he starts, and he’s glad that you’re turned away from him so you don’t see his cheeks darkening as he continues with, “if I had to not-exist for a whole day, then I’d have to go a full day without having you in my arms. That doesn’t sound like non-existence. It sounds like hell.”

You make a sort of choking sound that hurts Shinsou’s heart. He can feel your arms tense like you’re clenching your fists. He kisses the back of your neck again. You turn around to face him. Your cheeks are wet and Shinsou can only tell because they reflect the light from the sky. He kisses those, too.

“And you should know that if you’re ever presented with an opportunity to cease to exist for a day, I’d like it if you got me to join you. Nothingness seems awfully lonely.”