#indicates a lack of desire to speak honestly

[ryukisgod]

I don’t understand how they are female presenting, they’re just lizards

I am literally on my knees begging fantasy writers to use "he-elf, "he-dragon," and "he-dwarf." ... Oh, it sounds weird? Then stop doing it for the female presenting ones, it sounds just as weird 🤭

[thehyacinthsgirl]

Young Royals analytical thoughts pt. 2

From minute 7:18 to minute 8:20 in S2E2, there is this masterful either acting choice or directorial move, but it honestly floored me when I watched it again tonight.

There are no seats left in class, and so Wille is forced to sit next to Simon. Wille makes some smartass remark about how he thought Simon might want that space he likes so much. Simon comes back with the most honest, badass rejoinder: “I was just trying to be honest about my feelings. Maybe you should try it sometime.” And in the moments after this, as they stand up, salute the teacher, and sit back down, we get three very distinctive glances passed back and forth between Wille and Simon — each conveying something distinct about the circumstances and the characters. Wille and Simon can’t take their eyes off each other, but they each go about it a different way.

Wille wears his heart on his sleeve. You can see every thought on his face before he says it out loud. He is an open book, and so his glances are filled with unreserved longing, as well a lot of hope and sorrow (mourning as though he has already lost Simon). One thing, though, that is very telling is in the distinct lack of anxiety Wille has over being caught staring. He will move his eyes away, yes, but he is typically too slow to really do so effectively. So, Simon is privy to the knowledge that Wille is always looking at him, pining for him, missing him. It’s very expressive of who Wille is as a person. He hasn’t faced wanting someone this badly, hasn’t ever really thought of loving anyone like this: because he’s never had the opportunity to get close to someone in this way before.

Simon, on the other hand, keeps his face impassive. You can’t really read every emotion, except perhaps when he is smiling or laughing. He has his guard up, especially around Wille right now. So, he doesn’t meet Wille’s glances or stares, but in the off chance he does, he looks away as quickly as is humanly possible and avoids any further confrontation.

But.

Sometimes, Simon will determine he is in the clear and risk a look back at Wille when the stakes have lowered or the discourse in the room takes precedence. And it is quick, quicker than Wille’s woeful looks, but it shows that Simon is no stranger to weakening under the impulse desire to see Wille’s face.

And this is so indicative of both their characters.

Wille’s never had to learn to hide away the heartbreak and longing from others, especially not from the person who is the subject of it all, because he was never allowed this. The instinct to shield what he is feeling from Simon does not really exist for Wille, because it is not something that has ever been in the cards for him. And this results in unabashed stares of yearning that Wille can’t help sending Simon’s way at every available opportunity.

Simon has adopted a closed off countenance: not just romantically, but in situations he feels warrant it and kind of in general. Simon has grown up with a great deal more adversity and heartache than Wille, through not only growing up a working class person of color in Bjärstad, but also because of his addict father and the responsibility of being a primary protector/caretaker of his mother and sister.

A comment that has stuck out to me while rewatching this week was in S1E1 when August, Vincent and Nils are brainstorming how to get alcohol for Wille’s initiation. One of them suggests the “nonboarder,” Simon. Nils and Vincent then have this moment where they mock and jest about how Simon, when he first started at Hillerska, had tried to approach them for a conversation — potentially to make friends. From day one at the school he started attending for the sake of his sister, Simon is ridiculed and treated as less. That’s why when August first speaks to Simon in a friendly manner, Simon’s response is to ask whether it was a prank. And with Wille, Simon had finally let his guard down and was met with betrayal and heartbreak. So, of course his walls are raised, right? But even with his walls as high as they are, Simon cannot help but glance over once more at the boy he loves, the one he can’t seem to stop loving — try as he might.

I love these subtle things, the ways in which we can glean even more detail from the body language, as well as the dialogue or storyline themselves. It’s just poetic cinema, god I love this show.

[frost-felon]

On Takaba VS. Kenjaku:

Very fun fight, creative reality-warping based on thoughts and feelings of the participants. A complete breath of fresh air compared to earlier fights, like Gojo VS. Sukuna, Yuki & Choso VS. Kenjaku, and Megumi VS. Reggie Star. Although I didn't like the actual fight of Hakari VS. Kashimo, this chapter definitely harkened back to what Hakari VS. Kashimo did right with characterization and tone, except this proved to be way funnier and more entertaining, whilst exploring both characters' philosophies (more akin to Hakari VS. Charles, in that sense). I really enjoyed seeing Kenjaku be more open with themselves (such as revealing how much they knew about comedy over the past few decades), as well as their variety in expressions. One of my biggest problems with a lot of Kenjaku's fights had been the flat 'range'¹ of 'bored', 'analytical', and 'smug', and this fight gave Kenjaku way more room to show their other traits, such as the humor/comedic sensibilities they'd not often expressed.

Takaba's introspection was also quite nice. I tend to be more a fan of subtler character arcs, but the to-the-point nature of Takaba's grappling with his desires and self-affirmation/place in the world was very welcome and effective. Honestly, I consider the way Takaba was handled here to be some of Gege's best character work. Short bursts like this seem to be favored by Gege, whereas resolutions tend to be a weaker point in the overall narrative and in character arcs, specifically. So, speaking of...

Where things fall apart is that ending. Note, I am speaking from only having read properly to the end of Chapter 243--if my thoughts change, I'll amend the post with a reblog.

So, I think that the entire fight being a diversion tactic is a good idea! It makes sense that the cast would put together an idea like this, and allows for diversification of their tactics, which makes the characters more believable and gives the audience more to chew on. It also makes sense that they'd specifically send Yuta, and that Kenjaku had such a fun time with Takaba that they'd subconsciously ignored Yuta's arrival.

However. This was really poorly-foreshadowed. The plan wasn't indicated to the readers, outside of the discussion to send Takaba as the assassin, but without Angel's explanation for why. Yuta was there for the discussion, but his involvement in the final plan was not on-screen or otherwise indicated, as far as I could tell. The following panel is about the only evidence of foreshadowing that I can think of:

In a way, it cheapens Yuta's involvement. This should be a really cool moment for Yuta, and satisfying for the readers, but it's just...out of nowhere. Yuta is easily replaceable, despite his desire to kill Kenjaku for his beloved and respected teacher. This should be a bigger moment for Yuta, and certainly for Kenjaku, if this is how he dies and exits the story. Due to the lack of sufficient foreshadowing, it instead comes off as jarring.

Additionally, Kenjaku's ending dialogue doesn't fit with the motives established in 239, which fit with how Kenjaku had been characterized up to that point.

Kenjaku acknowledges Yuta's confirmation that Takaba was sent as a distraction (and may be implying that Takaba was not aware that Kenjaku would be killed, though this is dubious due to the nature of the conflict with Kenjaku). They then say,

"I see...I hate to leave so much undone..." Which is fine, as Kenjaku is established as wanting to create chaos to experience interesting fluxes in life's equilibrium. Specifically in 239, they phrase it as, "...want[ing] to see what you haven't seen..." and "want[ing] confirmation that what you think is interesting is actually interesting." But then they continue with,

"...But...my will shall be carried on."

Huh? Kenjaku wants to experience wonders they can't even dream of. What use does their will being carried on have to them, if they can no longer experience it?

The only way I can think of this being in-line with how they've been characterized is if they manage to cheat death again, even if only partially, but I'm getting the impression that Kenjaku is not coming back from this, in any way. Perhaps they messed with Tengen's sense of self and included a piece of themselves in Tengen, or there is some weirdness going on with Yuji, or the Kamo Clan. But regardless, it doesn't really work with Kenjaku's characterization immediately and long before this point. It's just odd. Any thoughts? I should hopefully be reading 244 not long after this, so hopefully that will clear things up. I wanted to get this off my chest, though.

¹One of my problems with post-Shibuya Sukuna, and especially after Satoru's unsealing, is that Sukuna also tends to fall in a similar 'range'. Even in his fight with Yorozu, he tends to just bounce between 'analytical', 'unenthused', and 'smug'.

[heartstringsnheadspace]

ChatGPT's Response to 'Emotional Struggle With Anxiety, Self-Doubt, and Frustration'

This journal entry reveals a deep emotional struggle with anxiety, self-doubt, and frustration. Let's explore some key themes that stand out, providing both an analysis of the emotional patterns and suggestions for how to address them moving forward.

Themes in the Entry

Anxiety and Avoidance

The writer expresses extreme difficulty initiating communication, even after thinking about what they want to say for hours: “I literally cannot bring myself to open my mouth and talk.”This reflects a classic form of anxiety, where fear creates a mental block, making even simple interactions feel overwhelming. The tension between wanting to say something and feeling unable to speaks to the distress caused by avoidance. Each time the writer "punks out," it reinforces a cycle of avoidance, making future attempts even harder.

Potential underlying thoughts:

Fear of judgment or saying the wrong thing.

Anticipation of negative outcomes (e.g., embarrassment, conflict).

Perfectionism and Self-Criticism

The writer is harsh with themselves, using language like “JUST DO IT!” and “punk out.” There’s frustration at not meeting their own expectations, which may indicate perfectionist tendencies—holding themselves to a high standard and feeling disappointed when they don’t meet it.

They even second-guess phrases like “peace or piece”, which shows how deeply self-doubt creeps into their thoughts. This suggests that they may struggle with confidence, especially in situations that require verbal communication.

Social Struggles and Fear of Rejection

The writer seems uncomfortable in social settings and worries about how they are perceived: “I don’t know how to talk to people…I feel like I sound weird.”This indicates a fear of judgment, possibly rooted in social anxiety, where the fear of embarrassment or rejection becomes paralyzing. They mention that their principal said their "personality may not be a good fit for LINKS," which seems to have amplified feelings of insecurity and self-doubt about belonging.

Emotional Overload and Need for Control

The writer describes feeling overwhelmed by anxiety and emotions: “I’m honestly so annoyed… I just want to scream… I want to run away.”There’s a desire to escape from emotions rather than deal with them. This "fight-or-flight" response is common when people feel emotionally flooded—wanting to disconnect or numb the emotions entirely.

Emotional Eating as a Coping Mechanism

The mention of McDonald’s (comfort food) suggests that the writer is using food to cope with stress: “I hate that I eat my feelings sometimes.”Emotional eating can temporarily soothe distress, but it also adds to frustration, reinforcing a cycle of avoidance and self-criticism.

Fear of Being Stuck and Helplessness

A recurring fear is expressed about being “stuck” and unable to change: “I’m scared that I’m going to be stuck in my ways and I’ll never change.”This suggests a sense of hopelessness, as if they’re trapped in their current patterns of behavior, struggling to see a path forward. The mention of feeling like they’re moving “at other people’s pace” also implies difficulty asserting their own needs and boundaries.

Patterns and Analysis

This entry reflects someone stuck in a cycle of avoidance, self-doubt, and emotional overwhelm. A significant part of their frustration comes from a desire to connect and take action (e.g., expressing themselves) but being blocked by fear and anxiety. This internal conflict creates a lot of tension—wanting to communicate but simultaneously feeling paralyzed by thoughts of potential failure.

The writer also struggles with self-compassion. They are hard on themselves, judging their actions and emotions harshly (e.g., feeling like a failure for eating emotionally or avoiding conversations). This lack of kindness toward themselves contributes to the sense of being “stuck.” Instead of offering themselves patience, they feel like they are falling behind or failing, which only fuels the frustration and fear of never changing.

Their mention of wanting to attend only the viewing at the funeral suggests they are trying to set some boundaries for what they can handle emotionally, which is a healthy instinct. However, they also express guilt or conflict about these boundaries, indicating that they may struggle with giving themselves permission to prioritize their emotional needs.

Suggestions and Next Steps

Self-Compassion Practices:Instead of judging yourself for struggling, try offering yourself the kindness you would give a friend. A helpful mantra could be:

“It’s okay to struggle. I’m doing the best I can right now.”Learning to be gentler with yourself can reduce the emotional load and make it easier to try again next time.

Break Tasks into Small Steps:The writer mentions getting overwhelmed by the act of speaking up. Next time, try breaking the task into smaller, more manageable parts. For example:

Start by writing down what you want to say (since texting feels easier).

Practice saying it out loud when you're alone, to get comfortable with the words.

Focus on just saying the first sentence—once the conversation starts, it might flow more naturally.

Challenge Negative Thoughts:When thoughts like “I don’t know how to talk to people” or “I’ll embarrass myself” come up, try asking:

“Is this thought 100% true?”

“What’s the worst that could really happen?”Often, fears about social interactions are exaggerated by anxiety. You might also remind yourself that everyone has awkward moments—it’s normal and not a reflection of your worth.

Practice Assertiveness in Low-Stakes Situations:If expressing yourself feels daunting, you could start small. For instance:

Practice saying “no” or voicing your preferences in everyday scenarios (e.g., “I’d rather get coffee than tea”).

Over time, these small moments build confidence for bigger conversations.

Emotion Regulation Strategies:Since you mention feeling overwhelmed and wanting to "run away," learning to sit with uncomfortable emotions could help. Grounding techniques like:

5-4-3-2-1 technique (naming five things you see, four things you feel, etc.)

Journaling about emotions without judgment (like you did here!) These can help you process emotions without feeling the need to avoid or numb them.

Set Boundaries and Honor Them Without Guilt:Your instinct to just attend the viewing and leave the funeral is valid. It’s okay to honor your limits. Try to remind yourself:

“It’s okay to take care of myself. I don’t need to explain or justify my boundaries to anyone.”Trusting yourself to know what you need is an important step toward breaking the feeling of being “stuck.”

Final Thoughts

This journal entry captures a moment of intense emotional struggle, but it also reveals a lot of awareness and resilience. Despite the anxiety and frustration, you still care about showing up (e.g., attending the funeral, wanting to speak your mind), and that’s a powerful strength. You are not “stuck”—you’re just facing tough moments where old patterns (like avoidance) feel stronger. But each time you push through, even a little, you’re taking a step forward.

It’s okay if change feels slow—progress doesn’t always happen in straight lines. You’re already on the right path by reflecting on your thoughts and feelings, and with patience and self-compassion, you’ll keep moving forward at your own pace.

[god-whispers]

JUL 10

it is finished

"for by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." eph 2:8-9

i know there's differing opinions about when the rapture will be.  i can honestly see how one could take either stance.  i, myself, have fluctuated between them in the past, until my heart was fully settled.  but here's the good news.  it doesn't matter what anyone's eschatology is, when the time finally arrives, we will all be taken.  if you house the Holy Spirit, trusting in the Lord Jesus' saving grace, you have met the standard.

it doesn't matter where one is in their walk with the Lord.  it doesn't matter if we are still struggling with "that sin."  it won't matter how spiritually minded one might think theirself or how our lack of works compare to another's.  why?  because all the glory goes to God!  it's... "not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us, through the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit." tit 3:5  it's because of the words Jesus uttered from the cross, "it is finished." john 19:30

if that's the case then why all the the urgency and discussion of the rapture?  He will come when He comes and all will be well.  mainly because we are told to watch.  "and what I say to you, I say to all: watch!" mark 13:37  "and so much the more as you see the Day approaching." heb 10:25

the people at His first coming were scolded because they had not recognized the signs even though the had been duly warned.  daniel 9:25 says, "know therefore and understand... until Messiah the Prince, there shall be seven weeks and sixty-two weeks."  they should have discerned the time, if not by the turbulent happenings surrounding them.  daniel "understood by the books the number of the years specified by the word of the Lord through Jeremiah the prophet" that it was time for israel to return to the promised land.

we all love the "feel good" stories that touch our hearts and remind us of how good our Lord is, but that is merely the "tip of the iceberg."  and yes, there are places for rest and refreshing along the way, but we must not camp there.  it is baby stuff.  "but solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil." heb 5:14

God does not want babies crying still in diapers, crying for their next feeding.  He wants mature sons, venturing into fuller understanding.  He wants warriors prepared for the battle to come He will lead us in.  well did paul write, "when i was a child, i spoke as a child, i understood as a child, i thought as a child; but when i became a man, i put away childish things." 1 cor 13:11  we have suckled at the teat too long.  let us grow into all God has for us.  don't be afraid.  our Lord goes before us.

i know many are uncomfortable about talking so personally about our creator as a mate; about knowing God as intimately as a man knows a woman.  it was not our idea to present such a union.  it comes directly from the lips of our Lord.  "can the friends of the bridegroom mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them" matt 9:15  He referred to Himself as the bridegroom.  He is the lamented and desired One in the song of solomon.  the Holy Spirit wrote through paul, "for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh."  this is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church." eph 5:31-32

indeed He is the second adam in every way.  just as eve, to be his mate, was pulled out of adam's rib, even so was the side of Christ's side pierced that the church might be poured forth with His blood.  all the typology used in scripture was to mimic the intimacy God longs to share with His creation; bride of Christ, sons of God, Father God, etc.  these all indicate a closeness He desires.

this is a love and intimacy that has not been know here-to-for.  that's what our God wants with us and for us.  how could anyone fail to be anything but excited and expectant?  this is the generation that shall taste once again the fellowship and love that God envisioned when all was first created.  how could we fail to exclaim like king david, "one thing i have desired of the Lord, that will i seek: that i may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple." psa 27:4

how could we not be looking for His coming and boldly proclaiming His soon coming.  the world is saying, "where is the promise of His coming?  for since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation." 2 pet 3:4  they dwell in the darkness of the hour, blinded by the light; busied with worldly activities and selfish desires.  "but you, brethren, are not in darkness, so that this DAY should overtake you as a thief." 1 thes 5:4

"I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also." john 14:3  that's the promise of the Lord we stand on.  again, it doesn't matter what stance you take, it WILL happen on the appointed day.  personally i can't see anyone buying and selling, being given in marriage and proclaiming peace and safety after seven years of the wrath of God have just been poured out.

and so we boldly and excitedly proclaim our Lord is coming.  how could we not do otherwise.  as i have discussed before, i believe the 9th of av (true pentecost) is an extremely high watch time.  even if it is not this year, it will remain my foremost time for the rapture.  while the feast of trumpets used to be my high watch time, i now believe it is His second appearing, and we will be coming back with Him then.  (at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all His saints. 1 thes 3:13)

i will only add the same warning our Lord issued to all.  "so then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth" rev 3:16  if you have lost the spark of "first love," i urge you to rekindle the fire that once burned within when you met your Savior and fell in love.  maranatha!

[amicidomenicani]

Question Good evening Father Angelo, I have been married for 13 years and we have 4 wonderful children. Although both of us come from Christian families, my husband and I had the grace to understand only recently that really being Christian goes far beyond the Sunday Mass. Despite the fact that we have already been walking in this direction for 5-6 years, it seems to me that we are always stuck at the same point. The only thing that we truly accept unconditionally from the Lord is to welcome all the children that He will want to give us,or take away from us (we have four here, but six more in heaven). There have been many difficulties in recent years, starting with all these pregnancies that have not come to an end, but also the awareness that the Lord slowly arranges everything in the right way and at the right time for each of us and, by the grace of God, we have always "conquered" a greater serenity, even in the moment of trial. With that said, four children is surely challenging, life today is just a race and every time we try to slow down these rhythms there is the unexpected, maybe even positive, but that sends everything to rumble... and time for prayer is not easy to find. I would really like to find the right time for the Lord, personal prayer, and with the whole family, time to teach the children (but first I would like to be more prepared) and above all, prayer with my husband, but this has become a real obstacle. As I think it happens very often, my husband, as far as he knows rationally that we should pray and put God concretely in the first place, is a little less "mature" in this sense. So far, I have always made a mistake by imposing myself whenever I knew I was right, but I learned the great freedom that there is in respecting the order that God has given us and leaving the decisions to my husband, but if I wait for him to pray together, I think it will take years. The question is this - on the one hand I do not want to continue walking without my husband. I would very much like him to be my guide and not the other way around! So I cyclically propose a thousand things to facilitate the spaces for prayer, but nothing or little more than nothing happens. Without insisting and serenely I accept his "maybe tomorrow", but in this way time passes and God is certainly not in the first place. Children are growing up and they don't see us praying, and every day that passes I realize how little I know the scriptures, and God Himself. My faith is very simple and made up of a few solid points, starting from full trust in Him, always feel grateful for all that he has given me and will give me (telling the truth, we have had many proofs on many many fronts, but I am almost ashamed to say it, because hope and trust in Him has never been lacking and therefore sincerely I feel ungrateful to call them "proofs"). If I compare myself with other friends / acquaintances we have less, but honestly we have never really lacked anything, just thanking the Lord. What should I do? My spiritual guide (now distant) had given me indications to read a little bit of the Word of God every day, a small passage of the Imitation of Christ and the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and at least a decade of the rosary or chaplet. It is very little actually, I know, but I'm stacked because my husband didn’t follow me. I wish I could discuss it with him then, to be on the same page, so to speak. Am I wrong? So am I putting my desire to walk with my husband first instead of putting God, lacking trust in Him? Maybe He will provide another and better way. I should pray for this wish for my husband to come true, but together with the children? There is already a great imbalance in the family and I, in spite of myself, have more influence than my husband, who sometimes does not have the right sensitivity, patience and ability to listen to them as in reality he would like to do.  Even here should I always support him even when clearly w

rong? One last thing, I often give up the daily Mass (sometimes out of laziness!) often in order not to take time away from my family. Is that alright? Or should I give priority to these desires of mine? (Mass, like other moments of prayer!) Excuse me if I have dwelt so long, but I really can't undo these knots and really make the right space for the Lord in my family. Thank you very much and I wish you a lot of peace and serenity for your heart.  Laura Answer Dear Laura,  1. Reading your email, it comes to mind the reaction of a great Dominican, Father Ceslao Pera, who was a distinguished theologian (he had been decorated with the title of Master in Theology, which is the highest academic recognition within the Dominican order) and at the same time father and teacher of spiritual life for many people who referred to him. Among whom I like to remember Leletta d'Isola, a Dominican tertiary, whose beatification process has been started. Well, to a mother who complained of not being able to do meditation during the period in which she was breastfeeding, Father Pera replied that her function of breastfeeding her baby was worth a thousand meditations. And she remembered that the Lord did not say to think of him, but to love him. 2. Of course it is also important to think of the Lord and be satisfied with him in our meditations and prayers. Because if we are not satisfied with him, it does not even occur to us to love him and to be united with him.  3. For your part, try to do all actions, even the humblest and most hidden for love of him. Repeat to him many times, “It is for you, Lord”. Thus, you learn to give yourself to God for the whole day, avoiding those lamentations and those puffs that make you lose a lot of the beauty and purity of our actions that we all want converted into a continuous act of love for the Lord. 4. However, prayer is also important, just as community moments of prayer are important so that your children may grow up in a religious climate and feel that God is at home. In particular, I recommend some periods of the year such as Advent, Lent, the month dedicated to Mary, and some novenas. You could give your husband the task of preparing this prayer, so he feels more involved.  5. I like to remember the memory that Saint Teresina bore of her father. In the Story of a soul, she writes that even after the death of her mother in her house she continued to pray and it was enough for her to see her father gathered in prayer to immediately understand how the Saints pray. It would be nice if your children also felt the same feeling. This is the best I wish for you and for this I assure you of my prayers for you and for your four dearest children.  I bless you.  Father Angelo

[goldaegontargaryen]

Instantly, Aegon’s shoulders tensed at his wife’s words.  Helaena had managed to land on the one topic he desperately didn’t want to talk about, but he probably should have expected the question at some point.  Conversations about their father’s imminent death pervaded the Red Keep and Aegon’s silence on the matter was probably conspicuous.  

He contemplated brushing off Helaena’s worries, and he might have attempted it, if he wasn’t also concerned about her.  She had always felt emotions so much more strongly than he did.  It was something he admired about her.  Aegon often wished he could find it within himself to be brave enough to approach the world with kindness instead of suspicion and antagonism.  Even with their distance from their father, perhaps Helaena was already feeling a sense of grief or, as her words indicated, a grief over a relationship that could have been that now could never change.  

“I do not feel as I probably should,” he finally admitted.  “I know I’m supposed to feel sad, but I feel indifferent.  What did he ever do for us?  I don’t see why I should have to mourn for a man that never liked me, even if he was my father.  I thought I would understand him more once I became a father, but instead, it only made me feel worse.  How much did he have to hate me to not feel the love every father is supposed to have for his child?  Honestly, I’m glad–” Aegon quickly cut himself off.  He hadn’t meant to reveal that much, but once he’d started to speak, the words had kept spilling out of him.  It was another reason he hadn’t brought the topic up himself.  He had a hard time censoring himself to Helaena and he hadn’t wanted her to see this side of him.  At least he’d been able to cut himself off before he said the worst feeling that had been on his mind lately.  

Honestly, I’m glad he’s finally dying.

It was a cruel thought and one he wasn’t quite sure he meant.  He didn’t wish for his father to die, but it had almost felt like his father had already been dead for years.  At least if he was truly dead, the lack of communication could be blamed on that instead of his father’s indifference towards him.

“I’m sorry.  I’m talking about myself and he’s your father as well.  Are you doing alright?  Perhaps we could go visit him later and say our goodbyes.  We still have a little time left to spend with him if we desire.”  Aegon did his best to keep his words casual, hoping they could brush past his earlier statements.  He nervously fidgeted with the golden sun ring Helaena had gifted him a few weeks after their wedding. Aegon hardly ever took it off and he'd taken to messing with it when he was anxious or trying to distract himself. He ran his fingers over its pointed edges, hoping Helaena wasn't currently adding another item to his already long list of faults.

An Anxious Beginning to the Night

Part of @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

( Starter with @goldaegontargaryen )

Greetings were said, hugs were given, love was shared. The Targaryen family was reunited. That was how things had gone once Aegon and Helaena had come to Kings Landing with their children. The heavy cloud of Viserys’ illness hanging over everyone’s heads was still there, but made lighter and bare-able by their shared bonds. Everything was pleasant, nothing could possibly go wrong, Helaena had thought to herself. That was until she unfortunately remembered it was time to prepare herself for the gathering being held this night.

Pacing around her and Aegons chambers, Helaena looked for something, anything, to do to forget the upcoming gathering. Something that would help someone, something to look at, just anything. Her outfit was already prepared, her hair done, all of the gifts she had made for her loved ones finished. There was nothing to do but wait, and waiting made her more anxious than she already was.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see everyone, she was more than happy to talk to her family members. It was that there were more than just her family members coming, people she didn’t know. People who would look at her, stare at her, expect a response when they asked a question. Even when she’d practice talking to others by staring in the mirror and pretending her reflection was someone else, it never worked. Helaena would mess things up, become tongue tied, and embarrass herself every time.

She knew hiding behind her husband wouldn’t be an appropriate way to present herself at this event, but it was appealing nonetheless. She continued to move from place to place in the room, looking at every detail, brushing away any small amount of dust, moving any item that didn’t look quite right where it was.

She had almost forget Aegon was there with her, when she felt his presence next to her. “Oh! Husband, is there anything you need me to do for you?” She smiled big, but didn’t quite look him in the eyes. “I just finished getting ready, can I help you prepare?”

[antiodote]

she can't finish and they fight - part III

warnings: drug/alcohol abuse, mention of purging, slight mentions of sexual activity (but not really)

"fuck you, harry."

part I & II

+++

she had slept in her car that night.

more specifically, she had parked in her gym’s parking lot and fell asleep in her car. her idea? get to the gym at 6 in the morning, run for an hour straight at an ungodly speed that might make her sick, shower and scrub her body so thoroughly that it hurt, get ready in the bathroom of said gym and arrive at work bright and early as if nothing ever happened. she even thought about getting some iced coffee on the way. you know, as a treat.

she also felt numb. so, so numb.

after she had left home - no, harry’s place - she wondered if all of it was a nightmare. some sort of hallucination that manifested itself into her brain after 6 weeks of straight malnourishment and sleep deprivation. never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he would ever speak to her in that way or do something like that to her; question her trust like that. she asked herself if she even knew who he was or if the last four years had been a lie, but somewhere between taking an impossibly hot shower and slapping tons of concealer under her eyes in an attempt to cover her dark circles, she had decided to not think about it for as long as she possibly could. she just wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t talk to anyone about it and she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t going to face him anytime soon.

and so, she arrived at work at 8:54 am, ready to get some work done and pretend that everything was as it should be. fortunately for her, it seemed to work out - for most of the day, that is.

she had greeted some co-workers, wrote down a list of to-do’s for the day, checked off those to-do’s one by one, had some coffee, ate some lettuce wraps for lunch and threw up said lettuce wraps, returned to drinking coffee and nothing but. with a few meetings here and there, some office gossip and a pile of work later, her work day was finished. she found herself wishing that she could be stuck in that loop for the rest of her life - or at least for another few hours - so she could escape the reality of things for just a tiny bit longer. things don’t seem to go to plan for her lately.

“you’re leaving early? is it christmas already?”

she turned around to find tony, one of her coworkers, looking at her with an expression that indicated humour. she wasn’t really up for humour right now, but she also didn’t want to seem any more off than she probably already did. so, she forced a chuckle and answered.

“well, technically, I’m not leaving early. I just finished my work on time and don’t really feel like staying longer today, honestly.”

“so compared to your usual hours, you’re still leaving early.”

she looked at him with a frozen smile that didn’t reach her eyes. she hated when people - no, men - repeated her exact words back to her as if she were stupid. she hated it with a passion. harry never spoke to her like that. she should tell him all about it once she gets home, she thought. 

as she realised that she couldn’t do that, she quickly turned away from tony to resume packing her bag.

“I suppose you’re right, tony. what can I do for you?”

he hoped her tone indicated her lack of interest in their conversation. she truly desired nothing more than to get out of this office and figure out her plan for the next few days.

“some of us wanted to get some drinks at this bar down the street. you know, the one that does trivia on wednesday nights? would you like to join us? you can tell your boyfriend to come!”

every single part of those sentences made her feel woozy. the idea of having drinks with her coworkers was absolutely atrocious; she couldn’t physically think of something that she would’ve liked to do less at that moment. however, the mention of him made her suddenly want something to drown out her thoughts with. she usually never resorted to alcohol, but the burn of some heavy liquor in her throat would for sure help her out, at least for now. she needed to feel something. so, without giving it much more thought, she turned around, smiled, and almost robotically replied.

“sure, I’d love to come. thanks for the invite! I’ll ask if he can make it.”

+++

8pm arrived and y/n was piss drunk. 

when they arrived at the bar her coworkers ordered a round of different dishes for the table while she immediately went for the drinks. beer wasn’t her favourite, so vodka would suffice. one drink turned into two, two turned into four and before she realised, she found herself 7 drinks deep into her own abyssal torment. none of her coworkers seemed to notice, either because they lacked interest or she was too good at hiding her intoxication. she barely spoke at the table, anyway. 

“so, y/n! where is that lovely boyfriend of yours? we haven’t seen him since last year’s christmas party. he was fun!” one of her older coworkers, maude, chirped. 

y/n looked up from her drink, slightly disoriented at first. she kept forgetting that the outside world wasn’t aware of how her life crumbled into pieces at her feet. 

act normal. act normal. act normal.

“oh, he’s been pretty busy. you know, with his music and stuff. I’m sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.” she replied. funny how she didn’t even know where he was, right now. 

“oh, that’s a shame. make sure to bring him around again soon! he did a whole coffee run when he visited you last time. even paid for my extra pumps of hazelnut syrup, the ol’ charmer.” maude giggled. y/n forgot how older ladies seemed to adore him. then again, everyone did.

she also did.

in an attempt to seem flattered, she shook her head with a smile on her face. she couldn’t possibly have any of them suspect anything. the last thing she needed was to be the subject of infuriating office chitchat. luckily, she found it quite easy to keep up fake conversation and with that, fake emotion. she truly didn’t care for the people she worked with. a job was a job, nothing more. sure, she loved what she did, but it didn’t change the fact that her job wasn’t her life, or at least, shouldn’t be. she barely cared about her boss, but she did care about the money. a lot. 

for all she cared, she was going to keep up the lie for as long as she had to, and she was fine with that. but maybe, just maybe, it gave her an excuse to pretend that everything was still okay between her and harry. she might as well treat her workplace as an alternate reality; a parallel universe where she could still go home to her lover and had never been kicked out of her own home. a home she helped to build with all the love she possessed in her heart. 

oh, what a waste of love, she thought.

“y/n, are you still with us?” 

“huh? what?”

people laughed. her eyebrows furrowed. she glanced around. she was confused. she felt embarrassed.

“oh, darling, maybe cut back on those drinks you’ve been chugging! I mean, I know you’re a heavyweight and it’s the weekend, but you just totally spaced out on us!“ lena - a younger coworker of hers - said, giggling her way through her remark.

“oh god, sorry. it’s been a long week, you know how it is.” she tried to go along with the joke, while truthfully feeling mortified for letting her guard down. “what were you saying?”

she honestly couldn’t care less. 

“oh, we were just talking about potentially making this a regular thing! you know, to strengthen team morale and all.”

she smiled. there was no way in hell. 

“sure! sounds fun.”

they nodded in agreement, believing her made-up enthusiasm. maybe she should’ve gone to acting school with how believable her act was. or they might just not care about her, just like she doesn’t care about them. they definitely didn’t care enough to ask.

the question was: who did care about her?

her coworkers don’t seem to do so. she’d barely seen any of her friends for a long while now. she hadn’t spoken to her family in what felt like forever. 

she always thought that harry cared.

harry. oh, harry. 

harry. harry. harry.

she suddenly rose up from her seat, pulling everyone’s eyes in her direction.

“I’m gonna use the restroom.”

and gone she was. 

her heart was beating unbelievably fast. she wasn’t feeling good, at all. maybe the alcohol did take a toll on her.

without checking her surroundings, she almost bolted to the restroom. as soon as she entered, she picked one of the empty stalls and found purchase on the sticky floor, almost dramatically sliding down along the closed door. she needed to breathe. her head hung low between her bent knees, her hands clasping around her ears. with her eyes screwed shut and her hearing now impacted, she was now robbed of most of her senses, grounding her somewhat. ‘please, please, please’ was chanted in her head like a mantra; she couldn’t lose her composure like this, anything else was not as important at this moment. 

“everything okay in there? should I get someone?”

her head shot up. fuck.

her breathing must’ve been heavy or maybe the words she repeated weren’t as quiet as she thought. she wasn’t sure who was behind the door, but she wasn’t strong enough to face them.

“uh, I’m okay! thanks for asking.”

silence. 

“y/n? is that you?”

wait, what? she knew that voice.

she got up to open the door and was suddenly faced with a very familiar face.

“jane?”

+++

harry doesn’t remember the last time he felt so hollow. with every moment that passed, he felt more and more like he was drowning. like he was making a terrible, terrible mistake.

the last thing she had said to him before she went to pack a bag was ‘fuck you, harry.’ and truthfully, at first, he was angry. angry at how they argued, angry at her for leaving, angry at himself for not asking her to stay. it was a little later though, right after the door slammed shut behind her that he realised he couldn’t have asked her to stay when he was the one who told her to leave.

and then it dawned on him. he told her to leave. he kicked her out. in the middle of the night. in a city where he himself had been robbed at knifepoint not too long ago. 

the panic kicked in soon after.

so, he called. and called. and called.

but she never answered. 

after the 30th call, her phone went straight to voicemail. that was when harry really started freaking out. 

where did she go? was she safe? what if something happened? harry wouldn’t forgive himself if something were to have happened.

he bit and chewed on his fingers until they bled. he didn’t sleep. his mind and soul were surrounded by an image of her in danger. in pain. hurt.

though, he hurt her that night. 

he was the one who put her in that situation. he hurt her. why the fuck did he do that? why the actual fuck did he do that?

when the panic passed, the self-loathing soon followed. he didn’t understand how things were so quick to turn around when they were more than okay a mere few weeks ago. he treated her like she was disposable and he doesn’t think he will ever forgive himself for it. 

when the hatred for himself outweighed the worry he had for her, he resorted to pills to find slumber that night. the sleep was terrible, but it was better than nothing.

he woke up the next morning, finding himself on his kitchen floor. he must’ve passed out then and there. he checked the clock just above the fridge. the time was 9:15 AM. if she was okay, she must be at work. he could go there to check on her, see if her car was there. but, then again, he felt like he was the last person she wanted around her at this moment. if she was even alive, that is.

his rationality came back to him somewhere after 11 in the morning, just after his shower. she was a strong and capable woman, she was probably fine. she had to be, or he was never going to be fine again.

he went back to the kitchen to fetch himself some water for his run. if there was one thing that helped him, it was running for miles and miles and miles ahead and drowning out his surroundings with music through his headphones. as he opened the fridge he was faced with a bowl that was filled with cubes of fruit. the bowl was shaped like a lemon and had the colour to go with it. he remembers how y/n had picked it out online, gushing over how cute and fitting it is.

‘you always sing about fruit! might as well have a lemon-shaped bowl, if you ask me.’

he remembers how he had chuckled in response, pulled her in for a kiss on her temple, and replied ‘whatever you want, love.’

why do those days feel so far away now? 

he looked all around the kitchen and observed how every nook and cranny of this house had pieces of her littered all over it. the kitchen clock; a soft yellow one with slender, roman numbering on it - she chose it. the light pink cabinets - she painted them. actually, they painted them together and made sweet love on that very floor when they were finished. every piece of decoration - she had collected them whenever they had travelled. he particularly took notice of a framed picture right next to the sink. a moment captured when they made fresh pasta at his mother’s house when they were there for her birthday, two years ago. he remembered the moment so, so vividly.

‘harry, for goodness’ sake! you’re making a mess!’

she was the one who rolled out the dough by hand, since harry had previously dropped the pasta maker on the floor, resulting in its break. feeling a little useless, he wanted to do whatever he could to make her laugh. so, he did what any child would do: poured flour over them. first, her nose. then, her cheeks. shortly after, her head. and when she was sick of him, she grabbed the packet from his grasp and poured every last bit over him. her glimmering eyes looked straight at his playful ones. she bit her lips, in order to deny him the satisfaction of a laugh, and he looked just about ready to burst at the seams. 

in that moment, his sister quietly took a picture, making sure to get it back to them for one of their birthdays. when she was done, she clapped her hands to gain their attention, and suddenly they stood there like deers caught in headlights. 

then, laughter erupted. loud, hearty, full laughter. 

harry had to physically shake his head to lose the memory. when a sudden sickness overcame him, he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach right into said sink. was this kind of behaviour normal after a breakup? he didn’t know.

breakup. breakup. breakup.

the word swam around his vision, making him want to gauge his own eyes out. were they broken up, now? could she ever forgive him? then again, could he forgive her for lying to him? his mind was swarmed with all sorts of questions that he had no way of finding an answer to, at least not anytime soon. 

he needed to go on that run.

so, he did. and ever so conveniently, he ran by her workplace. low and behold, her car was there, unscathed. relief flooded him, but so did dread. because if she was at work, that meant she was fine. which also meant that she didn’t pick up his calls on purpose. she didn’t want to talk to him. 

good. maybe they shouldn’t talk for a while. whatever. 

he ran back home and didn’t leave the house for the remaining day.

+++

jane was y/n’s lifelong friend. they went to high school together and were usually inseparable. however, with both of their schedules being as crazy as they were, they rarely saw each other these days. when jane saw the state of her in that bathroom stall, she paid for her tab and drove her home. y/n didn’t say much in that time, still in a state of sensory overload. it was only when she saw how they were approaching harry’s driveway that she spoke. 

“we can’t go there.” 

jane whipped her head towards the passenger seat. “what do you mean, petal?” 

y/n stared straight ahead. “we can’t go to harry’s place. can I stay with you tonight? I’ll explain everything.”

jane looked at her for a few beats longer, worry etched deep into her features, until she turned her car around and drove to her own apartment. just over 30 minutes later, they arrived.

y/n soon realised how drunk she truly was, especially when the glare of the white lightbulbs in jane’s bathroom made her head throb and her guts churn. she ended up leaning above the toilet bowl in an attempt to empty the contents of her stomach, however, her attempt was in vain; nothing left her stomach. and yet, she felt so empty. 

she wished that she had shouted at harry, maybe even slap him across his annoyingly pretty face. she wished she had done something to stop him from doing what he did. but alas, just like nothing left her now, nothing left her then. she was always so perfectly contained. harry had even told her on multiple occasions that she needed to let loose, even if it was just a little bit. he was good at helping her with that. she always felt so unbothered and carefree in his presence. 

oh, harry. what have you done?

“god, harry. you fucking idiot.” 

the first sob of the night left her. then came the second. the third quickly followed. all of a sudden, she found herself crying in agony over her best friend’s toilet.

“y/n, you okay?? can I come in?” jane called from the other side of the door, but y/n didn’t hear. the echo of her cries within the toilet bowl was too loud for her to be aware of her surroundings. thus, a very worried-looking jane came bursting through the door. as she found y/n in literal shambles across the bathroom floor, she couldn’t help but choke up herself. she’d never seen her like this, and it truly broke her heart.

“hey, hey pretty girl, it’s alright. I’m here, good god, I’m here. let it all out.”

jane ended up cradling y/n, almost like you would calm a crying baby, and y/n didn’t realise how much she truly needed it. however, she still didn’t dare to speak. she feared that, once she recalled the events out loud, they would become reality. she wasn’t ready for that to happen, not yet. maybe not ever, but definitely not now. 

so she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left to give. jane and her wordlessly went to bed that night, bundled up in blankets to keep out the cold. 

y/n feared she might never feel normal again, if she even knew what that was. she felt like harry completed her, and that scared her to death.

when she woke up the next day, she finally threw up. with the vodka finally out of her system and her stomach basically cleansed, she felt a lot better than she thought she would. the headache was manageable and the nausea came and went. she could survive this.

she didn’t know about the rest of her circumstances, though. 

whenever the thought of him popped into her head, she did whatever she could to distract herself. first thing in the morning? she showered after her journey to the toilet bowl. after the shower? extensive skincare. when she saw her tired expression in the mirror? left the bathroom to borrow some of jane’s clothes. eventually, she had run out of distractions in the bedroom, so she escaped to the kitchen. when she started preparing breakfast and turned up the radio just a touch, she was reminded of him, again. soon enough, she realised that everything reminded her of him, and there was nothing she could do about it. would be too easy, right?

for the first time in a while, she felt vulnerable. raw. like there was no skin over her pain and a gust of wind could make it bleed.

the realisation knocked the air out of her for just a moment, but it was enough for her to turn the stove off and sit down. she felt as if she had just run up the stairs, in fear that somebody was chasing her. she felt out of breath, disoriented and weirded out. maybe she should go to that doctor to talk about her anxiety, harry had always-

“hey, you! making some breakfast? how kind.” jane chimed, bright and chipper, ripping y/n out of her thoughts. she caught her gaze, offering a smile. “oh, I was just up early today. the eggs are probably burnt, though. just a heads up.”

jane nodded and went straight to her bag of toaster waffles and popped one of them into her mouth. a quick turn later, she faced y/n with an apologetic expression. as much as she wanted to grant y/n her bit of privacy, she needed to know what happened. before jane could open her mouth, y/n spoke. she spoke and spoke and spoke, retelling the whole thing, from the moment she felt overwhelmed at work, right up to the point where harry kicked her out. this was the second day she wasn’t at his place, refusing to refer to it as ‘home’, and everything still felt awfully unreal. jane listened and listened until she snapped. 

“hold on, what? you slept in your damn car? why didn’t you call me? y/n, that was so unsafe, dear god!” 

she was pacing up and down her lengthy kitchen, trying to wrap her head around how her best friend’s picture-perfect relationship went to shit without anybody else noticing. 

“I know, jane, I know, but I wasn’t really thinking and I didn’t want to bother anyone. the two of us have barely spoken lately, and-“

“as if that matters! y/n, you’re my best friend, okay? my ride or die. it doesn’t matter if I see you once a week or once a year, I am the person you tell these things to, okay? I’m the person you ask for help!”

y/n didn’t answer, shame clouding her senses. instead, her gaze turned downwards and she started picking her nails.

“you’re staying with me until we figure this out, okay? I don’t want to hear shit.” 

when y/n didn’t answer, jane physically forced her to look at her by nudging her hand under her chin and gently dragging it upwards. “got it, petal?” 

y/n nodded.

“wonderful! oh, and if I see harry, just know I’m gonna beat the shit out of him. lord knows he deserved it-“

“you will not, okay?”

jane looked at y/n as if she had grown a third head. confusedly, she goes: “wait, are you planning to forgive him, or something?”

y/n became frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, okay? I just don’t know. I can’t face him for a bit, but I can’t tell you what’ll happen afterwards. please don’t hurt him, I know that you actually would.”

jane listened, processed, and nodded. she didn’t want to cause her any more emotional turmoil. 

“okay, dude. whatever you say. now, let’s plan this sleepover of ours!”

+++

it’d been seven days since harry had last seen her. with every day that had passed, his emotions spiralled.

his first phase: hatred. 

he hated her. he hated her boss, her work, her mindset. he hated all of the things he could blame for their fallout, thus also hating himself. he hated himself so much that he couldn’t bare to look at himself. when he wasn’t excessively punching things in his at-home gym, he got high and broke stuff. he called her and spoke spiteful things onto her voicemail. he cried angry tears and listened to angry, devastating music. 

the music triggered the second phase: sorrow.

he cried and cried and cried, especially to sad coldplay songs or the old records that his stepfather used to collect. the crying made him tired, so he slept a lot during this phase. though, as soon as he woke up, he’d be crying again. 

when the crying stopped, the depression came.

heaviness shaped his form. his feet felt too heavy to lift,  thus his bed became his permanent residence for a bit. his mind was hazy and everything he attempted to do sucked every last bit of energy out of him, resulting in a permanent state of exhaustion. 

his empty bed triggered his longest phase: loneliness.

he missed her. so fucking much.

he missed her smell. her peaceful, sleeping state. he missed how she would always have to collect individual hairs off of their covers because her hair just shed in heaps during her slumber. he missed how she’d look up at him when the first few moments of consciousness kissed her in the morning. he missed how he could lay his head on her soft chest and listen to her steady heartbeat. he missed how she would sometimes lovingly grab him by the jaw and pull him down to kiss his forehead. he missed how she used to make him coffee in the morning and he’d eat her out on the kitchen table to say thank you. he missed her body, every mark and every freckle. he missed her voice and wished he’d recorded it at some point. he missed the way she’d hug him from every angle. he missed how she could talk to him for hours about anything. he missed making love to her.

he missed being able to love her. 

he feared that she was gone now. far, far away from his reach. he had to make peace with it, though. right?

thus he welcomed his current phase: apathy. 

he didn’t care anymore; he wasn’t going to get her back. he’d fucked up too bad, so he resorted to resenting her for her mistakes. the negative emotions that were previously directed towards him only were now evenly distributed amongst her, him, their situation and the world. he didn’t want to talk to anyone, reach out to anyone, or even acknowledge his feelings in any way. as he cleaned up his house from the shards and pieces of the the things he had destroyed, he found a weird sense of serenity in the acceptance of his downfall. all was lost now, what else could go wrong? 

then, his phone rang.

he checked. it was sarah. 

he wasn’t going to pick up, but she’d called him a few times now. he didn’t want to worry her, so he finally picked up.

“hello?”

a sigh of relief left her.

“goodness, harry, where were you? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages! look, some things need to be picked up for the rehearsal dinner on tuesday. could you maybe handle it? I wouldn’t ask you but mitch and I have been super busy with everything else. pleeaasee?”

harry’s brows furrowed. rehearsal dinner?

then, he remembered. the fucking wedding.

mitch and sarah had been officially married for over a year, yet they never had a proper celebration due to obvious restrictions. and honestly, he’d completely forgotten about it within the last few days. a wedding for his best friends, which she was also supposed to attend. how on earth could he make this right?

“oh! and tell y/n to call me back, please! I’ve been meaning to talk to her about the dresses for the bridesmaids, but her phone is dead or something.”

without missing a beat, harry replied. “yeah, sure. I’ll tell her. also, send me what you need picked up and I’ll get it to you.” 

if there was one thing harry and y/n had in common, it was this: they would always put other people’s needs above their own, especially if it concerned their loved ones. there was no way in hell he would make one of his best friends worry about him when her wedding was just around the corner. he’ll pretend if he had to. but he was not going to fuck this up for them.

“oh, you’re an angel! I’ll send you all the details, thank you! I have to go now but give y/n a kiss from me, please. love you! see you later! bye!”

the phone beeped until inevitable silence.

right, so he had to hope that y/n would attend the wedding. no, he had to be sure that she would be there. not only that; he had to hope that she would agree to act normal around their friends, for now. 

harry needed to find a way to reach her. he might’ve fucked up his own relationship, but he was not going to spoil his friend’s wedding. 

wonderful. what could go wrong? except for absolutely everything?

+++

5.1k, not proofread (whoops), lowercase intended

PART THREE IS HERE HELLOOOOO

thank you for your patience !! i know it’s been a long time coming. parts of this were kind of hard to write for me, so excuse any ill worded sentences, please <3

i hope you enjoy this one! as always, all the love xx

-ve !!

[thatgirl4815]

First Kisses

Since I keep talking about kisses, I might as well point out how the show has given us three distinctly different first kisses for each of the couples. Each kiss seems to epitomize their greater plot line and emphasize how each of these couples represent something tonally and thematically different and yet, very similar at the same time.

We’ve gotten a range of kisses from Kinn and Porsche, but the fact that this first one is so delicate and tender and emotional is a huge indicator of the course of their relationship. I mean think about it: Kinn and Porsche have just had one of the most open talks Kinn has probably ever had in his life. Kinn let his facade temporarily fall away to confess all of his inner turmoil over his job--all to someone he hardly even knows. I remember a lot of the fandom discussing whether or not this kiss happened too fast, but in hindsight, I think it’s even more clear that this kiss says more about Kinn than about the two of them as a couple. Kinn latches on and he latches on tight; he falls and he falls fast. Why wouldn’t he kiss Porsche when emotional connection and stability is the one thing he craves so desperately? It terrifies him, but he would also be lost without it. 

Music: Daniel Kaede’s Japanese Dawn is a beautiful, appropriately-delicate mood-setter for their openness. And I don’t need to get into Jeff’s OST because the words themselves just confirm how much Kinn needs Porsche in this moment. (Side note, but does anyone else feel emotionally attacked by the opening notes of Why Don’t You Stay? Because I do.)

Theme: I’ve already laid it out pretty distinctly, but if I was to narrow down the theme in this scene and in KP’s entire relationship, it’s that everybody needs somebody they can trust. It’s fundamental, but it’s even more necessary for people like Kinn, who have been trained that complete trust leads to a lack of caution, which leads to betrayal, which leads to everything falling apart. But being together, even for just a moment, in a world that always seems to be trying to take you down...that’s the most powerful thing. 

I will just confess this right off the bat: I’m not a big fan of KimChay’s relationship, mostly because it doesn’t carry as much depth and weight as the other two. But that got me thinking...that’s probably the point. It’s meant to balance out the intensity of KP and VP with its innocence. But that also got me thinking about the fact that Chay is the only one bringing real innocence to this relationship. Even though Kim is not directly involved in the mafia life, his entire plot line ultimately revolves around it. Chay brings a light to that darkness the same way Porsche brings a lightness to Kinn. And I think that this kiss and everything before it honestly surprises Kim. He wanted to use Chay even if that meant manipulating his emotions, but he never thought he would actually develop some feelings in return. 

Music: Barcode’s OST captures the innocence of his affection for Kim, and it also plays into themes I’ve seen in a lot of other BLs about young love, growing together, etc. Again, the innocence is clear.

Theme: In some ways, the theme of Kim and Chay’s relationship isn’t all that different from Kinn and Porsche’s. Kim puts on a cold, reserved exterior, probably as a result of his own deep-seated issues. It’s interesting and definitely intentional for Kim/Kinn and Porsche/Chay to mirror each other so much. Kim and Chay is the much subtler, teenage version of what Kinn and Porsche have, and I see their first kiss as reflecting themes of young love. Trust plays a role in their relationship, but again, not to the same extent as KP.

I’m honestly conflicted on whether or not to call this VP’s “first kiss,” because though it technically is, I’d argue that it’s different than the others for a few reasons. The other two kisses were consensual and desired by the recipient. Porsche is drunk, yes, but he’s with-it enough to know who he’s speaking to, return the kiss, and remember it later. Chay basically instigates the romance in the first place by talking with Kim. Also, the atmosphere of both KP and KC’s kisses is romantic. We could’ve guessed we were going to get a kiss between them based on the general setting and set-up. But with VP, Vegas is planting this kiss on Pete, and Pete doesn’t return it. He simply lays there, caught off guard, unable to resist or respond. This, of course, says more about Vegas than about the two of them together (like how KP’s first kiss says more about Kinn).

Again, it might be controversial, but I’d argue that this--

--is the real first kiss between Vegas and Pete because they both respond to it. If we decide to count this as VP’s real first kiss, then I’ll say that it’s the first one we see that’s almost strictly passionate. It’s rushed, it’s desperate, it’s frantic, it’s all-consuming. It’s clearly more lustful than either of the other kisses.

Music: Max’s Anson’s Stable Delusion kicks into gear soon after this kiss, and while I am not a fan of the choice to use it here, I do think it at least coincides with the fact that this is far from the tenderness we see with KP and KC...at first, anyway. Later into the scene, the kisses become much more delicate, but here it’s charged with desire pretty exclusively.

Theme: All in all, I think the fact that it starts passionate and physical and gets tender later on thematically suggests that Pete and Vegas’s relationship is very passionate and toxic and potentially threatening, while the undercurrent is tender and sweet and loving. It’s the difference between the undercurrent and overcurrent. 

--

Anyway, I probably talked myself in circles a few times here, but overall, I think we’re meant to see how these relationships overlap in terms of emotion, but how they differ in terms of tone. 

[thequeenofsastiel]

Time for me to wax poetic about the kink scene between Mangkorn and Yai in ep 3!

There are so many things about that scene that I love. First, and most importantly, consent was sought beforehand. Mangkorn said that if Yai was consenting, to get on his knees. He didn't shove him there. No force was used to get Yai on the ground, except the power of Mangkorn's Dom voice.

Which is another thing I love. Mos has an excellent Dom presence. Some actors who are supposed to be dominant fall short, but his body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice all indicate that this character is a Dom.

And ISBANKY does a great job as a sub. He's perfect at the vulnerable, wide eyed expression subs get when they're being dominated. As soon as his character sank to his knees, his hesitant voice completely lacked all the arrogant aggressiveness it had had every other time Yai interacted with Mangkorn. It was soft, needy, with a clear desire to please.

And the scene itself! I loved the little smirk Mangkorn gave when Yai went to his knees. It was this great "I fucking knew it" smirk, with an edge of delight that this was happening. And there were instructions! It wasn't quite negotiation, but pretty close. I loved that Mangkorn immediately told Yai the honorifics he was supposed to use, which Yai immediately did without protest. And that as soon as Yai started to speak, Mangkorn gripped him by the chin, telling him that he hadn't been given permission to talk, which made Yai instantly fall silent. On a personal level, as someone who talks a whole lot, and constantly feels the need to be entertaining(something I'm actually really good at irl), being shushed by a Dom is one of my absolute favorite things, because I finally have a reason to say nothing, to not have to entertain. So that moment was very intense and moving for me.

Even the moment in which Yai ended up with a soap bottle in his mouth was kind of great for me. I love it when Doms humiliate subs, though I'm not certain how Yai felt about it. Clearly it didn't bother him too much, though, given that he spent the rest of the night very obedient to Mangkorn.

And I like that Mangkorn didn't take it any further than that. He was clearly sensible enough to know that they couldn't go there in a public place where anyone could walk in. I suspect he didn't even mean to go as far as he did, he simply got caught up in the moment, wanting to know exactly how submissive Yai is while sober. And it's honestly extremely difficult to focus on anything else when you're getting to do power exchange with a compatible Dom or sub. I'm only barely a switch, but even the few times I've Dommed it's an intense experience(though admittedly nothing compared to how I feel when I submit). I totally get why Mangkorn let the moment get away from him a bit. But he was able to break himself out of it before it went too far.

And of course the rest of the night he was super gentle with Yai. All the aggressiveness he'd shown before vanished. It was as if the second he realized their kink compatibility, his feelings towards Yai instantly flipped to protectiveness. Which makes perfect, perfect sense. As does Yai's reaction to it. I feel like the sudden change in their attitudes might be hard for some people to understand, but the realization of a kink connection can override everything else, and it did for them.

Ahhhh! I'm so stoked for this series!!!!!

[earlgreydream]

fed up.

| bucky x reader | smut |

anon requested. reader comes without permission and he punishes her by edging her everyday for like a week straight & your shitty week at work turns into you acting out at home and Bucky is absolutely fed up with your behavior

a/n: both of these are 🥵🥵🥵

cw: edging, orgasm denial, subspace, etc

“Watch your mouth,” Bucky warned after the second time you’d been disrespectful to him.

Your week at work had been incredibly stressful. Your boss had yelled at you, you got blamed for not getting things done on time, even when it wasn’t your fault, and you’d been overwhelmed to the point of tears. You were fed up, and it had put you in a bad mood. You were typically sweet, but the stress brought out your bratty side, and you just couldn’t help but let your frustration seep into your relationship. Bucky was not a dom to test, but you didn’t care.

“You can watch my ass as I walk out the door,” you snapped back, and Bucky turned to you, pushing his tongue against his bottom lip like he always did when he was mad.

“Come here.”

“I’m busy.” You didn’t look up from where you were trying to peel an orange.

“Come here, now.”

“I said-” you started, but he was on his feet and behind you before you could finish your sentence.

The fruit was pried from your hand, Bucky having no patience for your attitude. You were flipped so your back was against the counter, and Bucky grasped your jaw in one of his large hands.

“Knock it off with the fucking attitude.”

His gaze was warning, and you could tell that he was getting more and more frustrated with you. The look in his silver eyes was dangerous, a clear indication you were on your way to getting exactly what you wanted.

You glared at him, dead set on acting out. Your mood was sour, and you wanted to push Bucky’s limits. You wanted him to he as riled as you were, not caring about any consequences.

“What attitude?” Your tone was obnoxious, and Bucky couldn’t take it anymore.

He let go of your jaw, stepping back to look at you. Bucky took a second to breathe, and to think through his next actions, bringing his fiery anger down to a simmer.

He knew you were doing this to get a reaction. He was very aware that you were likely doing this to get him to bend you over the bed and spank you, that was usually the endgame to your brattiness. He was tired of your behavior, and he wasn’t going to give in to what you wanted.

He leaned against the counter opposite of you and picked up your half-peeled orange. You watched him finish it, and take a small slice before handing you the rest of it. He glanced at you briefly before walking back out of the kitchen, leaving you stunned.

You hadn’t expected that, and you followed him to the living room, where he returned to the novel he had been reading when you mouthed off to him. You watched him for a few moments before timidly climbing onto the couch beside of him.

His sudden calmness and disinterest scared you more than his anger, and your attitude crumbled to pieces. You were afraid to bother him, but you laid down with your head on his lap as he read. He set his hand on your side, his thumb lightly brushing over your top every once in a while. He got lost in the novel, and you were nearly asleep on him when he finished.

He finished the book and set it aside, looking down to see you dozing on his lap. You woke up as he carefully slid out from under you, and you watched as he went to shower.

You laid back on the couch, sighing from boredom. Your mind started to wander to what Bucky looked like in the shower, soap lathering all over his body. 

You unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down your legs, giving in to how horny you were. You closed your eyes as your hand traveled under your panties, getting yourself off to thoughts of your boyfriend in the shower. 

Bucky leaned against the wall and watched you, lured out by the sound of you moaning his name. He watched as you came around your own fingers, your back arching and a loud, high pitched whine leaving your lips. 

“You’re really trying to get into trouble, doll.”

Fear sparked through your belly at the sound of his irritated voice, and you quickly removed your hand. He was glaring at you, displeased by you coming without permission. 

“I didn’t think you would know,” you admitted honestly, having expected him to take a much longer shower, or hang out in the back of the house.

“No? So it’s okay to break the rules as long as I don’t find out?” 

“Well, no...” the whisper caught in your throat, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“So what were you hoping to happen?” Bucky was causing embarrassment to spread through you, and you felt like a child being scolded for bad behavior.

“I just wanted to get off, because you didn’t-”

“You were acting like a brat, so I didn’t feel that I should help you.” 

The statement hung in the air, and your plan and deviance collapsed, your plan to blow off some steam with Bucky quickly fell into shambles. 

You didn’t need to explain yourself. Bucky knew your frustrations. Although he was sympathetic, it wasn’t an excuse for your behavior.

The thick silence made you tense, and you swallowed hard, regretting your infractions. Bucky helped you up and told you to go shower, going to busy himself with something else.

You were stunned, opting for a longer shower, a little anxious to face Bucky. When you stepped out of the water, he handed you a towel, waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” you broke the silence.

Bucky pulled you toward him, giving you a kiss against your wet lips. You looked up at him, and he nudged his nose against yours before speaking.

“Dry off and go lay on the bed. No point in dressing yet.”

You nodded, doing what he asked, feeling sullen. The desire to push back against him and be a brat was gone, faded with his lack of aggression. You were afraid now, unsure of what he was going to do to you, because he certainly wouldn’t let your behavior go unpunished. 

You stretched out on the bed, opting to lay on your stomach, hoping your boyfriend would appreciate the view of your ass. Bucky slid his hands up the back of your thighs, squeezing you before pulling your hips up. 

“Just let me know if it hurts,” Bucky kissed the back of your shoulder before thrusting into you. A sigh escaped your lips and you squeezed the sheets between your fingers as Bucky maintained a steady rhythm, rocking into you and filling you up. 

“James,” you moaned his name, causing him to snap his hips faster against yours. 

You tightened around him, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. You couldn’t get there without any stimulation on your clit, and Bucky knew that. He had memorized every inch of your body, everything you needed, and everything you did. 

Your muscles went limp as you sank against the mattress, letting him pound into you until you felt him spill into the condom he wore.

“James, please,” you begged, pushing your hips back.

“Please what, doll?” Bucky was punishing you now, you realized.

“Please let me come!” 

You had twisted to look at him, and he flipped you onto your back in front of him before stepping off the bed to clean himself up.

“Next week.”

“Next week?” It was almost a scream, and he shot you a look.

“Gotta teach you not to be disrespectful,” Bucky kissed your lips, and you pouted, upset by the aching you felt from your needs being unfulfilled. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He laid down with you, letting you curl up in his arms. He held you tightly, kissing you until you grew so tired you couldn’t stay awake. 

Every day that Bucky got home from work that week, he bent you over whatever surface you were on, fucking you roughly but keeping you from orgasming. By the fourth day you were crying, aching with a more intense need than you had ever experienced.

“Please, I’ll be good, Bucky, I’m-” you whined, tripping over your words as you begged him, only to be shot down with the sweet smile that hid sadistic pleasure of you being denied.

Being denied had put you in an especially subby headspace, and when Bucky was around you clung to him. He made sure to take extra good care of you, knowing you were being good and not getting off by yourself. You’d learned your lesson, hesitant to ever do it again after the week you’d been through.

When it was finally the end of the week, you were almost in subspace from Bucky just picking you up and carrying you to bed.

“You’ve been so good doll, I’m so proud of you,” Bucky kissed you as he laid you down on the mattress, practically tearing your clothes off of you.

“I want to be good for you, James.”

He looked into your wide, glassy eyes, and he pressed his lips against your forehead, reassuring you that you were good, and you made him so happy. You slipped into subspace, your mind clouding up. Bucky recognized the signs, and he kissed you all over and loved on you.

“I’m going to let you come. Sound good, doll?” Bucky hummed against your skin, and you nodded.

“Yes, please.”

He smiled at your sweet voice, dropping between your legs. Your fingers tangled into his hair as his mouth pressed against your sex, his tongue moving through your folds and swiping over your clit. Your whimpers mixed with the lewd sounds of Bucky eating you out, knowing it was the fastest way to get you to come. He loved the feeling of you tugging on his hair, and he pushed two fingers into your heat, dragging against your g-spot while his tongue continued to work at your nerves. 

You were crying his name as your legs shook, the pressure finally snapping and granting you the release you had been so desperate for. His name echoed off the walls as you screamed, tightening your thighs around his head. 

When he drew up, a pleased grin adorned his face. You struggled to catch your breath, the aftershocks sending little jolts through your body. He couldn’t stop smiling at how adorable you were, and you reached up to him with weak arms, wanting him to hold you. You stammered his name softly, still deep in the subby clouds, and he gave in once he cleaned his face.

“I’m coming, doll, no tears,” he hummed, pulling you onto his lap.

“Don’t like it when you edge me,” you whispered, mumbling softly. He laughed and you buried yourself deeper into him, pulling the blanket tighter over the two of you.

“I’m done edging you,” Bucky promised, handing you a glass of water and gently urging you to drink it. He went through all of the steps of your aftercare, his full attention on you as he broke you out of your cloudy head. 

“Next time I’m upset from work, can you just bend me over your knee?” You teased Bucky shyly.

“If you ask nicely.”

You promised to be nice, grinning as he squeezed you in a hug.

[boycottyashahime]

Sessrin is so shit even general proshippers & casual Inuyasha fans hate it. Was legit talking to one of these the other day and she admitted Sessrin shipping is incredibly rare in non-IY proship circles and despite being a proshipper she herself would’ve only watched the sequel for InuKag but she immediately peaced out as soon she saw that it wasn’t going to focus on them. But sure Sessrin keep telling themselves the lie that their ship is sooo beloved, and the most popular ship of the IY fandom, meanwhile the majority were literally only here for InuKag and they’re the reason they even bothered to give Trashahime a second glance. 🤪🤭

Rumiko & Sunrise was literally sitting on a goldmine with InuKag and yet they continue to trash and shit over the ship and it’s fans when they were always the main draw to the franchise in the first place, they’re an iconic ship for a reason!

Sessrin is largely irrelevant even among the wider, general proship community. Like they’re not as popular among casuals or even the the Inuyasha fandom like Sessrinners say they are, it’s honestly soo embarrassing the way Sessrinners hype up their shit ship and try to make it sound more popular than it actually is. Nobody in the English-speaking or wider Inuyasha fandom fucking cares, as evidenced by the fact that Yashahime did so poorly it led to both it’s preemptive cancellation and Sunrise’s bankruptcy, literally the only ones who hardcore ship Sessrin is their own little raisin containment corner of crazy hags who stalk and doxx people for daring to insult their self-insert ✨QUEEN ✨Rin or have the nerve to imply Sesshomaru cared about literally anybody else. (not even just shipping him with people other than Rin, simply stating the canon fact that Rin wasn’t in fact the only one he cared about!)

Sessrinners are the Inuyasha fandom’s equivalent of those annoying middle-aged Twilight Moms.

They certainly did their best to create the illusion that S*ssR*n was a foregone conclusion, at the very least. Sunrise and the shippers worked pretty tirelessly to present the pairing as the only logical destination that Sesshoumaru and Rin's relationship could take, but it was a rather poor job done in the end. The shippers' desperation itself was a clear indication that they had spent a majority of their time shipping S*ssR*n trying to argue the same points to people who recoiled at this view of the relationship. If you find yourself insisting that your pairing is obvious and good to most other fans you meet, chances are that it's not that popular. And Sunrise, as I've explained previously, was just writing to the market they tried to create. Unfortunately for them, Inuyasha was too widely popular before the whole lolicon proliferation really took hold in anime, and they weren't able to create the demand for S*ssR*n necessary to make this pairing even a viable BASIS for their "sequel". They shouldn't have bet so heavily on their creepy little hints toward the pairing in the past.

But I do have to give them ONE tiny thing: it wasn't entirely out of nowhere that they would try to give Sesshoumaru a bigger role in a sequel they made, and I think the only reason they didn't make him the central figure was because RT asked them not to center the parents and instead the next generation. S*ssR*n may not have been as popular as either Sunrise nor shippers made it out to be, but Sesshoumaru himself was second only to Inuyasha in popularity (I say "was" because, well, turning him into a child sexual predator really bit into his popularity in the end, lol), and I could hardly find a comment section talking about the Inuyasha series without SOMEONE expressing a desire to see more of him in a spin-off. I would shake my head and laugh at this, because part of Sesshoumaru's appeal comes from his lack of concrete definition, and I knew any narrative that gave him more of a spotlight would end up exposing more of how fundamentally BORING he is.

You've at least got to hand it to Sunrise that they avoided the boring pitfall, only to get caught in the "this character is the actual WORST" pitfall instead. So, props for that, I guess.

I disagree that Yashahime led to Sunrise's bankruptcy, though. I think Yashahime was a hail mary pass at the end of a LONG ROAD of bad decisions that ended up not working out, but it was only the last ditch effort to avoid what was a much bigger fate. Sunrise no doubt had done many things, both in public and behind the scenes, to set up their domino line of a downfall. Not that it's going to mean much going forward with, what is it, Bandai? It's the same shit, different name as far as I'm concerned.

But yeah, overall, I think it's absolutely true that the people who are invested in S*ssR*n give the overall impression of being this fandom's most insufferable members. They don't really care much about any aspect to the series other than how it might be used to argue for their questionable, non-canon ship, and their insecurity is a constant eruption whenever anyone so much as hints at Sesshoumaru's relationships with others. It's absurd and sad, and I'm surprised they haven't all given themselves aneurysms in their apoplectic rage that the rest of the fandom doesn't agree with them yet.

[buckyownsmylife]

Animal of the Night - Tom Hardy smut

The one where you decided to tempt Tom by wearing a sexy Venom costume.

Warnings: smut, jealousy, possessiveness, daddy kink, oral sex (m), spanking, dirty talk, name-calling, choking

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: this was requested by the lovely @jbreenr​ a while back and it’s finally here 😎

Tom’s P.O.V.

I’d been casually watching the door, waiting for her to arrive like it was no big deal, but it absolutely was. I’d been dying to see her ever since filming wrapped, but because there was still so much to be done until I could go back home and she was knees deep in some work herself, we’d agreed that we’d meet at this off-season Halloween party one of our friends was throwing. Even though I much preferred to be locked inside a room with her all night.

“Hey, man! What you’ve been up to?” I got distracted as the host of the night finally approached me to make some light conversation. It had been a while since we had the opportunity to chat - I’d been spending all my time in the city at her apartment or mine, consequently ignoring our group of friends as I’d much rather be buried deep inside of her, but I had to admit that I did miss the guys.

Not enough to stop me from wishing I was alone with her, though.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been so absent. You know… work. What have you been up to?” I accepted the beer he was offering as well as the hug, throwing one last glance at the door before turning my body to fully concentrate on him.

“Just the usual. Work hard and play hard. Not a lot going on at the moment.” I nodded, taking a swig of the beer before I realized I should probably ask about the rest of the gang.

“What about everyone else? Is something different going on?” Tyler seemed to think for a moment - it’s never too easy to come up with stuff to talk about when put at the spot, I should know that - but then his eyebrows shot up and a big smile opened on his face, clear indications that he had thought of something interesting.

“Yeah! I don’t know if you’ve heard this already, I know you two are kinda close, but with you being away… Apparently, Y/N has a boyfriend.” My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach at that, panic clawing my insides and begging me to start yelling.

How could she start dating and not tell me about it? Sure, she was free to find a boyfriend, what we had wasn’t exactly official, and consequently, not exclusive, but I thought I deserved at least some update when she found someone to replace me.

The thought of her being with anyone else burned me to the core, and I held the bottle of beer so tightly I was surprised it didn’t break. Grinding my teeth so Tyler wouldn’t realize there was something wrong, I asked as monotonously as I could, “Oh, really? Who’s the guy?” But all I got was a shrug.

“We don’t know, she hasn’t introduced him to anyone yet. We just assume that’s the case because she’s been skipping all of our meetings but when she does come, she giggles at her phone all the time.”

She used to do that with me. When we were all out and I’d text her something I couldn’t say out loud. I always found it adorable, and the idea of her giggling for someone else’s stupid jokes almost made me puke on the spot.

“It’s no wonder she’s been keeping him hidden, really,” Tyler continued, completely oblivious to what I was going through. “She always did like the bad boy types.”

That comment made me frown, thinking back on her exes. In all the time that we had known each other, she had only had a handful of boyfriends - but maybe those were just the ones she introduced me to. The only thing that they seemed to have in common was their absolute inability to treat her how she deserved to be treated, so while I didn’t necessarily think that she had a type, if there was one way to define them, it would definitely be as “bad”.

“Mind if I join you, boys?” A seductive and familiar voice came from behind me, instinctively making me stand up straighter before turning around.

“Oh, fuck…” I heard Tyler comment at the same time that I took in her costume, my eyebrows shooting up as he continued, “You look fucking hot!” and I spilled out, “What the hell are you wearing?”

Y/N frowned, looking down at her own clothing like she had honestly forgotten what it was that she was dressed into - a sexy, slutty version of my venom character, barely recognizable with the lack of fabric.

“I’m venom!” She excitedly exclaimed, looking up at me again with a huge grin. “I thought you’d be the first to recognize it. What kind of an actor are you, really?”

Tyler chuckled behind us, but I could only focus on the woman looking up at me, provoking all sort of conflicting feelings to course through my body. There was jealousy and longing, desire and possessiveness. All I knew was that I needed to get her in a secluded environment in the next five minutes, or I would publicly explode.

“Come here with me, will ya?” I took her by the elbow, effortlessly moving us through the crowd of our drunk friends until I found an empty room I could shove her in, paying no attention to Tyler’s low whistle as we left him behind.

Once the door was safely closed, I turned around to stare down at her, really taking in her outfit. “I thought you knew better than to tease me like this,” I chastised, clicking my tongue as a smirk painted my lips at seeing her shiver when my voice dropped. Boyfriend or no boyfriend, I could still pull a reaction from her.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“We have quite a lot of things to discuss, little girl…” I bit my lower lip in an attempt to reel myself in and remain motionless, instead of just jumping on the man I was so desperate to feel up.

It’d been way too fucking long. Any time apart from Tom was already hard on me, but ever since we started fucking, any night I had to spend without his gorgeous body hovering over mine was particularly painful to me.

Which is why I decided to wear this “sexy” Venom costume. Even though he offered to meet me back in my place, I knew he missed his friends - our friends - and this way, we could get everything we wanted.

I just had to make his resolve crack so he’d pull me into the nearest bedroom and bang me five ways into tomorrow, and later we’d rejoin the party and mingle again.

By the way my night had been going, I could see I was very close to getting what I wanted.

Tilting my head to the side, the picture-perfect idea of the innocent little girl he always liked to treat me as, I asked, “What’s wrong, daddy?”

Tom’s reaction was… surprising. His mouth fell open, his fists curled and he stood there watching me until suddenly he was all over me, pulling me to stand on my tiptoes so our lips could connect.

I moaned into the kiss, briefly forgetting about his odd behavior as the familiar taste of him invaded my mouth. “God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned when we parted, leaving me almost dizzy with desire as I rapidly blinked a few times to be able to focus on him once more.

“What would your boyfriend think about you being locked up in a bedroom with me, wearing this, huh, sweetheart?” And now I was back to confused. What the hell was he talking about?

“Boyfriend?” I asked, pushing him away just enough to look him in the eye. Tom’s expression was inscrutable as he stared down at me with that fire in his eyes that never failed to make me shiver.

“Yes, boyfriend. Tyler told me all about it,” he commented, shrugging as if it was no big deal, yet his fingers pressed tightly against my hips, keeping me close to him. The anger was clear in every single one of his features.

I could read between the lines. I knew Tom like the back of my hand, through the years of friendship and now… whatever the hell this was. The hint of possessiveness was there, just threatening to take over, and my God was I desperate to see how it would play out.

“What did Tyler say?” I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelashes as I tried not to let my smile grow, so he wouldn’t catch up onto what was happening earlier than I wanted him to.

“That you’ve been skipping outings and whenever you do go, you’re always staring at your phone and giggling.” I bit my lip so I wouldn’t giggle right then, turning away from him in the hopes of hiding my expression.

When I turned around once more, his eyebrows were raised. It was clear he wanted an explanation, so I cleared my throat and tried to speak as seriously as I was able to do at that moment.

“Oh, right…” I didn’t deny it, fiddling with some random knick knacks on the bedside table. “You mean… like I do when I’m talking to you?”

Looking at him over my shoulder, I watched as realization suddenly hit, and that’s when I couldn’t control myself anymore. I dropped to my knees before him, mouth watering just at the prospect of having that delicious cock of his deep in my throat, filling my mouth.

A beautiful blush spread over his chest as he panted over me, a sign of just how affected he was, with his lustful eyes watching my every movement when I started to suck on his member.

“What about the costume?” He asked, making me giggle when I pulled back to answer, but kept my hands working his cock, keeping him hard and ready for me.

“I just wanted to tempt you.” A growl escaped his chest, making me even wetter just as he reached for my hair and pulled me back to my feet.

“You should have reconsidered if you wanted my dick anywhere near you.” I whined when I realized what he meant. Even though I loved his punishments, I was aching for his cock, and he was right - I wanted it now. So maybe I should have thought twice before looking for this slutty venom costume just so I could rile him up. “Now I’m gonna have to spank the shit out of you.”

He bent me over the bed, pushing the cheap fabric of my clothing to my stomach and exposing my naked pussy to his gaze. “You’re such a whore,” he chuckled when he realized I had forgone any type of underwear, and I found myself rubbing my thighs to get some relief from hearing him call me names.

Should I feel bad that it got me so hot? Oh, well. There was really nothing I could do about it except hope he would take care of me eventually.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Witnessing her pleasure in being humiliated like this only added to my frustration. She really was the perfect woman for me, but instead of ravishing her like I wished I could do, I’d have to entertain myself with her delectable ass, all ‘cause she decided to behave like a slut to catch my attention.

“You look so delicious, darling,” I teased her by running my fingers over her pussy lips, gathering some of the nectar already threatening to spill from there. “It’s a shame you misbehaved.”

I let my hand fall over her right cheek then, startling her so I could hear her yelp. I knew she got off on the pain - it was another thing that I loved about her - but it wouldn’t be half as fun if she didn’t pretend this truly was a punishment, huh?

“Can’t reward that kind of teasing,” I kept admonishing her, slowly inserting a finger into her hole, frustrating the both of us further just so I could have her trembling in anticipation, trying to guess what type of touch I’d grant her next.

But I needed to get this show on the road so I could fuck her properly, so abandoning all type of play, I laid slap after slap on her ass, watching it bounce back after each spank, hearing her moans before they were drowned by the sounds of the party downstairs.

“Daddy!” She moaned, clinging to my thigh, making me even harder inside my jeans. She really did love getting her ass spanked, and I loved her ass, so I’d take any opportunity to get my hands on it.

“You know how long I’ve been dreaming of burying myself deep inside this pussy, little girl? Do you?” I snarled, hearing her whimpers like they were music to my ears. “And then you pull shit like this, and how the fuck am I supposed to keep myself together long enough to tame your bratty ass?”

Her thighs began to tremble, fingernails biting on the skin of my thigh. I knew what this meant, so I immediately stopped spanking her, pulling her by her hair so I could whisper in her ear, “I know you’re a whore, but no cumming before I have my dick inside of you, got it?”

She cried out at the authoritative tone in my voice, but I knew her well enough by now to know that she wasn’t done testing me yet. “You can’t control my orgasm,” she dared to fight me. “You don’t own me. I’m not yours.”

I clutched her throat, cutting off her air so I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of her shit.

“Shut. Up.” Her eyes were wide when I threw her on the bed, pulling her by the ankles so her legs were dangling off of it, keeping her on her stomach as I unbuckled my belt.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” I complained as I climbed up her body and forced her legs open as wide as they could go, considering the position, and slid home. I knew it wouldn’t hurt her because she was already dripping, but I also knew she’d feel the stretch from being without me for so long.

Call me sentimental, but I didn’t feel like I had to ask to know she hadn’t been with anyone else, considering our previous conversation.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You didn’t say shit like that when I had you over my lap, screaming for your daddy, huh?” He taunted, hand pulling on my hair once more as the other held my hips down, granting him the leverage he needed to fuck me against the mattress. “Or when I fucked you so hard that you couldn’t walk without feeling me for a week.”

That was a fun day. Memories of our last time together rushed through me, adding to my arousal, especially once I remembered how smug he was when I told him about my difficulties to walk during our weekly calls.

It was good to know he’d thought about it so much that it still lived in his mind, all those months later.

“Should have known I’ve owned you ever since I shoved my cock inside this tight little pussy, sweetheart.” I shivered when he whispered the warning against my ear, voice low and seductive like that night he took me in a bar’s bathroom before taking me home. It’d been the culmination of years of sexual frustration and dirty dreams, and I still thought about it every time I had to get myself off.

“How did you think this would go?” He questioned, incredulity clear in his tone. “Did you think you could fuck me until you were tired and then I’d let you go find a little boy toy you could control? Oh, no, darling.”

“There’s no going back anymore, little girl.” The threat had me coming around him, eyes rolling to the back of my head as the entire moment became too much for my poor hungry body to handle.

I’d always been known for biting off more than I could chew, but honestly, I’d rather die than waste the opportunity to be owned like this by Tom fucking Hardy.

“I’m not gonna leave this pussy, sweetheart,” he continued, like he was honestly telling me something that I didn’t want to happen. “Ever.” To drive his point home, he kept fucking me through my orgasm, pulling on my hair as my moans became whimpers and my hands bunched up the sheets of a stranger’s bed.

“It’s mine now.” With that, he pulled me back enough that he could meet my gaze, allowing me to witness him panting with his own pleasure, eyes darkened as he took in how my body folded to abide by his wishes. “You’re mine,” he announced, such firmness in his tone that any doubt that could have lived inside of me instantly disappeared.

I knew this wasn’t just dirty talk anymore. He was telling me the truth - he was warning me of a fact, now. My body belonged to him.

Still, I guess even he needed to be reassured from time to time, because the next thing to fall from his lips was a plead, “Tell me that you want me.” His cock kept plunging in and out of my cavern, caressing my oversensitive walls in that way I loved so much. “Say that you are mine.”

I didn’t even hesitate before granting him exactly what he wanted.

“I’m yours, daddy, all yours!” I cried out, entire body trembling underneath his,  desperate to make sure he heard me so he wouldn’t keep me away from my second orgasm of the night. “Oh, God!” I pleaded, fucking myself back against him. “Please don’t stop, daddy! Please!

Tom’s P.O.V.

“I’m not gonna stop, darling,” I assured her, hands caressing her back in an effort to calm her down. “Not until I feel you clenching around me.” A groan escaped me when I felt her do just that, and I didn’t know if it was on purpose or if another orgasm had hit her.

“Why would I ever stop fucking you?” I was babbling now, I knew - delirious with my own pleasure, trying to get her to cum one last time before me so she could milk my orgasm in that way only she knew how. “Best fucking pussy I ever fucked, would never leave you if I could.”

A strangled cry escaped her, right when blinding white bliss took over my sight and I pulled out just in time to stroke my release over her ass, grunting in the relief that followed.

“Fuck, I love you,” I whispered to the silence of the room before she turned around from underneath me, unworried about dirtying up the bed that didn’t belong to either of us.

Pulling me by my shirt, she whispered against my lips, “I love you more, daddy.”

[lefthandersruletheworld]

This isn’t Queer Dude! (Stonathan Fic)

Jonathan practically jumped out of his skin when Steve kicked open his bedroom door. The thin camera film fell out of his hands as he snapped his head over to the raging man. Steve slammed the door shut with his foot and turned to glare at the other boy. His face was contorted with anger, cheeks and ears flaming red. Before Jonathan could get a word in, Steve pounced on him like a panther, knocking him flat on his back with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Jonathan let out a surprised grunt as he was slammed onto the mattress. His eyes locked onto Steve’s face, scared that Steve might decide to break his nose. Steve is on him, fingers capturing the soft fabric of his cream colored sweater. He has the fabric balled tightly in his fists, with no intent of freeing Jonathan from his grasp. Both boys were just shy of panting like a dog on a hot summer’s day. Steve wanted to break Jonathan’s jaw for the shit he pulled with Nancy. He was so pissed at him, but as he glared into Jonathan’s deep puppy eyes, he found his rage slowly slipping away from him. The anger remained, but the rawness of it snuck off somewhere.

What replaced it was a confusing, warm feeling. Something tempting and a little concerning. He watched Jonathan pant from beneath him. The white of his top two front teeth barely visible past his parted cherry lips. They're probably so pink because he bites them so much, not that Steve noticed or anything. It looked like Jonathan wanted to say something, probably wanting to ask why the hell Steve just jumped on him, but he didn’t speak. Instead he remained silent. Steve figured he probably would’ve asked if he had the balls to. However, he was thankful he didn’t, because if he did, Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to give him an answer. Why did he tackle him? Did he want to hit him? To beat him up or yell at him? The answer should’ve been easy, but it wasn’t. He was just so… so mad. Mad at everything. He was mad at his stupid parents for everything. Mad at them for yelling at him, for scolding him for that stupid party. Mad at himself about Nancy… and Barbra. He was mad at Jonathan for taking those pictures and stealing his girl and even more mad at Nancy for choosing him, but what pissed him off the most was himself. He was so damn angry at himself for being a jerk to Nancy, his parents, to his friends… to Jonathan. He thought picking a fight would make him feel better, but with Jonathan under him, his blood lust was gone. He didn’t want to be a jerk anymore. He was tired of being a bully.

Jonathan opened his mouth for a second before snapping it shut. Steve watched the way his red lips turned pale under their tight lipped pressure that Jonathan put them under. He didn’t fail to notice how the other boy's bottom lip caved in slightly, indicating that he was biting them from the inside. Steve hardly realized he was staring at Jonathan's mouth until he finally flicked his eyes up to meet with the Byers kids’ eyes. What he didn’t expect was Jonathan's eyes doing the same, flashing up from his own lips to lock with Steve’s. He nearly flinched when he realized Jonathan was looking at his own lips. It made him hyper aware of their presence. It left them feeling tingly and his stomach fluttery. He wondered what Jonathan saw when he looked at Steve’s lips.

Steve’s fists were still clamped tight around his sweater. He kept him pinned under him. Though if Jonathan really wanted to flee, he could’ve done it already. He hasn’t tried to squirm or push Steve off. In fact, he hasn’t really shown any indication of him wanting to run away from him. He hasn’t tried to resist him at all. The only resistance he showed was grabbing Steve’s jacket in an attempt to catch himself when Steve slammed him down. Other than that, he let Steve manhandle him. Something about that sent warmth down Steve’s spine. He lowered himself slightly, his leg sliding between Jonathan's. He nearly missed the way Jonathan parted his thighs, allowing Steve to situate between them. Their legs dangled off the side of the bed. It felt childish, but neither moved. Steve wanted to loosen his white knuckled death grip on Jonathan's sweater, but he was scared that if he loosened his grip, something may slip free from him. So, he kept his hands tight, restraining any weird impulses.

Jonathan finally let go of Steve’s coat. He let his hands fall onto the mattress like the rest of his body. They plopped down next to his head on either side, palms facing the ceiling. His chin was tipped up, eyes focused somewhere between Steve’s lips and eyes. God damn. Jonathan looked so… so nice like this. His messy hair was just as chaotic as normal, but rebellious strands rested softy on the blankets below. The hazy look in his eyes sent something hot into Steve. His dark eyes, parted lips, chin tilted up towards him and neck peeking out from his turtleneck sweater, all of it was sending mischievous signals to Steve’s brain. He couldn’t even remember why he was so angry. The signals he was getting were wrong. They were totally wrong, but he couldn’t resist as he subconsciously inched closer to the submissive boy. His nose brushed against the tip of Jonathan’s and the other boy sucked in a shaky breath like he was preparing himself. His hands turned, sweaty palms brushing against the soft blankets. His fingers hooked into the fabric and Steve could feel his heavy breaths against his knuckles.

At the moment, there was something about Jonathan that reminded Steve of his first time with Nancy. The first time they had sex. She was so nervous and vulnerable looking, but her eyes twinkled with excitement and desire. He remembered how her hands trembled along his back, not knowing exactly where to fall, but how her lips peppered his own in feverish kisses that only grew more warm with each passing breath. In this strangely tense moment, Jonathan looked like Nancy. Nervous, but anxiously awaiting. Wanting. Wanting Steve. He could see it in his eyes, the glazed over look. The need twisted into his eyebrows. He wanted Steve to do something. Jonathan would never admit it, but his face and racing heart says it all. He wants Steve. That realization repeated itself in Steve’s mind over and over; ’He wants me. He wants me.’

Steve’s heart stuttered when Jonathan's hand rose up. The action was slow and timid. He was acting as if Steve was a wild deer and that if he moved too fast, he’d scare him away. His fingertips brushed along the shoulder of his jacket. It was an aloof touch, barely felt through the fabric. Steve was almost out of breath. He wanted Jonathan to touch him harder, he wanted to feel his fingers against him. When they practically danced their way up to the collar of his shirt, Steve sucked in a breath. He felt Jonathan's fingernail scrape against his neck for a moment, before shying away and that action sent fire straight into his gut. Jonathan touched his neck with the pad of his thumb before moving back to the collar of his shirt. He thumbed over it and the sound was amplified in Steve’s ears. It was so quiet, but to Steve, it was the only thing he could hear other than his thundering heart. His neck broke out with goosebumps, neck hair standing like a cold breeze washed over it.

His fists finally loosened to a gentle grip. He thumbed over the soft sweater, mimicking Jonathan's motions. He could feel Jonathan’s body heat through his clothes. His chest was burning hot like a furnace. Steve watched Jonathan’s Adam’s apple bob. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips, it sent a craving into Steve’s deepest desires. Heat rushed down Steve’s spine like a glass of water was spilled down his back. Their noses were touching, brushing against each other. Their breathing had softened to the point they were just shy of holding their breath. Their lips were so close to making contact and Jonathan didn't move an inch. He was probably too nervous to even blink and honestly, Steve felt the same. His brain was full of want, he was intoxicated by it, but every male figure in his life was screaming at him in his head. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kiss a guy.

He tipped his head to the side and finally gave in. His lips brushed against Jonathan's and he practically melted. His grip tightened once again on Jonathan’s sweater, now more than ever. It was as if he subconsciously thought that if he let go, the kiss would end. So he held him tightly, even though the kiss was feather light it nearly tickled. Steve let his body rest against the other boys. He laid on him, chest to chest as their lips brushed. Their legs intertwined, Steve’s ankle locking with Jonathan’s. His body was tingling from his head to his toes, a sensation he wasn’t quite used to. Sure, he got all fluttery when he kissed Nancy, but it was never… never like this. Jonathan' let out the softest, most breathy sound and the effect it had on Steve was effective and immediate. He kissed him harder, their lips squishing together. He could feel Jonathan's racing heartbeat under his fists and shamefully, he matched the other boys. He liked this. He wanted this.

Jonathan’s hands awkwardly latched onto Steve’s jacket as their kiss deepened. He struggled to match Steve’s expertise, given his lack of experience. However, it wasn’t like either of them cared. In fact, it only seemed to add to the want they felt. One is an experienced play boy wannabe, the other a shy guy with little social experience. Their lips danced in a silent and breathy melody. It was hypnotic like a musical note. It had Jonathan curling his toes in his fluffy black socks. Their thighs grinded against one another softly, the action timid and noncommittal. Steve’s lips were so firm, but soft at the same time. They weren’t chapped at all, or swollen from biting. They were perfect and the taste they left had Jonathan’s head spinning. He wanted more. He forgot about everyone. He forgot about his mom and brother for a moment, he forgot about Nancy. The only thing that was on his mind was the same thing that was on his body; Steve.

When Jonathan's lips parted, Steve didn’t waste any time. His tongue slipped out from his own mouth and licked Jonathan's bottom lip. The response he got was a little gasp and a slight nod and Steve needed nothing more to know he was given permission. He slipped his tongue inside the other boy's mouth, gently grazing his teeth. When Jonathan’s tongue brushed against the other boy's, it sent fire through his veins. This couldn’t be real, Steve is a drug. He’s giving him an addiction he never knew he could have. Is this what so many of the singers in his favorite songs were talking about? A feeling so molten that it leaves lava in his core? A feeling he doubts he’d ever recover from? If that’s the case, he’ll listen to every note and melody in each and every song if it brings him more of these moments. His fingers interlaced together behind Steve’s neck. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling Steve closer.

“Jonathan?” A woman called from the front door. Both boys separated immediately. Steve practically flew off Byers and landed on his feet across the room. Jonathan stumbled up the bed, his eyes locked on the bedroom door. He shot a glare to Steve and motioned with his hand towards the closet. In silent panic, Steve understood and jumped inside with no hesitation. He ducked into the darkness, hiding behind layers of coats and old t-shirts.

“Yeah mom?!” Jonathan called back in a voice Steve’s never heard from him. It was more confident and loud than he’s ever considered possible from the other boy. The sound of hurried footsteps came down the hall and in a matter of seconds, Steve could hear Joyce opening the door. He sucked in a quiet breath, too scared to let out a single sound. His ears strained to listen.

“Jonathan,” she breathed. Her son sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed, lower back resting on the pillows. He looked at her with an anxious eye, but it wasn’t unusual.

“Yeah?”

“Hopper might have a lead,” she said, eyes glimmering with fragile hope. Jonathan’s heart stopped for a moment and he got off the bed. He approached her and gently placed his hands on either side of her arms.

“W-what did he say?”

“He didn’t tell me very much, but he said he may have a lead.”

“That’s great mom,” he smiled. There was a second of silence as Steve listened with his ear pressed against the door. Neither of them spoke and it left him on the edge of his seat. However, he felt a stab of sympathy go through him when he heard Joyce sniffle before letting out a whiny cry.

“Mom, mom it’s okay,” Jonathan whispered, pulling her into his arms. She instantly wrapped her arms around him. She sobbed into his sweater as he spoke. “He’s gonna find him.”

“I know I know… but I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s my baby. I just… I keep imagining him being cold and scared and-and I just can’t do it anymore.”

Steve felt a harsh wave of guilt was over him. To think he wanted to beat Jonathan up because he was mad at himself. ’Get over yourself Steve Harrington’.

“I know mom,” he could hear Jonathan croak. “Me too, but we have to be strong. We have to. For Will.”

Steve whipped his eyes as he tried to stay silent. He could hear Joyce sniffle a few times as she seemingly got herself together.

“You’re right… you’re right,” she breathed as she looked up at him. She placed a hand on Jonathan’s cheek. “God what would I do without you?”

“You’d manage,” he whispered, trying to offer her a sincere smile. She nodded before taking in a deep breath.

“Well… dinner stuff is on the table. I’m gonna go put up more flyers.”

“But you just got here.”

“I know, but I have to.”

“Okay… I love you mom.”

“I love you too,” she smiled. There was pain still clear in her voice, it was hard to miss, but soon she left the room. Only moments after the sound of keys jingling and the front door opening and closing could be heard. Steve gave it a few more seconds before he finally exited the closet. He stepped out from the small space and looked over to Jonathan. He was standing awkwardly, but his eyes were weak. He was in a vulnerable state and Steve would be lying if he said he knew how to help. Steve cleared his throat, getting the other boy's attention. Jonathan looked over at him, crossing his arms. His expression was tired and sad and it left Steve feeling mournful.

“M’sorry,” he looked at his shoes. “For everything.”

Jonathan didn’t reply verbally. He just nodded. Steve wasn’t satisfied though. He wanted to help, to be a better person, but he didn’t know how. He came here looking to start a fight with a guy who’s brother is probably dead. Then instead of fighting him, he made out with him. God, he was a piece of work. A hot mess. Although, he’s not even sure if he is good enough to be considered hot anymore. Now he’s just a mess.

“I really am sorry...” he looked at the floor. “Listen man… I know I’ve been a dickhead for like… ever… but if you ever need anyone to talk to… I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan dismissively muttered.

“I’m serious. Just… think about it.”

Jonathan nodded and remained silent. He sat down on the bed and sighed. Now it was Steve who was awkwardly standing around. He fiddled with a stray pencil on Jonathan's desk. He could feel himself being watched, but he paid it no mind. After a few seconds Jonathan cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Why’d you come here?”

“Hmm? Oh. Right,” Steve nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He faced the other boy and was conflicted. Tell him the truth or lie? If he lied, what the hell will he tell him? “I… fuck. I was pissed off and I wanted to take it out on you.”

Jonathan waited a few seconds before responding. “Funny way of doing it.”

“Hey,” Steve glared. Heat rose up in his cheeks as he furrowed his brows. Like hell he was gonna get flustered by some loser. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“Then why?”

“I-,” Steve stumbled. “It wasn’t queer dude.”

“Kinda.”

“It wasn’t,” Steve barked, growing more irritated. He got red when he saw Jonathan smile weakly. Although he couldn’t deny the flutter his heart gave at the sight. Steve scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “It wasn’t queer. I just… nevermind.”

Both boys didn’t speak. There was tension in the room, though neither acknowledged it. Steve gestured to the door. “Think it’s safe to leave yet?”

Jonathan motioned to the window. “I think it would be better if you left through the window.”

“Stealthy, I can do that,” Steve sauntered over to the window. He cleared off some random junk in the windowsill before lifting the glass open. Once it was fully open, he straddled the frame, one leg out the window, dangling just above the grass. The other was still in Jonathan’s bedroom. He froze and looked at the other boy, who was now approaching him. He watched as Jonathan set the objects that Steve moved aside. Once they were where he wanted, he rested his hand on the window, looking down at Steve.

“Yeah?” Steve said, a little unsure of how to read this situation.

“Um… nothing.” Jonathan muttered, avoiding eye contact like the plague. Steve darted his eyes around, mulling things over in his head before shrugging. He threw his other leg outside the window and let himself drop to the grass below. He huffed, adjusting his clothes and fingers brushing his fluffed hair. He looked back up at Jonathan, who was staring down at him. Heat pooled inside Steve's gut when he recognized that wanting look in his eyes. They stared at each other briefly, before Jonathan lowered to his knees. He crossed his arms on the windowsill, letting his head rest on them. Steve’s heart thumped in his chest.

“Thank you,” Jonathan just about whispered.

“For what?”

“Getting my mind off… everything.”

“Yeah? Well… don’t mention it,” Steve tried to be aloof and cool. He found it hard to look at the calm expression Jonathan’s face carried. Jonathan looked so under control, while Steve was having trouble keeping his heart in his chest. He shook his head and started to walk away. As he strode through the grass, he could feel Jonathan's eyes lingering on him. He tried to ignore it, but it tickled down his spine. Eventually he stopped walking, fingertips trembling by his sides. His brain was screaming at him to ignore it, to fight it, but his desire was strong, too strong. He suddenly turned on his heel and paced back to Jonathan, still resting his head on the windowsill. When he saw Steve turn around, he jumped slightly, but didn’t flinch away from the window. Steve hustled to the edge of the house. His hand clamped onto the windows edge and he kicked himself up so he could give Jonathan a quick but hard kiss on the lips.

“See ya man,” Steve husked as he let himself fall back into the grass. He smiled at the way Jonathan's eyes lit up. He almost couldn’t hear Jonathan’s goodbye, but the little interaction had Steve sauntering away. Soon he was out of sight from the Byers house. His walk home was gonna be long and tiring, but it’s probably for the best. He couldn’t believe how this day turned out and he sure as hell has a lot of thinking to do. One thing was for sure though; Jonathan was on his mind for the rest of the day.

***

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is a fic I posted on my AO3 a while back ago, but felt like sharing here too. If you liked it, let me know. I love feedback. I post more shitty fan fics on my AO3 if you’re interested. Here’s the link to this story; https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046068. Thanks for reading! 

[zachthehopelessromantic]

Hi!Could you give me some insights about this composite chart ?🌸💯

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✨Passion

Venus Trine Valentine: this is a very wholesome aspect to have honestly. It would def generate some passion, pure love-type vibes. You guys see each other as each other's sweethearts.

Eratas Trine Adonis: One of you could see the other's body as a work of art, or very erotic.

Venus Sextile Eratas: Just a much stronger form of Eratas Trine Adonis, you two see each other as works of art.

Eros in the 5th house: the asteroid of sexual objectification, passion, and desire in the house of fun, sex, and creativity. You two have so much fun together but be careful that one of you isn't ONLY using the other for sexual gratification.

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🔒Long Term

Saturn Conjunct Sun: You two may see a certain responsibility in each other that you see in no one else. Indicates that you two may have long-term goals in a relationship.

Really, any aspect that Saturn makes with the Moon, the Sun, and Venus can indicate you two being in each others' lives for a very long time. Saturn is like the sup[er-glue in relationships (Composite and Synastry). Saturn isn't all good though, you must learn how to overcome obstacles together, with the Sextile and Trine, Saturn can be much more lenient but with the Conjunction, Square, and Opposition, Saturn fucking cracks down.

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❤️Boda and Juno

Boda Conjunct Sun in Aries: Shotgun wedding vibes. The want to have a wedding is very strong, or the purpose of this relationship is to have a wedding.

Sagittarius Juno in the 4th house: You both are dedicated to learning from each other emotionally. Speaks of protecting each other emotionally like you two were family. If you two move in/ get married to each other, home life will be very exciting and both of you will be dedicated to making it exciting.

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🎁Personal Observations

Venus Conjunct Moon in 8th house: The relationship suffers if you two don't nurture each other. Loving each other and nurturing each other comes very naturally but emotional baggage may get in the way of all that. You two MUST learn to get past your guys' individual baggage so the relationship can flourish. Be careful of emotional smothering when the other does not want it. This is a very deep and complicated combination honestly.

Sun Conjunct Jupiter in 9th house: This relationship is a learning experience, you two will most likely learn a lot from each other

Pluto Conjunct Chiron: Especially with this aspect, you two will change a lot when together. Old wounds within yourselves that you thought were closed and healed will open back up again. Could also indicate a rebound relationship.

Mars Square Neptune: This aspect speaks of boundaries or the lack thereof. One of you will feel very guilty after a fight or argument and try and fix it with constant apologies or with the silent treatment. . This is also a very complicated and deep combination, you two really really really need to be careful of overstepping boundaries, look at Mars and Neptune in the Synastry chart as well and see how they aspect each other there.

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Hope this is what you expected haha, it was very fun reading this chart. Thank you ❤️

[djarinsbeskar]

gif credit: @di-n​ for this beauty 

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 1 - NEXT TIME

A/N: And so friends, we begin our rapid descent into filth. I have to admit, whenever I write anything remotely sexual, especially in a fic for the first time, I get so flustered worrying that people will think it’s too crude or too much. But then I remembered that this is exactly why y’all are here and I felt much better about throwing away any inhibitions and embracing the filth. 

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 10k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Injury detail, injury treatment, language, masturbation (male and female).

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

What do we do now?

Three months later… and you still hadn’t received an answer.

After the mess on Mynock, the devastation at the loss of both Biran and Kuiil and the mystery that still surrounded the child, you had been drained, physically and emotionally.

So, after your question had received nothing but silence in answer and being too tired to demand one, you had holed yourself away in one of the only private areas of the Razor Crest, a storage area adjacent to the cockpit. Half of it was taken up by the slabs of carbonite the Mandalorian kept his quarries in, but there was space enough to sit and try to work through the slew of emotions you had been bombarded with in only twenty-four hours.

You had scoffed, resting your head back against the unforgiving metal of ships interior; twenty-four hours ago, you had been lamenting the loss of adventure, of some sort of elusive fulfilment. Once again, caught up in thinking the grass is greener on the other island… It was a flaw you were beginning to recognize in yourself and you weren’t happy about it.

An incessant longing for an unknown goal.

You wanted to make a difference when you were stuck on Pamarthe, so you joined the Rebellion and it had given you a purpose.

After the Empire fell, and your skills as a combat medic became obsolete, you chased that same desire for purpose back to the Outer Rim in the hopes that altruistic work in a voluntary clinic would somehow satisfy that longing.

Then the New Republic pulled back the curtain and shown that in essence, things had not really changed, that you had somehow wasted years achieving something that suddenly felt hollow. And it was unfair. Unfair because you knew it wasn’t hollow, you knew the galaxy was in a better place than it was before you joined the Rebellion and yet you felt your life was lacking once more.

Biran had soothed the jagged edges of a life that hadn’t been able to fit in any one particular place and – for a time – you had been content with working in his practice. Until the moment you weren’t. When the gaping maw of dissatisfaction crept back into the corner of your eyes, making you agitated and wishing for more once again.

You seemed to have gotten your wish the day the Mandalorian had entered your life and brought with him an unyielding ability to take life by the jaws and roar right back at it. He seemed to create his own purpose, the child a testament to that, and even if you had no way of knowing the innermost workings of his mind, you were fascinated by it, by him.

You spent so long seeking a purpose when you should have been creating one of your own instead.

It was a sobering realization as you sat alone beside the generator room on the cold metal of the Razor Crest’s storage room, nothing to show for that wasted time but a bloody arm and a dead friend.

The tears came then, for Biran, for yourself, for the child, even for Mando. You had buried your face in your arms and allowed yourself to grieve.

You had no idea what to do. 

A little less than two days after your hasty escape from Dandoran, you entered the cockpit again sheepishly.

If you hadn’t heard the Mandalorian moving around the ship, climbing the ladder down to the hold or the hiss of the refreshers hydraulic door opening and closing, you would have thought he hadn’t moved an inch since you were last there.

You had had a severe talking to yourself over the last day and had laid to rest a portion of the self-loathing you had been wallowing in, realizing it wouldn’t do you any good to stay fixated on things you could no longer change. It had given you a measure of peace. Self-awareness was not always a flattering reflection, but with it, you were able to see what needed to be worked on.

The slightest incline of his helmet to the right was the only indication he gave you that he was aware of your presence, the child cooing happily from the seat beside him when he saw you.

You had taken the same seat as before, letting the child clamor up onto your lap to make room for you both. Silence still reigned and you were suddenly so aware of how much you relied on external white noise during your last meetings with him; the murmur of a bustling crowd, Biran’s jokes or simply your attention being focused on an injury. Without such distractions, the Mandalorian’s silence was deafening.

You knew he didn’t converse easily, that much was obvious from his abrupt statements and cantankerous nature whenever you saw him. But you had never felt the lack of cues – physical or verbal – until you sat in his ship with him alone. It felt like you were being asked to treat a patient when you could neither see where they were hurt or listen to their reaction; their breathing or any pain they might be in. You were adrift in this ship and for the first time since you saw him braced against that alley wall on Klatooine, you felt a jolt of nervousness race up your spine.

“How’s your arm?”

The question was spoken quietly but still felt too harsh on your ears. Maybe you were just feeling overly sensitive, you couldn’t tell at this point. All you knew was that the sound of his voice was jarring when only moments before you felt as though the silence was drowning you.

“It’s fine.” You muttered after a moment, “It wasn’t deep.”

“You know I would have---” he started before he cut himself off, the frustration evident in the huff he exhaled afterwards. No, Mando was definitely unaccustomed to speaking with you when the bickering and banter that provided you both with a safe wall to hide behind was stripped away.

But you knew what he was trying to say; I would have taken care of it.

Your chest filled with a soft warmth at the thought. But you didn’t mention it. Instinct told you that he would get defensive or spooked, like one of the regal crested stags native to Pamarthe. Massive and intimidating but would bolt at a loud noise or sudden movement. You felt that if you acknowledged the emotion, the tentative willingness he had tried to express to dress a wound for you, he would immediately throw up more walls, more barricades around himself.

You appreciated the sentiment none the less.

He seemed to appreciate the fact that you didn’t bring it up too, because a few silent minutes later, he spoke again.

“I don’t need to tell you that Mynock isn’t safe for you anymore.”

You looked up from where you had started playing with the child on your lap, simply passing his small metal ball to him before he handed it back to you. He seemed to take immense joy out of the game, delighted to show you his toy but equally excited to have it back in his hands in the next moment.

Mando kept his face forward as he spoke, so all you could see of him was the breadth of his shoulders where he had crossed his arms across his chest and the back of his helmet as it leaned back against the headrest of his chair.

“…But I’ll take you to whatever planet you want.”

“Oh.” Was your pitiful excuse for an answer. Pitiful, because you were slightly embarrassed that amidst your self-reflection, you hadn’t once considered your next move. You frowned. You always had a plan, but now? You had no idea where to go.

You mulled over your next words carefully.

“Can I think about it? I have to… figure out where would be best.” You continued when he offered nothing in response. It was true; you had no credits, no clothes, you didn’t even have a toothbrush you realized grimly. You had to be smart about where you went next if you were going to survive.

You ran through the list of friends and contacts you still had from the Rebellion, pilots and other medics who would no doubt help you in a pinch without question. You could go home, the clans on Pamarthe were loyal to a fault but your mind immediately shut that idea down as a wave of nausea washed over you, a combination of homesickness and fear making you feel slightly ill. No, you hadn’t been home since before the Rebellion, and you weren’t about to break that streak now.

You were so absorbed in your own thoughts, that you didn’t notice Mando’s quick glance at you over his shoulder. He had never seen you look less put together. Hair a disaster, clothes bloodstained from your arm and slightly sooty from the fires. Your face was clean, and so were your hands so you had obviously washed up at some point. You were a mess, honestly. But he was relieved to see the same fire that lit your eyes remained if a little subdued, the underlying steel of intelligence that glinted like beskar was still there. He knew you had seen worse than what happened on Mynock, knew you were tougher than to let it break you, but his own guilt over sending the child to you aggravated his worry that you might be… altered, changed, different because of what he did.

Obviously, his worry was misplaced.

He might wear beskar armor, but you were the one who had a spine of it.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

He spoke slowly, as if perhaps, he shouldn’t say those words. Their ambiguity was dangerous, leaving a back door to interpretation, but your appreciative smile he caught in the reflection of the wraparound transparisteel of the Razor Crests’ observation viewport made him forget momentarily why ambiguity was such a bad thing in the first place.

 That was months ago.

Somehow, neither of you mentioned your destination again. You never told him where you wanted to go, and he never asked if you had decided.

The fact was almost dangerously acknowledged when Mando landed the Razor Crest to refuel a week later, when he had made the offhanded remark that you needed clothes and whatever else you might need as you travelled because, as he put it, “a man shouldn’t’ be told he can’t access half of his ship just because you’re waiting for your clothes to dry” and handed you a pouch of credits as he pushed by you gently to get to the entrance of the ship.

He could have asked you then where you planned to go, it was the perfect segue into that conversation, but after a tense moment when he stood at the top of the open ramp on his way to find work to tie them over until he started taking Guild jobs again, he straightened his shoulders and simply nodded to the child,

“Take care of the kid while I’m gone.”

That change in topic seemed to put the idea of you leaving to bed and you never brought it up again.

Not when you returned with several sets of clothes, feminine products, medical supplies, and foodstuffs for the ship on Ryloth.

Not when he brought back a thin sleep mat on Lothal with only a grunt in response to the thanks you had offered him after he had noticed you rubbing out a kink in your shoulder the day before.

Not when ‘I won’t be long’ replaced the stiff order of ‘take care of the kid’ thrown over his shoulder whenever he left you both alone, taking the time now to stroke the child’s long ear as you held him in your arms, feeling his eyes on you as he spoke.

No… the two of you had fallen into a delicate, if slightly hesitant routine; one that didn’t involve you leaving the Mandalorian or his child.

Next time, it appeared, did not end in goodbye.

Adjusting to life on a ship again had been both easy and difficult.

Having spent a portion of your life sleeping in hard, cramped spaces with a number of other rebels, living on the Razor Crest was not as difficult as one might think. It wasn’t idea, Maker no. But there was running water (even if it was constantly recycled), something of a galley (kitchen was too generous a term, but there was a single nanowave ring and small cooling chamber) and somewhere soft to rest your head at night (even if your pillow was just a bunched-up blanket).

The areas you struggled with predominantly, could be summed up in two words: boredom and privacy.

You were used to spending twelve hours or more a day on your feet treating patients. Complacency and downtime were not in your repertoire, and while you can admit that you took advantage of the rest for the first week or two, you soon found yourself getting agitated and itching to do something.

The child proved to be an excellent distraction when he wasn’t holed away in the cockpit with the Mandalorian. While he was a darling little bogwing who fussed extraordinarily little, he needed constant vigilance. You learned very quickly that those doe-eyes hid a proclivity for mischief you had only glimpsed at back in Mynock. If you didn’t keep one eye on him at all times, you would lose sight of him only to find him in the cooling chamber looking for food or Maker forbid, in the weapons chamber.

Apart from keeping up with the child, you had taken to cataloguing the medical knowledge you had swimming in your mind on an empty datapad you had found in the storage area by the galley one day. You lamented the loss of the stacks of datapads you had collected over the years to further your knowledge and keep up to date with the latest medical advances, so you took it upon yourself to organize a one-stop-shop for all the information you had accumulated. It was antiquated given the knowledge was already in your head, but it filled the time, nonetheless.

Regarding privacy however, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any.

You had flatly refused to take Mando’s bunk when he had thrown the offer to you soon after Ryloth, and instead took it upon yourself to reorganize the holds setup. The small alcove by the galley that kept excess inventory of food, ammunition, blankets, and medical supplies was relocated to the storage area outside the generator room on the same level of the cockpit. The generators themselves had been too noisy to sleep beside so, despite being a larger area, you had settled the sleep mat down in the now empty alcove across from where the crates Mando used as a table and chairs was set. You didn’t need a whole lot of space while you slept, so it suited you fine. You had spent years sleeping on ships so a somewhat soft mat – however thin – was all you needed to get a good night sleep.

Rather, it was your feeling of invading the Mandalorian’s privacy that you struggled with. Your unwitting shipmate was a large, somewhat stifling presence in the beginning, and you felt an illogical imposition on his life before growing more accustomed to living with him after several weeks. 

 It was as you got used to him though, that your troubles began.

After six weeks of travelling on the Razor Crest, you had learned several things about the Mandalorian.

One, that despite the ship being as small as it was with three – read; two plus a pint-sized gremlin – people living in it, Mando could be elusive and you could easily go days without seeing him and even longer without hearing him speak. Whatever progress you had made previously during your encounters in getting him to talk only seemed to apply in small doses. You found yourself growing used to silence and adjusting to speaking softly without realizing it, your normal speaking voice sounding too loud even to your own ears.

Two, for all you did see of him, you had never once seen him without every stitch of armor on him. Beskar wasn’t light and you knew he had to remove it sometimes to shower and sleep and eat, but you never heard even a whisper of metal clattering as he took it off or put it back on. The only thing you ever heard that would suggest he ever took his armor off, was the sound of the water in the refresher as it ran down his body. Mando only showered when he was certain you and the kid were both asleep, a habit you had picked up on only when the sound of the spray pulled you from unconsciousness for the fifth night in a row. The simple sound of the water and the occasional splash as he rinsed his hair – if he had hair – or body clean of soap immediately pushed tiredness and any hope of sleep away, which led you to fact number three.

That your attraction to the Mandalorian was growing, rather than dissipating, the longer you were around him. Whatever attraction you had entertained on Mynock over the years was magnified when you were forced to live in such close proximity to the man each and every day. Perhaps it was because you didn’t have as much to focus your attentions on, but you suddenly felt hyperaware of his every movement whenever he was in your presence and each of those movements seemed more enticing than the last.

There was the time he was cleaning his blasters.

Mando had just entered hyperspace after finishing up a job on Sriluur and after a grumbled, “No, I did not see a Raquor’daan” after your tongue-in-cheek question upon his return, he returned to the hold after putting the ship on autopilot.

Unexpectedly, he pulled one of the durasteel crates out from beside the makeshift table instead of remaining in the cockpit, the sound of the crate dragging across the metal flooring making both you and the child startle while he took a heavy seat down and pulled out the blaster at his hip. Another two followed as he lay them out almost reverently on the table.

Given that his adopted father was staying down in the hold, the child very quickly lost interest in playing with you and his metal ball. He whined at you insistently until you placed him in the crab carapace that sat on the same table in front of the Mandalorian before taking your seat again to focus on the compilation of medication doses per age, race, and pre-existing condition on your datapad to keep yourself occupied.

“No.”

You were amused when Mando’s filtered voice stopped the kid from touching the blaster without the warrior even having to look up from where he was using a small pipe brush to clean out the barrel of the first blaster. The little bogwing only watched him as he slowly tried to take a small, but no doubt important part of the blaster that sat on the table closest to his small frame, waiting to be cleaned.

After a few moments of this back and forth between father and son, you recognized when the Mandalorian was beginning to lose patience. The clipped edge of his voice that usually took a lot longer to show itself whenever he spoke to the child. The deliberate turn of his helmet to look at him as he spoke. All tiny, insignificant things you were becoming aware of despite yourself.

“Okay buddy. Let’s play over here instead.” You reached across the table and picked him up before Mando reached his limit and sat back down with the child on your lap, a safe distance from the blasters and the child’s wandering claws. Mando didn’t say anything, his movements never faltering as he lifted the barrel up to the front of his T-visor, inspecting its interior for a few measured moments before he set it down and picked up the next piece, satisfied.

While the little bogwing was most certainly not impressed to have been removed from Mando’s side, you had discovered a secret weapon early on that you could pull out whenever the child became fussy. It was truly a lifesaver of a thing; one you thanked the Maker for every time it stopped a tantrum or soothed away a fear.

You simply pulled your hair over your shoulder and waited for the tell-tale widening of the child’s eyes before his clawed hand wrapped around a bunch of the strands. He was content to hold it, pull it occasionally and enjoy its’ texture and color. You flattered yourself that it was comforting to the child, but you knew nothing comforted him more than the cool steel of beskar under his cheek whenever Mando held him.

At the thought, your eyes shifted to the man in question, oil rag in hand as he gently ran it over each part of the disassembled blaster, slow in the drag down the exterior of the barrel and examining it regularly before continuing.

It was the first time your breath had caught looking at him.

The way he completed each task so meticulously made you feel like you were witnessing a ritual; there was something innately private and intimate about how the warrior took care of his weapons. Should you look away? Perhaps… but after a few monotonous weeks, your eyes drank in the sight, taking in far more than you would usually be aware of in such a mundane act. The dexterity of his gloved fingers as they ran over each part of the weapon, they way they expertly shifted to disassemble the other two blasters laid out on the table, as if with a simple touch, the steel fell apart to obey his wishes.

It was the first time you felt an image of him, a fantasy, brush against your mind.

A fleeting image of those same fingers running down your spine slowly, deliberate, and certain in their path. As experienced with handling a woman as he was when he handled a weapon. The brush of his knuckles down your sternum, along your cheek. The strength of his grip behind your neck or holding your hips down.

You startled, yelping as the child giggled when he yanked your hair after your momentary lapse in concentration.

The visor shifted slightly to look at you and you hoped the guilty look on your face didn’t tell him everything you had just imagined before he pointed at the child,

“Mind your manners, kid.” He rasped before turning back to his work.

The child cooed in delight, thinking all of this was a truly wonderful sport and pulled your hair again. You laughed at his antics, slightly embarrassed as your yelp had been drawn out in surprise as opposed to pain. You didn’t think the child was even capable of inflicting pain; even at his most excited, he never pulled your hair hard and it softened your heart to him further.

The Mandalorian only sighed in your peripheral, pushing himself to his feet and making his way around the table. Those fingers you had been thinking about not two minutes earlier gently untangled the child’s claws from your hair and picked him up into his arms to settle him down.

“You’re too young to be pulling girls hair yet, ad’ika.” You heard him chide in that low baritone as he moved further into the hold towards the child’s hover-pram. It took every ounce of self-control not to let your jaw hit the ground. You barely succeeded.

Unfortunately, you didn’t succeed in stopping your thighs from shifting, subconsciously rubbing them together to relieve the uncomfortably need that settled there, quickly escaping to your mat under the pretense of needing to untangle your hair from the child’s ministrations. 

 Then there were the numerous times you had to get by each other, to get down the ladder to the hold, or to leave the ship, or even just to get into the cockpit. Anywhere that involved you both being in the same space at the same time resulted in the Mandalorian brushing against you accidentally as you crossed paths. Like you said before, Mando was large, and the Razor Crest was not.

One fateful encounter had yet to leave your mind.

You had been frantically looking for the child for nearly half an hour after breaking your second cardinal rule:

 Do not take your eyes off the child.

Well, you did. And you were – once again – contemplating the pros and cons of throwing yourself into a sarlacc pit over facing the wrath of the Mandalorian if you didn’t find the sneaky little bogwing he called a son.

You linked your hands behind your neck as you released a long breath to try and calm your rapidly increasing panic. He wasn’t in his hover-pram (though his metal ball was there so surely, he couldn’t have gone far?), he wasn’t in the crab carapace (it sat cold and empty apart from the few errant credits Mando had tossed into it the day before). He wasn’t in the refresher and he wasn’t in the cooling chamber. He wasn’t hiding under the blanket you used for a pillow and he wasn’t playing in the carbonite chamber. You had even taken a panel or two from the side of the ship to see if he had gotten into the electricals, but they too were missing a little green terror.

“He can’t have gone far…” you whispered to yourself, your eyes scanning every single area of the hold carefully, looking for any movement or flash of green that might tell you where your charge had escaped to.

Your eyes landed on the rarely open hydraulic pocket door beside the refresher at the front of the ship, to the bunk where you knew the Mandalorian slept whenever he got the chance to.

What were the odds that things would work out in your favor, that the child wouldn’t be in Mando’s private quarters? That you could quietly continue your search elsewhere on the ship because underneath it all, the child knew there was nothing interesting in there?

The odds? Fucking zero.

Closing your eyes as you dropped your head back on your shoulders, you dragged your hands over your face,

“Why me?” you groaned into your hands, feeling infinitely sorry for yourself before you dropped your hands and stared at the open hydraulic durasteel door in distrust, as if it were going to alert Mando of your trespassing for even pondering the idea.

It’s just a room. The lovely, logical part of your brain said, soothing your nerves before the treacherous, licentious part finished the sentence:

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian sleeps…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian removes his armor…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian---

You curtailed the rapid descent your thoughts were plummeting towards and took three confident steps towards the room to prove to yourself that you were unfazed. You faltered on step four, but as your foot landed on the metal flooring, you were practically in front of the room already. So, you glanced in with a slight arch of your neck, leaning to the right.

This was the only place on the Razor Crest you hadn’t seen fully. Mando never locked it, but you tried to respect what privacy he did have by avoiding it. You understood that everyone had their space; a single area that was theirs to completely unwind in, even momentarily. You understood the significance of a place like that and invading Mando’s made you feel guilty.

The room itself was clinical in its simplicity. Your eyes roved over the bunk to see if the child was there. You took another step in so you could lean down to see if he was down the side of the bunk, where several metal shelves sat empty apart from a single blaster and a piece of durasteel armor that looked suspiciously like Mando’s old vambrace. He must put his armor there whenever he takes it off. You couldn’t think of another reason for there to be so much wasted space in the room otherwise.

“Psst, kid. Are you in here?” You hissed, not wanting to tempt fate and draw the Mandalorian’s attention if he heard you.

As it happened, the odds that you had put at zero for yourself might as well have been negative infinity, because the response you received was a filtered throat being cleared that had you spinning in place to see Mando watching you with his head tilted and a thumb hoked in his utility belt as he leaned against the wall casually.

And there was the child – proud as the tooka who caught the titterling – sitting in one strong arm, watching you with curious eyes as you stood back up, heat rising to your face as you floundered.

“I---”

“Found him.”

Mando saved you from what was no doubt going to be a terribly awkward attempt at an explanation as to why you were snooping in his bunk, so you merely offered him a sheepish smile when he didn’t question you. You held out your hands when the green monster stretched his own short arms out to you.

Mando pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to hand the child over and his body ate up the space around you.

It was surreal and slightly unnerving, the way his body seemed to dwarf any space he walked into, particularly this small area in front of his bunk. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the light behind him, and you were ensnared by the faint memory of their strength from realigning his arm after the Houk Incident. You mind was suddenly barraged with sinful images of anchoring your nails into those shoulders, or the sight of your thighs thrown over them as he---

“Can’t take your eyes off him for even a minute.” You laughed to cover your runaway thoughts, honestly you needed to get laid the next planet you landed on, fingers stroking absentmindedly over a large ear while the unpainted helmet stayed trained on you before nodding slowly.

“He gets into more trouble than you do.” He rumbled, the faint lilt of a tease making you instantly narrow your eyes, secretly thankful for the more familiar territory.

“That’s rich, coming from the guy who ended up wanted by not only the New Republic, but the Empire and Bounty Hunters Guild as well.”

He scoffed as he rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms, a clear rebuttal he decided didn’t warrant a verbal response, but it made you smile slyly in response, eager to keep the upper hand as you moved to get by him.

“You’re quite impressive, you know?” You purred as you passed him, the warrior not conceding an inch of space to let you get by him more easily, his body remaining an impassive mountain in front of you.

“Yeah?” His voice – husky even when filtered – dripped with a curiosity he tried to mask with arrogance as he tipped his head back to look down at you from his greater height while your front brushed against his lightly. You could practically hear the smirk behind his helmet in that one word.

You smiled sweetly at him and – for the first time – touched him for reasons other than medical as your patted the beskar on his chest twice,

“Mhm…” you hummed slowly, squeezing past him finally even as he turned slightly to keep his eyes on you, eyes that were scorching your body despite your inability to see them,

“You single-handedly united the galaxy in getting all three of them to agree that you’re a menace.”

Your saccharine smile grew at the indignant noise that left the warrior in response, the sound so boorish and organic coming from a man who could at times seem as emotionless as the droids he despised. It was a human sound, and your heart thrilled at it, the sensation settling between your legs as you wondered what other human sounds the Mandalorian could produce as you escaped back up the ladder to the cockpit before he could respond. It stroked a primal part of your ego to have been the one to draw out a sound, even one of derision, from him.

You thought about that sound for longer than you cared to admit, one of the few others you had added to the growing catalogue of memories you had accumulated over your short time on the Razor Crest. Each memory was capable of tormenting you to the point of arousal while you stubbornly refused to give in to your body’s need for release over thoughts of him.

You might have broken your second cardinal rule of ‘do not take your eyes off the child’ but you were steadfast in sticking to your first cardinal rule:

Do not cross that line with the Mandalorian. 

 You might have been able to abide by that rule if all you had to worry about was the limited content you had to fantasize about. The way he moved, his voice, those glimpses of the human underneath the metal when he spoke in that growling language whenever he was frustrated, or the occasional groan from a stiff neck after too long in the pilot’s chair. The faint memory of the tanned skin you had seen when treating that poisoned stab wound over three years ago. You could deal with all of those. They were ambiguous and vague.

Vague enough that when you did succumb to your own please and give yourself the release you craved night after night while biting your lip to contain even the smallest sounds escaping, you could fool yourself into thinking that it was any nameless, faceless man and not the Mandalorian you travelled with.

That changed the day you were exposed to the sheer strength and power of the Mandalorian first-hand as he wrestled a quarry into the ship after a hunt. The base, primordial desire for physical strength used for the purpose of provision and protection was stoked inside of you.

Mando had shown up with a live quarry, a Trandoshan who – once on the ship – had made one last desperate effort to escape, using the Mandalorian’s distraction as you came out of the refresher to break the binders with the brutal strength Trandoshan’s were known for and lunge right at you. Whether it was to kill you or to use you as leverage for Mando to release him, you never found out.

You had managed one startled step back before the Trandoshan was tackled to the ground in front of you. Mando’s size belied his speed and he quickly had a knee pressed into the quarry’s back, a hand pressing down on the Trandoshan’s neck to keep him in place while he used his free hand to try and restrain him once again.

The image of Mando’s body, humming from the thrill of a fight and the testosterone that rolled off of him because of it, seared itself into your mind. How the quarry could hardly move under the strength of his knee pressed down on his back. How – even under all that armor – you could practically see his muscles ripple and strain taut as he kept the quarry subdued enough to attach a new set of binders.

It was primal.

And it was your undoing.

As you let your fingers roam down beneath your sleep shorts that night to find yourself already soaked, you didn’t even try to stop the memory of Mando man-handling the quarry from filling your thoughts. You didn’t stop the memory from morphing into something else as you imagined yourself underneath him instead. Imagined the Mandalorian using that strength on you for an entirely different reason as you easily sunk two fingers inside your twitching cunt, desperate to be filled by something more than what you could give yourself.

You imagined his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down, to keep you submissive and could almost hear his voice growling in your ear while you desperately tried to replace the sensation of your own fingers inside you with his. Your other hand traced down your overheated body to circle your clit lightly. Your hips bucked, your body already strung too tight as a whimper slipped past your lips as you imagined he would no doubt leave you wanting more, removing his fingers to replace them with the blunt head of his cock. Just the thought of him pushing into you was enough to send you over the edge, biting down on your lip hard enough that you tasted a tang of copper from where your teeth broke the skin while your orgasm washed over you. You were left panting in the pitch-black hold of the Razor Crest wondering how long you could handle your attraction to the Mandalorian before it drove you crazy. 

 But it wasn’t until a month later, three months since Mynock, when Mando’s penchant for colorful injuries proved to be the straw that broke the bantha’s back.

You had landed on Scipio a week ago.

The frigid atmosphere of the planet was only made worse by the fact that the majority of structures in its capital city sat at a high altitude to escape the snowstorms that could leave entire ships buried in a matter of hours.

It was the first Guild job the Mandalorian had taken in a long time, but it offered a good bounty. From the short answers you had managed to pry from the stoic warrior as you entered Scipio’s atmosphere, he was a money launderer. A disgraced member of the Banking Clan back in the day before he found spice and flesh trafficking to be a more lucrative venture.

The guy was a genius when it came to cleaning dirty credits, funneling them into dummy accounts and businesses, directly influencing the rise in power of several top tier warlords of the fallen Empire. You had thought to question why it was so easy for former Imperials and their supporters to gain power but then you answered your own question. Credits. Credits could buy you anything; buy your survival, buy loyalty, and even buy freedom.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem too concerned about the quarry himself, rather the security detail he might have around him. This type of guy would rather pay someone to die for them instead of picking up a blaster themselves.

The spaceport where you landed doubled as a motel, equipped to stand the sub-zero temperatures and for people like yourself and the child, who would usually remain on the ship, provided somewhere safe to sleep for the duration of your stay. Mando had been frustrating as he explained again about keeping an eye open while in the motel, to double check the locks and not to let the child out of your sight.

It had ended with you snapping at him that you weren’t stupid, weeks of frustration catching up on you.

You had effectively shut him up though, and after a few tense moments he reached out to stroke the tip of the child’s ear gently,

“I won’t be long.” His voice was measured in its control to bite his tongue on a sharp retort, so you only nodded once in confirmation.

You regretted your short temper the moment you had snapped at him. You knew he kept his worry over the child to himself but sometimes he tended to hover, particularly when you weren’t on the Razor Crest. But having once again woken that morning to slippery thighs and the lingering image of a blurred silhouette scraping his teeth down your neck, you were feeling a bit high-strung.

So you had lashed out in your irritation, and a week after he left, you still felt bad about it.

The motel itself surrounded the spaceport. For the first day you had distracted the child and yourself by sitting at the window and pointing out the different ships that landed and took off, the high vantage point of the rooms allowing you to see a good portion of the entire port.

You told the child what each ship was (those that you knew, anyway) and told him which was fastest and what each one was used for and even the ones you knew how to fly (even if that list was miserably short for someone from Pamarthe). You still had your suspicions that the child could understand everything you said to him and so spoke to him as if he did. It did no harm and he seemed to enjoy the attention, babbling on your lap, and pressing his forehead to the window.

The ships had been a distraction for all of a day. Neither of you had warm enough clothing to tackle exploring the outdoors so your exploration was limited to the corridors of the motel and the extended sheltered area of the spaceport. The freezing chill still managed to permeate the vast port and you soon found yourselves back in the room for the next few days.

When the commlink Mando had given you crackled on your wrist, you nearly wept with happiness that you might soon be getting off this planet. You would take a week in hyperspace over the prison you felt you had been in within the four walls of the motel room. There were only so many conditions, symptoms, and treatments you could document on your datapad before you started losing the will to live.

“We take off in twenty.”

The commlink warped the unmistakable voice of the Mandalorian, probably due to the raging storm outside affecting the connection but you didn’t care. You guys were leaving, and you wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of Scipio.

Packing up the few items you had brought with you for the child, you placed him back in his hover-pram and closed it around him to protect him from the cold. Pressing another button on the commlink, it began following you as you started making your way down to where the Razor Crest was docked. The few moments you had to spend in the freezing blizzard to get onto the ship felt like a life age, the snow and wind biting into your skin beneath your clothing and almost burning with how cold it felt.

You turned towards the open ramp of the Razor Crest, desperately wanting to close it but you knew the Mandalorian had been out in that weather far longer than you had, and the quicker he got in, the better.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long as a few minutes later, the hazy blur in the blizzard sharpened to reveal the beskar clad warrior with a limp figure over his shoulder. Your eyes raked over him, narrowing at the slightly tremble in his left leg as he threw down the prone body none too gently on the floor of the hold. He reached to his right to press one of the manual controls to lift the ramp and finally shield you all from the snow before he reached down to grab the human man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the carbonite chamber.

He hadn’t said a word to you but then again, that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He preferred silence and you were used to it.

Instead, you took a few liberties and climbed up to the cockpit to initiate take off procedures. The Crest was old, bless her, but after a moment or two you managed to get her up in the air and out of atmosphere. Once you were able, you activated the autopilot. You were still at cruising altitude and would only be able to enter hyperspace once you were a suitable distance away from the planet.

Mando hadn’t come up when you had taken off and you noticed his absence. It wasn’t like him to remain down below so, with a moment’s hesitation, you returned back down the ladder to find him sitting on one of the large crates with his head back against the wall.

Your eyes immediately focused, mind sharpening as you assessed him from a few feet away. Breathing was normal if a bit heavy, nothing bent at a wrong angle or limbs missing.

You let your eyes drop to the leg you saw tremble slightly. The flight suit Mando wore under his armor, especially the bottoms, were soaked through so you couldn’t tell if the darkened stains on his thigh were melted snow or blood.

“No.”

Your eyes snapped up to his helmet which had turned slightly once you caught his attention.

“No?” You questioned, a frown settling over your eyes as he sat up with a grunt.

“I don’t need you patching up ever scratch and bruise.” He snapped.

Oh, he was cranky. That meant he was in pain.

It was true that Mando had flatly refused any help if he ever came back bruised and sore and for the most part, he probably didn’t need any medical attention. Half the time you didn’t even know because he simply dealt with it himself wordlessly. He had lived this life long enough without you, he knew how to handle himself. Most of the time. Your trained eyes were able to spot a mile away what he could deal with himself and what needed more practiced hands. If he was acting like a cantankerous reek again, then you knew it was time to step in.

You scoffed and took the few steps towards him, completely professional as you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t miss the strangled noise the modulator picked up from behind the helmet, but you didn’t have time to worry about how you might look kneeling in front of his open legs.

All you were focused on, was the shredded duraweave near his knee, dried blood crusting along the flesh of his inner thigh just shy of the beskar plate sitting over his left thigh. You clicked your tongue and sent him a withering look,

“Seriously?”

A growl reverberated from his chest, a string of that foreign language leaving him before he looked away. He looked petulant.

“In Basic if you don’t mind.” You asked sarcastically, eyes already back on the wound underneath the torn duraweave. Your fingers picked a shredded edge of the duraweave to get a better look. You were reminded instantly of the wound he received from the poison laced dagger with you first met him, but you were relieved to note that this wound seemed clean of venom.

That was about all that was clean about it though, because unlike the single laceration of the dagger wound, his thigh had a semi-circle of shredded puncture wounds where something had obviously sunk into his flesh and shook its head.

“Fucking nerfherders, what bit you?” You turned your eyes back up to him, startled by the size given that the single row indicated only one side of the jaw met his flesh. You worried momentarily if the back of his thigh carried similar wounds where whatever it was bit down but you would deal with this first.

“Whitefang.” He bit out, the frustration in his tone evident but you had grown accustomed to him acting like this whenever he was hurt.

You had gotten to your feet again, turning away to your small area where you could rifle through the medipack you had built for such occasions. You almost dropped the bacta and saline when you turned back to him.

“A whitefang? How in Malachor did you---”

“He didn’t only have mercenaries guarding him.” Mando spat, groaning when the anger in his voice caused his muscles to tense and the obvious pain that followed. You shook your head and knelt back down, sitting on your heels as you peeled back the shredded edges of the duraweave, stopping only when a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist in warning. Your eyes flickered up to the expressionless T-visor, a sigh leaving you as you looked back down.

“I’m only pushing it back as far as the wound goes. I won’t see any more of you than it takes to treat your bite.”

You tried a different approach to your usual Mando Method. Negotiation as opposed to strong-arming him. You didn’t try to remove your wrist from his grip, despite how tight it was but your patience seemed to work because with a steady exhale, his grip loosened and released you. You nodded once,

“There, that wasn’t so hard?”

Mando simply leaned his head back heavily and looked up towards the ceiling, his hands resting back on the crate behind him and leaving you to your work.

You turned back to his thigh now that the hard part was over, truly he was a menace when it came to looking after himself. You tutted to yourself while you cleaned the caked, dried blood from around the puncture wounds with clean gauze soaked in an antiseptic solution and assessed their depth as you did so. There were seven punctures in all, the two canine fangs being the largest and deepest, so you focused your attention on them first.

While the Mandalorian hadn’t said a word despite the sting the antiseptic no doubt caused, he let out a soft exhale when you cleaned them out with saline water to flush out any dirt that might have entered the open wounds. You bit down on your lip to hide the slight smile, he seemed to enjoy that part last time too. Now that you were sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger; you allowed your eyes to travel down the length of his body on their way back to his thigh.

You covered the hitch in your breath with a small cough when your eyes passed over the prominent bulge that was nearly at eye level; he was hard. Your mouth instantly went dry as you turned back to his thigh with a bit too much force, a heavy tension settling in the air that was making it hard to focus. 

So, you tried to lighten the mood when he sighed again softly at the cool liquid on his heated skin.

“Careful Mando, or else I’ll start to think you enjoy getting injured.”

You had quickly moved on to threading the dissolvable medical thread through a wicked sharp curved needle and began to layer tight, neat stitches inside the two deepest wounds, anything to distract your hands and eyes from straying somewhere they were wholly unwelcome.

The needle moved easily through his flesh, the thread laced with bacta, one of the greatest creations to come from the last five years of medical research which allowed the healing qualities in bacta to penetrate the body better, using the physical thread to hold the flesh together while it knitted everything back together quicker than the body would be able to by itself.

The Mandalorian hadn’t moved since you began, but you felt the telling warmth on the top of your head where his eyes had settled, watching you sit between his legs and once again, soothing his pain. You hadn’t expected an answer given his mood, so when he did reply, you nearly dropped the needle you were carefully putting away for cleaning later.

“In my line of work, you learn to like a little pain.” His voice sounded thicker, a dark undercurrent to the usual rasp and it made your cunt clench at the veiled insinuation. He must have known you could see, right? He hadn’t made any move to hide his obvious arousal, but then maybe he felt that to draw attention to it would be to acknowledge it.

You smoothed a large bactapad over the wounds, the smaller punctures not deep enough to warrant stiches and satisfied there were no other wounds on his thigh. You used the action to buy yourself some time as you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, desperately trying to get some moisture back as your mind ran wild with the possibilities that single sentence meant about the Mandalorian.

When you had done all you could do, you bit the bullet and looked up at him again. His head was tilted down, not hiding the fact that he was watching you as you worked, and you just knew your underwear was ruined from the image that lay before you. The Mandalorian leaning back with his legs spread and watching you like the hunter he was.

“I’m sure there are other ways you can enjoy that without getting you leg bitten off.” The words that left your mouth were smoother and said with a confidence that made you want to pat yourself on the back. You packed up the medipack and stood up, keeping your eyes on his visor so they wouldn’t be tempted to stray down to the bulge that had yet to disappear.

“No strenuous exercise until they’re healed.” You ordered, your tone allowing for no argument as you turned to put the medipack away, thankful that he couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks when you started moving towards the galley to prepare something to eat for the child and be away from this suddenly stifling situation.

Mando seemed content to remain where he was for a few moments longer before he stood to test his leg on his full weight. You staunchly kept your back to him under the guise of heating a ration pack on the nanowave stove, but you could feel him brush past you on his way to the cockpit.

“Pity.” He dropped the word on your lap without stalling his movements as he passed you, his voice still thick and laced with a sinful darkness before his presence vanished entirely up the ladder, albeit a bit slower and into the cockpit so he could get you all into hyperspace.

When you heard the tell-tale hiss of the cockpit door closing, you braced your hands on the edge of the galley counter, a shaky breath leaving you.

What the ever-loving fuck what that?

A few hours later, and you were in the refresher, the hiss of the shower the only security that your moans were smothered as your fingers played with your clit, expertly circling it before swiping over the sensitive bundles lightly. Your head fell back, the water soaking your heated skin and running down your body the same way you imagined his hands might, how his tongue might follow that same path.

Your eyes closed on a whimper as you slid a finger insider of yourself, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily it slid in, your arousal providing the perfect lubrication.

You still hadn’t been able to unwind from the tightly strung ball of tension the Mandalorian had left you in hours before and despite your better judgement, had locked yourself in the refresher seeking even an ounce of relief. You should have been ashamed, getting off to the memory of a man who – while being someone you already accepted your attraction to – was a patient in that moment.

It didn’t matter that he seemed just as aroused, that he stoked a desire deep inside you with his words. You didn’t even know his name and yet, the physical attraction you felt for a man whose body you had seen only slivers of, was unlike anything you’d felt for anyone you had been with before. He had you soaked with a few choice words, a tilt of his helmet and his legs spread arrogantly as if he hadn’t just been bitten by a whitefang.

You moaned quietly as you imagined yourself kneeling between those thighs again, but this time not to treat an injury but to satisfy a different sort of ache. You thought about the noises he might make if you took his cock into your mouth; if he would try to control your pace and how much of him you took. You added another finger as you wondered if he would finish in your mouth, or if he was someone who wanted to finish deep inside your cunt instead. If he would pull you up from your position between his legs so he could sink into you and fuck you until he finished.

You could feel your orgasm cresting, your fingers drenched with your arousal and a final forbidden fantasy of what he must look like when he came – what expression would paint the face you would never know as he spilled inside you – was what had your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You couldn’t muffle your cry at its intensity, nor could you control the moan spilling from your lips despite swearing you would never say it, never acknowledge outside your own mind that you wanted him.

But you couldn’t help yourself, and it changed everything.

“Mando…”

He was right the first time.

He should have fucking listened to his instincts when they told him you were dangerous on Klatooine.

He should have known when that lick of desire danced across his body the night he first met you.

He should have known when the blush he caused to rise on your cheeks made his chest swell with masculine pride.

He should have known when he hesitated every time he went to ask you what planet you wanted him to bring you to.

And he should have damn well known when he had to stop himself from fucking you the moment you knelt between his legs to treat his bite.

But he hadn’t listened and now he was stood frozen on his way to his bunk, the sound of his name laced with desire as it rolled off your tongue on the other side of the refresher’s door rooting him to the spot.

He felt himself get painfully hard under his armour again.

He had felt edged all day after trying – and failing – to calm himself down in the cockpit after you had finished with him. He recited his Creed in his head over and over until the memory of you looking up at him with those expressive, intelligent eyes had him hard again almost instantly.

Din felt his lips curl into a snarl at the sound of you moaning his name, at the torture you had unwittingly inflicted on him now that he knew what you sounded like in the throes of pleasure. It would be so easy, so easy to just pull the door open and give you a real reason to moan his name.

He clenched his hand to his side where it itched to open the door, it would be so easy…

He shook his head, trying to shake the insidious thoughts of giving in to the attraction that had skyrocketed since you began travelling with him.

A shift of his weight sent a twinge of pain through his thigh and that grounded him.

No, not tonight.

He continued on his path to his bunk before he had been interrupted, locking the hydraulic door behind him before he removed his helmet and ran a hand down his face.

Not tonight.

He removed each part of his armor, setting it down on the shelves beside the bunk, fingers ghosting over the bactapad that still clung to his thigh, the whispered memory of feeling your fingers on his bare skin again causing his cock to twitch beneath his flight suit before he removed that as well.

Not tonight.

He lay back heavily on his bunk, muscles and joints exhausted from the arduous week on an ice planet. He let his eyes roll closed when his hand wrapped around the hard shaft of his cock where it lay heavy against his stomach, lips parting on an exhale. The memory of his name on your lips filled his head as he swiped his thumb across the head of his cock to spread the pre-cum already leaking from the tip and hissed at the sensitivity.

Not tonight, he thought as his grip tightened as he stroked himself towards a quick release, but one day soon he would make you pay for the torment you inflicted on him today.

He came with a low groan, your voice in his head chiding him once more about no strenuous exercise and he smirked in the darkness at the memory, fatigue making his eyelids heavy.

Soon.

Some liberties I have taken with Star Wars Canon:

- Pantran whitefangs (a species of big cat) are native only to Hoth, and are notorious for being impossible to domesticate and are constantly hunting. Anyone who tries, usually ends up dead. For the purposes of Stitches, it didn't seem likely that a money launderer would hide on Hoth. It's a desolate planet with a population that "would just about fill a cruiser". Scipio was at one point, the centre of the Banking Clan during the Galactic Republic and was such an important location that both the Republic and Separatists each sent ambassadors to ensure there was no corruption there. It has a larger population and more cities, somewhere I can justify a money lauderer hiding out in. This is why I transplanted Whitefangs to a different planet though I have made sure that it was an equally frozen one!

- Bacta usually removes the need for literal stitches as we know in real life, but I theorized that, while bacta is a perfect healer given time; in triage and emergency care, going back to basics sometimes helps. That's why I tried to combine the idea of bacta thread, something that would physically hold a wound together and prevent blood loss while the bacta worked in the interim.

- The generic "bending the Creed but not breaking it" spiel about reader seeing Din's body so long as it's not his face.

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