#it provided some ship fuel

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[a-leg-without-fear]

Sweet

sin sin sin sIN SIN THIS IS SIN. please enjoy pleasuring our dear college!matt

Ship: Matt Murdock x Female!Reader

Rating: 18+ (pure filth, truly)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, sexual situations, foreplay, some depressive thoughts (because i apparently can't write anything without them)

Warm.

Soft, warm, gentle, sweet. Sweeter than anything he’d tasted. Like dew that’s been licked off a cold strawberry, or the fragrant scent that wafts through the air outside of flower shops. A delicate and tender sweetness. Subtle, comforting, like the smell of home after being away for years. Such sweetness could make Matt lose himself, letting himself drift away on a current of fond smiles and warm embraces. He would allow himself to drown in the sweet taste, even if it was the last drop to pass his lips before he drifted to the ocean floor.

At the sudden loss of the warmth, the tenderness, the sweetness, Matt’s throat let out a whine of annoyance. His body moved of its own accord as he scrambled to reconnect himself to the source. Fingers tangling in silken hair. Hand bunching in a tank top. Teeth nipping at a plump, pink lower lip.

“Matt,” you sighed. The words cascaded past Matt’s tongue and down his throat, carrying a breeze filled with cherry blossoms in their wake. He could distantly feel delicate fingertips brush at his jaw. A tingling warmth trailed behind the gentle touch, only fueling his need to swallow as much sweetness as he could.

“Matt, honey. Breathe.”

Matt’s eyes fell open as he pulled away from his brief reprieve. His senses came crashing down like a cave in. All he could see was a haze of swirling oranges and reds that filled every inch in sight. Streaks of flame and blood painting the college dorm room like a canvas on fire. His cotton shirt was too tight, too scratchy. The humid air settled in his pores like an unwelcome visitor. A sudden cacophony of noise spilled into his ears through the crack under the door and the thin material of the walls. He blinked a few times to reorient. 

The first inhale he allowed himself felt like a punch in the lungs. Gone was the taste of strawberries or cherry blossoms, the feeling of warmth and comfort. A sharp tang of stale alcohol plunged its way into his sinuses and left him reeling. Notes of old, worn carpet and water-damaged ceilings shoved their way through to stand side by side to overwhelm thought and feeling. Matt screwed his eyes shut, trying to recall the smell of flowers that flowed like water down his throat.

“Hey, I’m right here,” you whispered, your melodic voice brushing aside the sounds assaulting Matt’s senses. Your soft hand rested along his jaw and brought his forehead to yours. Matt could feel your breath fan across his face. Warm and gentle and sweet.

“I… I’m sorry,” Matt said. He felt naïve. The world was harsh and cold and unforgiving. He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away by the allure you unintentionally provided. The sweet ambrosia that flowed from your lips could never compete with the torrential downpour of too much all around him.

“Sorry for what?” you asked. Your fingers brushed strands of Matt’s dark hair away from his face, then trailed their way down his cheek to rest on his collarbone. 

Matt opened his eyes again in a desperate attempt to see you. See anything. But all he was met with was the clouded reds and oranges that submerged the world beneath a pool of blood. 

He tried to focus on where your face would be, using the brush of air currents along your seated body to understand where you were on the bed. Your head was cocked, hair falling in front of your kind eyes. Matt could tell you were looking at him. From the way your heart calmly beat behind your ribs and the pheromones that surrounded you like an aura, Matt assumed you were happy. Content.

“I got caught up in the moment,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. You chuckled at his bashfulness, the sound ringing like a small bell around Matt’s head. Hopefully he could deflect from his lapse in awareness. Of course he had to be blind and easily distracted.

“That’s not a bad thing, you know. Just gotta remember to breathe,” you said. Matt scoffed playfully at the jab. He let his hands drift down to your waist, tucking his fingers beneath the bunched-up hem of your shirt.

“I don’t know, you seem to like it when I prevent you from breathing.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your heart leapt and your face heated. A flash of the intoxicating scent that was distinctly you floated from between your legs. Matt could feel his own arousal swirling like a whirlpool in his stomach. An uncontrollable tempest begging to be released over calm waters. Despite how desperately he wanted your clothes off and you beneath him, he pulled his mouth into a cocky grin while his fingers worked their way up to your bra.

“What’s wrong? Feeling embarrassed? Or are you just remembering how good it felt when I choked you?” he purred.

That got you riled up. Your chest started heaving as your skin grew hot and clammy over your entire body. A fresh wave of wetness and delicious scent warmed the inside of your thighs. You swallowed heavily and Matt could practically feel the way the muscles in your throat moved.

But you hesitated. Your fingers stopped their soft stroking along his sensitive skin. Your breath halted just behind your soft lips. Matt’s brow furrowed as a frown tugged at the edges of his lips.

“You okay?” he asked warily. Matt forced his hands to cease in their uphill climb and placed them on your hips. Anxiety gripped at his chest. Did he misread the situation? Misread you? Did he make you uncomfortable? God, what if you finally realized you’d made a mistake in dating him? It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

“Can I be on top tonight?” you asked, as though that sentence didn’t hit him like a ton of bricks to the stomach.

“W-What?” Matt spluttered.

“These past few times you’ve been making me feel good. Really good. I want to try to return the favor,” you explained. Your nails began to pick at a stray thread on Matt’s shirt collar. Matt’s ears picked up on the uptick in your pulse. Were you… nervous?

“If you don’t want to, that's fine, you can be on top. We can also just kiss if that’s more what you’re feeling today. I don’t want to make you feel weird and-”

“Sweetheart, slow down,” Matt said, interrupting your fast-paced tangent. Your mouth clamped shut as a deep breath filled your lungs. Matt grabbed loosely at your shoulders, thumbs rubbing back and forth on your bare skin, as an easy smile fell over his face.

He gave you a few seconds to catch your breath then said, “You can be on top. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting you to ask. Matt’s life was a never ending learning curve of discovering that love was not guaranteed. His mother left before he was a year old, his father died when he was nine, his mentor, Stick, abandoned him at the first sign of affection. He learned long ago to not expect anything from anyone. That was the first lesson Stick had taught him. 

And yet, against all odds, here you sat. An enigma if ever there was one. Offering your affection on a silver platter at Matt’s feet. A clear sign of trust, of devotion, of love.

“Okay,” you said. A relieved smile broke out across your face. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you cleared your throat. Matt’s heart raced in time with yours. His fingers began kneading in the soft flesh at your hips.

“Lie down for me,” you said. Four words, spoken softly with the gentleness of a feather, yet they struck Matt in the chest like a wide haymaker. A sentence that carried the weight of authority and a gentle caress all in one. Suddenly all he wanted to do was follow instructions.

In a flash he had his head on the pillow, arms at his sides, breathing at an alarmingly fast rate. Anticipation burned its way through his veins and clouded his senses. The world outside the dorm room faded away. Like a memory retreating into a dense fog. Loud voices down the hall quieted into nothing, the humidity in the air evaporated, his shirt felt like the softest silk, and the scent around him. God, all he could smell was you. Your breath was like the first day of spring, your skin like rolling hills of green grass, your hair like soft strands of pure sunlight. Matt’s world was, yet again, sweet.

“Let me know if I’m making you uncomfortable,” you breathed, your lips suddenly brushing against his earlobe. Matt would have jumped had he not been so relaxed beneath your comforting presence. Your sense of calm had washed over him like a warm wave at low tide. 

“I will,” Matt replied, having to use what remained of his mind to form two coherent words. A soft hum of acknowledgement rustled the baby hairs by his ear. He had just enough awareness to track you as you pressed a soft kiss under his jaw. 

A sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head back against the pillow. You smiled against his skin, rewarding the accommodation by pressing a firmer kiss into the soft skin beneath his ear. Tendrils of goodgoodgood shocked their way through his veins from where your lips connected to the sensitive skin. His breath hitched as he let his eyes fall closed.

“Good spot, I take it,” you said through a smile Matt could hear. Matt barely got out the word “yes” before you licked a broad swipe up his neck and ended at that sensitive spot. Matt’s back arched as a groan kicked its way out of his throat. His hands fisted into your tank top out of pure instinct, practically begging the source of his pleasure to stay put. Another pass of your tongue stoked the embers in his abdomen into a bonfire, flames licking their way over his damp skin.

“Sweetheart, please,” Matt begged, the words a whisper on his parted lips. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was begging for. All he knew was he never wanted you to stop. 

Blunt fingernails traced the exposed skin beneath his shirt. Matt’s hips bucked up, chasing the light touch. The muscles beneath his skin jumped as you slowly, so slowly, started pushing his shirt up. It was agonizing, the feeling of your nails lightly scraping along his stomach. Each finger lit up thousands of nerve endings, each nerve ending pushing him further and further toward the edge of a steep cliff.

You pressed a soft kiss to the shell of Matt’s ear as you whispered, “Arms up, Matt.”

You could tell him to kneel at your feet for the rest of his life and he would.

Matt did the best his melted body could to help you take his shirt off. The two of you were a mess of limbs and cotton for a moment before you were able to pull the infernal garment away. Matt’s arms fell beside him like two sacks of grain. Palms as soft as calfskin ever so gently glided down his bare chest. You made sure every divot and round muscle got the attention it deserved, caressing Matt like he was the finest lace. When your pinky brushed against his nipple, a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth.

You hummed, hands retreating in their path, fingers dancing along the edges of Matt’s nipples. Matt choked out a moan, baring his neck as his back arched into your touch. Your tongue made another pass of his throat as feather-light glances of your fingers across both of his nipples chased the last coherent thoughts from Matt’s mind.

“Fuck,” Matt groaned. Every millimeter of his skin felt like it was aflame. Fire left in the wake of your gentle touch. Burning away all sense and reason until all that was left was Matt’s writhing body.

He was close. Embarrassingly so. Matt clung to the cliff’s edge by his fingertips, each kiss and caress prying his fingers off one by one. His hips moved of their own volition. He was bucking into your thigh like a dog in heat. Whines and moans flew from his glistening lips while his hands scrabbled against the sheets.

With your hands still toying at Matt’s chest, you shifted in his lap until the warm heat between your thighs settled over where his shorts had tented. A slurred string of curses and your name spilled from between his teeth. His wild grinding now dispersed your scent in the air around him. And God, there was so much. It settled into every inch of Matt’s skin until he could taste it on his tongue, feel it coat his lungs as he breathed it in.

“Sw-eetheart,” Matt choked out. He could feel his fingers falling away from the cliff in rapid succession. The precipice below him seemed to climb up the cliffside until it was just beneath his feet, tempting him to let go and plunge into its depths.

The final nail in his coffin was when you nipped at his neck, teeth closing around where his pulse flowed strongest. The air in his lungs leapt through his throat in one big gust. His unseeing eyes rolled back in his head, hands grabbing at anything in their vicinity. 

Matt’s final grip on the cliff fell away, plunging him into warmth and gentleness and sweetness that surrounded him like a strong embrace. Held him tight and wove its way through every muscle in his body. A shock of white hot pleasure rolled through him like a steam train. Starting in his groin and washing over him in wave after wave of fuckyesgoodfuckkeepgoingdon’tstop. He could barely register how loud he was over the roaring in his ears. His heart pounded against his chest like an animal behind bars.

Your lips found his again and everything clicked into place. Matt lapped at your mouth like he was drinking his first glass after a month in the desert. The sweet nectar that you produced flowed down his throat and prolonged his orgasm. His hips rocked up into yours, chasing a heat that he could feel in his bones. Hands, trembling, bunched themselves in your shirt and pulled your chest flush to his.

It took several minutes for the aftershocks to calm down. Every breath, every twitching muscle made his overwhelmed senses go haywire. In his mind, the world around him was a swirling cloud of bliss. All he could hear was your breathing, all he could feel was your heartbeat against his chest, all he could taste was strawberries and cherry blossoms. He let his fingertips trail along your exposed shoulders, zeroing in on the feeling, bringing himself back to reality.

When you felt the movement, you lifted your head to look at him, “Back with us?”

A tired smile spread itself over his lips. Matt opened his eyes, the effort to lift his eyelids like lifting a dumbbell, and let his empty gaze land somewhere on your face.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he sighed. You responded by giving him a quick peck on the lips. Matt grumbled, brow furrowing, then guided your chin back up to kiss him again. You chuckled against his lips, a whisper of “ridiculous man” absorbed between your mouths. Matt relished in the familiar sweetness before letting you pull away.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” you asked. Matt gave you a solemn nod, at which you laughed. He shifted beneath you so he could attempt to meet your eyes.

“Did you like it?” he asked tentatively. He fiddled with the hem of your shirt as he waited for your answer. He hadn’t done anything for you, he just laid there and made you do all the work. What kind of boyfriend was he? Not to mention you didn’t even touch him. A few grazes of your fingers over his chest and he was done for.

“I loved it. It was fun to figure out what buttons to push,” you laughed. The tinkling tune of your laugh erased any negative thoughts Matt retained about the experience. He let his smile return, holding you tighter to his chest.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll return the favor,” Matt said, letting that seductive edge find its way back into his voice. You shuddered on top of him. Your thighs clenched instinctively around his. You blew a stray strand of hair out of your face, attempting to mask the want clearly written on your skin.

“3 minutes, then we’re back in business.”

“Deal.”

HUGE thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team for being the inspiration for this fic. i have them to blame for the filth that fills my head on an hourly basis.

Murdock Tuna Team 🐟: @vigilxnte-shit @pastafossa @yarrystyleeza @ecxlipse @sunflowersandsapphires @amphitrite-5 @fuckyeahpommelstrike @mar-thewriter @zomtart @what-i-call-men

[tinydefector]

Rescued

Ratchet x human reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: pitfighting, injuries and swearing.

Ratchet masterlist

Start of the Ratchet fic series piece from my poll. I've got some more request I'll have. Look thought but enjoy the first part of Rescued.

________________

Ratchet was no stranger to the black market, it had been where he had gotten a lot of his medical supplies before the war, and even now he still had dealers he went to for better prices, the Dead End had been in desperate need back then. Now it was the fact he was hunting for very specific equipment he was hoping that one of the dealers had. One of his patients had gotten a backstreet modification done and now he was dealing with trying to undo it. 

He entered the seedy marketplace with cautious optics. Black markets were rarely safe, even for one as grizzled as himself, but sometimes they provided resources not found through official medcentres. Swindle was impossible to miss. The shifty salesbot sidled up with a grin. "Well well, if it isn't the good doctor. Haven't seen you in a while. What can I do for you today?" 

Ratchet cut right to the chase. "I need a class V field nanoscope, with magnetic containment and full genomic sequencing interface. Also a case of tri-hexal coolant and 50 units of med-grade energon. Shipped to my clinic" he states while processing his payment to the bot. 

Swindle's visor glinted as he perused inventory.  "I've also got some...shall we say, off-protocol hardware. Stuff no self-respecting medic would keep on their official ledger." 

The Chief Medical Officer's optics narrowed. What exactly was Swindle suggesting? While he wouldn't put anything past the seedy dealer, Ratchet had no interest in anything illegal or unethical. Still, sometimes one had to play the game to get what they needed. "Show me what you've got."

Their transaction goes as normal, his stockpile set and ready for transport. But the sound of small cries in the market. It has Ratchet  turning to try and locate the sound. More cries echo as shouting of bids echo out from a corner. Ratchet's audio receptors zeroed in on the distressed cries, and what he heard made his fuel run cold. Pushing past other mechs, he hurried toward the commotion and spotted the disturbing scene unfolding - a small human had been tossed from the fight ring like so much garbage, directly into harm's way. 

“useless little frag, I spent good shanix on you and your worthless” the bot growls out. 

Without hesitation, Ratchet leapt forward and caught the bot before he could stomp the  limp form of the small organic. He whirled on the perpetrator with a snarl. "What in the Pits do you think you're doing?!" 

Shoving the mech back, Ratchet knelt and gently scooped the injured human into his servos cradling them to his chest, his optics flared with barely contained rage. The other bot vents out but ignores Ratchet. “Keep the little scraplet it's worthless.” He huffs as he downs another cube of engex. “Swindle I'd get out of here for a while” Ratchet warns, it doesn't take much for the con to get the hint. “Pleasure doing business As always Ratchet” he states. 

Ratchet strode from the Alley, carefully shielding the human as he contacted an Enforcer unit. The human curls in on themself more making themself as small as possible in Ratchet's servos. They don't move much while Ratchet makes his way back to his clinic. “Shhh it's Alright, settle down ill get you taken care of” he tries to settle them as he begins unlocking the door to the clinic. His optics trace over them.  

Heavy sobs leave their small frame. Ratchet watched helplessly as the terrified human struggled in vain to escape his servos, Their fear and anguish tore at his spark. All he wanted was to help, He placed them gently on the medberth and remained crouched down, making himself as unintimidating as possible. On his shoulder, Ratchet pointed to the bright Cross emblazoned across his plating - the symbol of medical care and protection. But the human showed no sign of understanding.

“Please settle, I am a doctor, I'm going to check your injuries” he tries to explain while using his servos. But with the language barrier he had no way to convey that. 

Realising his words most likely sounded like static crackles, Ratchet instead used his Em field pulses to try to calm them but it just made them shrink away in fear.  Ratchet muttered and grumbled to himself as he dug through crates of old data chips and software modules. "Fragging Primus, where did I leave that translation suite?" he growled. "Probably tossed it with the last lot of broken junk I cleared out of here."

He upended another crate, sending chips scattering across the floor. His field pulsed with irritation. "Should have all the common dialects downloaded - but does anyone think to update them? Of course not!"

Sifting through the pile, Ratchet let loose a string of curses. "Pit-spawned, rust-eating, glitch-headed pile of... aha!" He held up an ancient-looking chip in triumph. "About fragging time, you piece of scrap." 

Popping it into his chip port, Ratchet ran initialization and compatibility protocols. After a minute, a handful of human languages lit up in his HUD along with helpful translation matrices. He vented in relief. 

"Alright little one, let me try this…”

“ Can you understand me now? I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." His voice was gentle once more. They continue staring at him half scared. Ratchet slowly filtered through the different Earth languages via his new translation software, trying each one to see if any would trigger recognition in the fearful human. 

//Can you understand me now?// Ratchet repeated gently. //I found an old program that allows me to talk to humans. I mean you no harm. I only wish to help treat your injuries.//

He kept his motions slow and unthreatening, hands open and palms up. //This place is a clinic. I am a doctor - my designation is Ratchet. Please, let me scan you and apply medical dressings. You are safe here, I promise. I will not let any harm come to you while under my care.//

Optics dimmed with compassion, Ratchet waited patiently for a response. He hoped reassuring words and this breakthrough in communication would help begin to win the traumatised human's tentative trust.

They move forward slightly, eyes trained on Ratchet. "How...?" They choke out almost shocked, they begin shaking lightly as they sit there panicking. Ratchet responded with patience and care to the little human's distress. "It's alright, try to relax. I know this must be frightening, but you're safe now." 

"I have translation software that allows me to understand many Earth languages. It took some digging, but I finally found an old data chip with yours among its databases. I'm Chief Medical Officer - communicating with patients is essential to my function, no matter their origin."

Keeping his voice low and modulated, Ratchet continued, "I need to assess your injuries, little one. May I scan you? It will not hurt, I promise. The scans will let me see if anything is damaged internally so I can treat you properly." 

They give a small nod not trusting their voice. Stasis cuffs, bandages, and other medical tools were scattered throughout the clinic. It doesn't settle the human but they sit There twitching as Ratchet slowly works on checking them. 

 Sitting there as tears slowly leak down their face. "Are you going to make me fight again?" They trumble under his touch, his cold digits against their skin have them almost running but they stick to their spot as Ratchet slowly cleans wounds on their back.   Ratchet's optics softened at the fresh tears. "Primus, no," he said gently. "Fighting is the last thing I want you to do." 

They continue sitting there half naked as Ratchet stitches their injuries, flinching each time his cold digits touch them and each time the needle threads thought their skin, the numbing agent helped prevent the pain but not the frightful reaction.

"I apologise for any discomfort," he states as he begins cleaning off the blood that had dried to their skin. "My hands were not made for such delicate work. But I will be as quick and careful as possible."

True to his word, Ratchet efficiently assessed and wrapped each injury with utmost precision. Cleaning up as he goes, the cold air of the clinic eventually gets the best of the nervous human as they shiver and shake. "There, all finished. You did very well,." His tone was soothing as velvet. 

He grabs a heavy thermal rag,tucking it gently around the human's shivering form. "Stay warm now. Rest, you are safe." 

Their eyes continue to watch him as Ratchet goes about checking other clients as they slowly begin filtering in and out of the clinic, even in their tired state they don't dare sleep, constantly watching the medic. It's only when the medications slowly take effect that they slump back against the table. 

______________

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

Please ask if you would like to be added to the tag list.

[fynsh]

Fox is trading classified information and his brothers indulge the high prices probably because they love him

Even though they barely saw him, Fox was actually the most sought after little brother in the command batch for several reasons:

Not only was he still adorable to his barely older brothers as they still noticed the same stubborn curl of hair not sticking to the regulation style and the curiosity fueling every very intentional move under all his gruff and overworked exterior, he was also the most experienced in solving civil conflicts.

Contrary to the GAR being deployed wherever necessary, his corps stationed on Cruscant dealt with living (in most cases) breathing sentients of all shapes, forms and in various states of coexisting on a day to day basis. The Corries might not have been as efficient in fighting clankers, couldn't identify the typical formations and moves as fast, but much like their Marshall Commander they were patient and exceptionally well trained in reading social context clues.

Subsequently they were the clones with the vastest knowledge on how to not offend, peacefully interact with and even more importantly protect civilians. The Corries operated on a completely different scale when it came to navigating politically or culturally charged conflicts. One could say what Fox lacked in social skills needed to bond on a personal level, he made up for tenfold on a professional level. He keept tabs on everyone who owed him a favor and never ever ended up in debt to a brother. This put him in a position of being able to unofficially request parts of the other corps' rations and medical supplies even though he was the one who should have the easiest access to all resources available to the clone army.

Bacara has been watching this spiel go on for almost two years by now. He's one of the few who had only dealt in the Guard's currency of datachits for physical resources once. Information about the Outer Dim was hard to come by even for the Guard. He's also sure he paid a bit more than strictly necessary. Sure, it had been his own fault for not striking a better deal, but he wondered if the other commanders were actually oblivious to Fox subtle manipulation tactics or if they just liked him enough to indulge his antics. It's not like Fox was unlikeable. He never asked for truly unreasonable amounts in exchange for admittedly very valuable and not seldom crucial information on their next mission targets. But the Corries still took all they could get.

The Marshall Commander of the Galactic Marines was pretty sure the Guard got their info by spying on the Senators. He and Neyo mused their brothers on Coruscant had to be pretty close to some of the biggest assholes in the galaxy to be privy to those details. No politician would be dumb enough to carelessly discuss highly confidential tactics and locations in the corridors of the Senate building or the official meetings their brothers guarded, right? After all the Corries were no aides expected to be present all the time to bend to the Senator's every wishes, they only provided security where necessary.

Bacara wasn't very close to any of the commanders and wouldn't consider them friends per se, except for Neyo. The 21st was currently on their first and very limited shore leave after more than eleven months in the Outer Rim. His troops only returned to Coruscant for a classified mission for Mundi to run planetside. They all respected their General, but nobody was really interested in the Jedi duties the Cerean cited for their impromptu stay. What his men were actually interested in was stocking up on perishable and therefore rarely available foods and getting a drink at 79's. So that's where he currently found himself nursing some spotchka in a small booth in a corner. Nobody would dare to cause serious trouble and risk ending up in the drunk tanks or worse confined to their own cots back on the ship as long as he's present.

Their leave to Coruscant was scheduled on short notice. He didn't tell the other commanders about it because they wouldn't be at the homefront long enough to organize a meet up for batchers from different corps anyways.

So Bacara didn't expect to see anyone tonight. But even in the half darkness of the bar the very distinctive red of the local Marshall Commander's armor caught his eye instantly. Bacara was well aware the Guard always knee who was staying on Coruscant (he was pretty sure Fox also knew exactly where the others' deployments led them to and who of the commanders was currently sporting an injury grave enough to be reported to their medics and for what reason).

Fox seemed to notice him as well but took his time talking to a natborn Bacara didn't recognize nor care for before sauntering over to the only other clone still wearing a full kit except for the buckets. Bacara resigned himself to a conversation undoubtedly more suited to be held with a sober mindset but seeing the glasses the red armored man carried and the three empty glasses already stacked on his table it was a little late for that, wasn't it?

"Commander, it's a pleasure to see you and your men in our humble abode after such a long time."

Fox voice was smooth and even though he looked exhausted his smile actually reached his eyes. That's not something Bacara had seen often on his fellow Marshall Commander. He's also sporting some barely noticable fine scars and Bacara can't tell for sure what caused those.

"I'll make sure my men won't bother you. We're only planetside for two days anyways."

Fox nodded as he held out both glasses for Bacara to chose from. For a split moment his hands seemed to be a bit unsteady but maybe Bacara's eyes played tricks on him in the dim lights of the bar because the movement was gone in the blink of an eye. He took the smaller drink and held the glass out for a cheer. Fox clinked their glasses but instead of the usual Mando'a used by the commanders he cheered in crisp Concordian.

Bacara blinked. Oh so that's why everyone happily played along with Fox little games. That cold hearted idiot actually cared about them. So even the rational leader of the Galactic Marines being well aware of Fox coaxing him into a slightly unbalanced deal couldn't find it in him to say no too much. Nobody needed to know that he also decided to join the line of GAR commanders sending the Guard even more supplies than they asked for.

I don't know if Concordian actually has a different word for Mando'a "K'oyacyi" and if the Journeyman Protector training Bacara would have any incentive to use it in front of cadets but in this AU Bacara feels valued by Fox acknowledging his ever so slightly different cultural background as well as giving him the opportunity which drink to chose

[bonny-kookoo]

Hi Bonny, still Unstable.

What about a moment where JK's memory gets triggered and its a bittersweet recollection, like a first time where someone properly takes care of him, but MC does something similar and he feels ten times more the effects because she does it so much better...? Or something like that...?

Thanksss

-> Masterlist

Jungkook is curious.

You've been doing something he early isn't supposed to see- you've always got your back turned towards him, and you always take whatever you're making back to your room whenever you go for a full on rest. Which is something he's been wanting to ask you for a few days now.

He wants you to.. rest with him. Not just short naps, or company while you're awake.

He really enjoyed that one time you slept on his chest- the weight of your body, the scent of you, the feeling of your chest rising and falling with every breath- it all had an odd sense of comfort to it for him he can't explain. Maybe it was the clear display of trust in him. Maybe it was just.. the fact that you were willing to be so vulnerable so close to him. He's not sure.

Whatever you're making, you're protective of it. You never leave it out of sight, you spend hours of work on it every day, and you take it wherever you go so he doesn't ever get even just a glimpse of it. It makes him wonder.

It makes him.. hope? Maybe it's something for him? Is it a gift maybe?

It could also just be something for Jin, or yourself. He shouldn't think too greedy- just because you're both on a friendly basis now, and share a nest here and there, doesn't mean you're mates or anything. You see him as a provider and protector maybe at max- he shouldn't try and want more. He should be happy with what he has.

He sighs, as he rubs his eyes, and moves towards the nest he made in a cooler corner of the ship, near the other corner of the windows. It's a bit further away from you, but it'll be fine- you probably wouldn't want to sleep there with him anyways, since it's cold here and not as brightly lit as the other nesting spots. That's fine.

Just as he settled in the blankets and fabrics, he can sense you approaching, before something is placed over his body. It smells like.. you- its clear that whatever it is, it's soaked up your scent over time. His hand grabs onto it, pulling it a little so he can look at it, and he notices how soft it feels.

It's a blanket.

You made a blanket for him?

"It's a bit short.." you giggle, noticing how much you underestimated his body size but he almost protectively holds onto it when you try and take it back.

"Its-" perfect. It could've been just a tiny baby blanket and he would've felt as if he didn't deserve it.

You early put a lot of effort into it, and as he sits up and looks at it, he notices that he's never seen you use this type of yarn before. "I sold some of the.. little animals. When we re-fueled." You admit, sitting down in front of the nest he's sitting in. "I saw the soft yarn and thought.. you know, since you said you only like certain stuff?" You shrug, and he just watches you with eyes unreadable.

That's because he doesn't know what to think.

You clearly don't know how much a gesture like that means to him. He's been given a blanket before, but never one that's.. self-made. He always had to work for it, pay for it- but you clearly want nothing in return.

You just made one because in your opinion, he deserves it.

You yawn, hand covering your mouth, and he can't help himself. He can't hold himself back from pulling your wrist closer, helping you into the nest before he covers you up with sweaters and shirts and blankets and even bedsheets. You gotta stay warm. He knows it's cold in this corner but he needs you close now.

"Kook- I'm gonna need to actually sleep though-" You laugh, finding his concentrated face cute more than intimidating now. He's really lost his rough edge to you now that you got to know him- he's no longer intimidating, even when he's upset or angry or whenever he's too rough or clumsy in doing things or handling you. He's not evil. He doesn't have any ill intent.

"Then rest here." He growls. "Sleep here. You're warm, and it's not that bright." He argues. "You need darkness for your circadian rhythm right?" He mumbles mostly to himself, before he gets up and rushes towards the control console, tapping away until the lights turn off, except for a few blinking one's and some of the screens, dipping the entire center in nothing but the light of the stars outside, and the blue-ish hue of the small control screens here and there.

Only now do you notice that in the dark, his eyes are kind of reflective. But what's probably meant to instill fear of a predator in you, simply doesnt.

"There. Now sleep." He huffs, quietly adjusting the nest around you as he's back at your side, the blanket you made back over his shoulders, when you smile. "What?" He asks, a bit annoyed and clearly a bit unfamiliar to giving out any form of affection.

"I like you." You say again, and he cringes at you.

"You said that before." He tells you back, and you nod.

"And I'll say it until you finally get it." You giggle, making him look at you rather frustrated.

"Until I get what?" He asks, but you just shrug, closing your eyes, settling to sleep now-

And he's left with himself for a moment or two, simply watching you fall asleep, before he settles down next to you as well-

Darkness and silence hugging you close, as you drift through the galaxy together.

[loslentesdepedrito]

Paleta

Din gif by: @themandaloriansource My Masterlist

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x f!reader (Both Din and reader speak Spanish, and translations are provided.)

Word count: 11.2k+

Summary: You and Din accept a job to extract a flower from a planet neither of you has been to before. The instructions seem easy enough, but they do warn to be careful with the flower's pollen because of its unknown effects. Inspired by the song Paleta by Wisin & Yandel ft. Daddy Yankee.

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: canon divergent, can be considered dubious consent due to sex pollen, Din is a virgin in all aspects, and reader is not, poor Din being horny since the beginning, slight angst, happy ending, reader is shorter than Din and is carried by him in one scene, mami kink?, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), some nipple play, multiple orgasms, creampie, facial, slight cum eating, shy Din then confident Din. To my knowledge, the Star Wars Universe doesn't have a purple planet, so I borrowed the Purple Dimension from Marvel Comics.

A/N: If you haven't had the chance yet, I beg you to check out the artwork by @immarocketman. This specific Din is exactly what I had envisioned for one of the scenes here. Their talent is remarkable, and I plan to explore more of their blog soon. Also, I mentioned that I was considering leaving and promised to provide an answer, but truth be told, I still haven't decided 😅. More on that in the end notes. For now, just sit back and enjoy the story!

In the passenger chair behind you, Din's voice, agitated and piercing, breaks the silence of the ship's quiet hum. "Can you stop sucking on that thing?" His patience has finally reached its limit, worn down by the seemingly endless hours of watching you indulge in that infuriatingly purple lollipop. He's been forced to watch, and his frustration grows with each smacking pop you make.

Seated in the pilot's chair, you remain unfazed. The tone of Din's voice doesn't intimidate you; if anything, it amuses you. With a nonchalant pop, you remove the candy from your mouth, emitting a deliberate sound that only seems to fuel Din's annoyance.

"No," you reply plainly, still refusing to meet his gaze. You slide the sweet back between your lips and continue navigating the ship.

In the aftermath of a recent encounter with a Rancor that left Din nursing an injury on his left side, he reluctantly handed over the piloting duties to you as you traveled to a planet named the Purple Dimension – the location for your next assignment. Clutched tightly in Din's hand was a holopuck, its contents holding crucial information regarding the upcoming bounty hunt.

As the ship coursed through space, Din's growing frustration took its toll on the holopuck. The round object seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure of his grip. The puck contained a holographic image of the bounty—an exotic flower—its value measured in credits, along with instructions. The explicit instructions attached required the flower to be carefully extracted and returned unharmed, without its pollen, as it was thought that its pollen could contain a substance that might trigger an unknown reaction.

The substantial payoff stemmed from the fact that a botanist sought to study the flower beyond its native habitat, resorting to placing a bounty to facilitate this unconventional research, as the botanist was unable to travel to the planet where the flower exclusively thrived. The job was one of the most unusual ones you've had, but the reward led to you and Din accepting the job.

Your fingers, warmed by the prolonged contact with the ship's controls, grasp the handles. Four fingers curl around the black handles, while your thumbs press firmly on the top. Your focus stays fixed on the pitch-black expanse ahead, where the distant stars provide the only source of light. Absentmindedly, the lollipop remains in your mouth, licked without the need for your hands.

Abruptly, Din interjects, "It's going to give you cavities," he declares, his tone laden with frustration that transcends the mere mention of cavities—his concern sounding more like a personal grievance.

With casualness, you reply, not quite understanding the intensity of his objection, "I brush my teeth thrice a day."

Din persists, his annoyance evident. "It's going to leave your teeth stained."

Unbothered, you respond, "This one never does," as you continue to indulge in the sweet.

Din, seemingly pulling thoughts out of thin air, desperately tries to dissuade you from sucking that godforsaken candy. "Don’t you hate grape-flavored stuff?" he questions, grasping at any argument to put an end to the incessant sucking of the lollipop.

“It’s very berry-flavored. It tastes delicious; I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it,” you calmly assert, savoring the flavor while Din, in a moment of quiet frustration, squeezes the puck once more to stifle a groan at the words ‘It tastes delicious, I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it.'

“Just stop freaking sucking the lollipop!” Din suddenly roars, his composure slipping away.

“Who pissed on your breakfast today? Lower your voice, would you? The kid is sleeping,” you retort sharply, whipping your head behind to find Din’s metal helmet tipped back against the red cushion of his chair.

He grumbles.

“Why does my candy bother you?” you ask, shifting your attention back to the path ahead.

“Let’s switch,” Din says, getting up with a slight grit in his teeth that you don’t quite catch.

“You’re hurt,” you remind him, part stating the obvious and part expressing genuine concern.

“I'm better,” he insists, placing his hand right next to you on the control panel.

You gulp and, without uttering a word, rise from your seat, seamlessly swapping places with him. The front of the ship isn’t the most spacious, and when you and Din brush up against each other, a subtle electricity passes between you, and he feels himself crumble at the touch. If it weren’t for his entire body being covered in beskar, you would easily see the physical effect you have on him.

“It’s distracting,” Din mutters, attempting to mask and ignore his feelings once he's settled back into the pilot’s chair.

“Oh, just focus on the mission, tin man,” you roll your eyes at him.

Din sighs out in frustration, and his voice modulator emits a gruff tone. “For the thousandth time, my armor isn’t made out of tin-”

“It’s made from beskar,” you interject, mimicking him with a sly grin as you repeat the exact words.

He doesn’t appreciate your tone, and he turns to give you a hard look through his helmet’s T-visor. All Din can focus on, however, is the way your lips wrap around the round hard candy. It’s shiny, and he can hear the sucking and stickiness echoing in his helmet. He's been twitching and growing in his pants, desperately trying to wield away his arousal without resorting to adjusting himself or deep breaths. Fucking miss my codpiece, he thinks.

With an audible pop, you remove the lollipop from your mouth and extend it to Din. “Do you want some of my candy?”

“No,” he replies curtly.

“Then stop staring!” you retort, emphasizing the word 'staring'. “You’re so tense, Maker, you need to get laid.”

At your words, Din's hands jerk, and the ship plummets.

"Din!" you scream, your stomach churning as your heart lodges itself in your throat. The velocity of descent sends a surge of fear through your veins. One hand instinctively shoots out to grip the ship’s side, desperately seeking something to brace against, while the other clutches the child, keeping him from sliding off his seat.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Din mutters, skillfully lifting the ship back to its original height after the sudden drop.

As your heartbeat gradually regulates, you steal a glance at Grogu, finding him still peacefully asleep. You sense you hit a delicate spot with Din, prompting you to let go of the teasing for now.

Wanting to shift the conversation, you say, “I wonder why no one else took the job. It’s great pay for what seems like a relatively easy missio- I mean job.” The planet you're headed to isn't popular; people don’t say why, but not many choose to visit.

“You get the money and don’t question shit,” Din says even though he has the same question.

Choosing not to press further, you turn your attention to the window. Up ahead, there's a thin, straight brown light, expanding seemingly from the horizon and stretching into what appears to be an eternity.

“We’re going to pass through the barrier now,” Din announces. The brown light grows more pronounced as the ship steadily approaches.

You tighten your seatbelt, securing yourself further, and place a protective hand on Grogu. Din steers the spaceship forward, and the moment the ship makes contact with the barrier, it propels forward at a rapid speed.

The sensation makes your head a bit fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you're mesmerized by the surreal sights. Before you, four massive planets come into view. Oddly, they all appear to be precisely the same size. Each possesses a unique hue: Red, Purple, Green, and Yellow, standing in perfect alignment against the vast backdrop of the black vacuum of space.

Din goes straight for the purple planet, and as you draw closer, you're granted a more detailed view. The Purple Dimension, unlike its counterparts, lacks a ring. Indentations mark its surface, and as you approach, bodies of water and stunning mountain ranges become visible. Din tilts the ship, guiding it into the planet's atmosphere. The moment the ship breaches the surface, sheer awe envelops you. The bodies of water below cast an ethereal glow with bioluminescence, and the entire landscape bathes in an even color due to the indigo-tinted sky.

While you try to absorb the beauty of your surroundings in the darkness, the ship lands on a plain, sending purple dirt flying with the impact.

Din flicks off some switches, and you unbuckle your seat belt. “What do we do with Grogu?” you ask, standing up.

“We take him.”

“Are you sure? I can go and retrieve the flower, and you stay here with the kid,” you suggest.

“No. We’ll all go,” he declares, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay then. You’ve got the tracking fob, right?”

He hums in confirmation and retrieves the holopuck, activating it to reveal a holograph. A large flower materializes, towering at least 8 inches minus its stem. Eight petals surround a prominent style, with smaller styles adorning the central one. The holograph lacks vivid color, displaying only muted hues of blue that make it a challenge to discern the flower's true colors from the image alone.

“The target is on the water,” Din informs, and as if on cue, the child wakes up. You both cast a quick glance at the child, who begins to coo and blink up at both of you. It's a familiar routine for Grogu; he knows when you both have jobs and patiently waits for one of you to leave so he can follow.

“It was explicitly stated that the flower needed to have its roots, so…,” you bend down to retrieve an item you purchased. Unbeknownst to you, Din's gaze lingers, tracing the contours of your form as you unfold a blanket from what seems to be a ceramic container. He tries to maintain composure, but he can't help the involuntary hitch in his breath, his eyes irresistibly drawn to you. You finally stand back up, and with a smile, you unveil a flower pot.

“La compré para plantar la flor por si acaso (I bought this to plant the flower just in case),” you say, the sincerity in your voice softening the edges of your teasing banter. The idea of the flower handing in the flower lifeless after your efforts is not an option.

Din, his gaze lingering on you, manages to tilt his head slightly and inquire, “¿Cuánto te costó?” (How much did it cost you?)"

“No mucho (not a lot),” you brush him off casually, heading towards the exit with the flowerpot cradled in your arms. There's no need to call for the little boy; he immediately follows you in his floating pram.

“Esta niña (this girl),” Din grumbles, hands on his waist, shaking his head. He gives himself a silent pep talk, repeating that he can't entertain certain thoughts about you. Wishing for just five minutes—hell, two minutes—to work himself and spill over his fist, so he could stop the relentless thoughts. The thoughts that have replayed in his mind throughout the entire journey persist, and he knows they'll linger, continuing to haunt him.

After a few deep breaths, Din speed walks to the exit, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the ship. He finds you and Grogu outside, with you carrying a bag over your shoulders, facing the water.

You're absorbed in the breathtaking sight, and it reinforces why you love your job as a bounty hunter. Yes, you deal with tracking down criminals, and yes, your renowned career is undeniably dangerous. But sights like this one make you believe it's worth it, plus traveling with Din and the baby is an added bonus. Grogu is an adorable kid, and Din is… Din.

You hear the Razor Crest's door closing and quickly capture a mental picture of the landscape. The ship lands on a purplish mountain range, not tall enough to obscure the view of the river below, yet sufficiently elevated. The sky, a dark shade of purple, accentuates the breathtaking brilliance of the stars. All the purple stretches out for miles, and even the majority of the forestation is painted in indigo hues. You turn your head by 90 degrees and are met with plum-colored plains stretching as far as the eye can see. Back to where the ship landed, there appears to be a beach, the sand's natural hue indeterminable against the sky's purple tint. However, the water is unmistakably translucent, a purplish-blue adorned with white sparkles, bioluminescent in nature. A few feet from the shore, a large forest comes into view, and hints of green seem to intermingle within the purple foliage. It's a strange sight, seeing such distinct biomes coexisting within a close distance, a landscape unlike any you've seen before.

“C’mon,” Din says, taking the lead. You and the child follow, catching up to his long strides. The ground beneath you feels somewhat familiar, similar to your home planet, yet you know better than to let your guard down. There's always a chance of something lurking, ready to trip you up, as you've learned the hard way before.

Silence envelops your trio until you reach the edge of the mountain. Grogu heads in a straight line, beginning a slow descent.

“Wait,” Din orders, making the first move to ensure the steps are secure before stretching out his gloved hand. You hesitate for a moment, apprehensive about making a fool of yourself at the slightest contact. Eventually, you wrap your fingers around Din’s hand, shivering at the unexpected warmth beneath his glove's black palm, contrasting with the cold yellow exterior. Din guides you as you land on the flat part of the mountain, offering a mix of instructions in a steady rhythm. “One foot in front of the other, watch your step, cuidado (careful),” he advises. This pattern continues as Din takes the lead, guiding your descent until you reach the base, where Grogu patiently waits.

Once you reach the sandy shore, you follow Din, who has the tracking fob out. He heads to the left, where many boulders create a makeshift wall. From the mountain's top, you had noticed the forest in that direction, just a few steps beyond the boulders and near the deeper part of the water. As you follow Din, you feel the temperature rising, and gradually, a wave of heat washes over you. The sun's intensity beats down, and warmth starts to cling uncomfortably to your skin.

Amidst the heat, a realization strikes you: you have something in your bag that could melt." Quickly unzipping the black bag, you retrieve a chocolate bar, its usual vibrant red wrapper transformed into a different hue by the planet's purple coloring. The word 'Tronky' is written in its original white letters, standing out against the altered shiny plastic. The wrapper displays an image of the candy, resembling a tree trunk with a few hazelnuts and a single leaf. The candy itself is thin, requiring only a few bites to finish.

Din, on high alert, hears a crinkle and turns to look behind. He's met with the sight of you biting into the wafer chocolate bar. As the hazelnut spread hits your tongue, you moan in delight. Din's boot gets stuck between a rock on the sand, and his body lurches forward. Before he can plummet to the ground, he manages to hold himself up with a large boulder. The wind blows his cape as he straightens up. Knowing better than to ask if he's okay, you pretend you didn't see and walk next to him, just in case he trips again. The crunch of the wafer blends in with the soothing sounds of waves crashing on the shore.

“Que rico (So good),” you mumble to yourself, throwing your head back.

Against his will, Din looks at you, captivated by all your features illuminated against the purple light. He plays with his cape, determined to focus on the tracking device to avoid crushing it. Din tries to ignore the sounds you think you’re hiding, silently praying you'll finish that chocolate bar soon. As the forest comes into view, he turns to tell you where to go. However, what he sees nearly has him stumbling again. You’ve finished the bar, and melted chocolate sits on your bottom lip.

“You’ve umm…” Din points at his own lips over his mask.

Confusion clouds your expression, and you stand there, looking bewildered. He points back at his helmet, “your…” he trails off. Still not understanding, you remain puzzled, and he puts the tracker in his pocket before stepping forward.

“Tienes chocolate en tu labio (you have chocolate on your lip),” he says in a low voice, placing one hand behind your head while using the other to touch your lips. You feel the soft and grainy texture of the leather against your skin, and you gasp, parting your lips. Din wipes off the chocolate in one smooth flick of his wrist. In that moment, he's thankful for his training, as it's the only reason he manages to slowly withdraw his hands, fighting the urge to put his finger inside your mouth.

Your brain short circuits, and you're only capable of whispering, “gracias (thank you.)"

Din nods his head and continues walking toward the forest. As you approach, you notice at the edge there's a large flower.

“Hey, is that what we’re looking for?” you say excitedly, pointing to the glowing flower that stands out.

Both of you pick up the pace and eventually reach it. There's no need to delve into the forest since the plant is a good two feet away from the trees, near the shoreline.

“Magellanica sinensis,” Din says, identifying the flower.

“Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. “Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. It's an exact replica of what's on the holopuck. In person, the eight big petals' exterior is a deep shade of purple. When you look closely, the inside of the flower displays a lighter color—you guess it's pink. As you observe, specs on the petals of different sizes become apparent, and you can't help but admire the dark veins running through the petals, resembling ink spilled and delicately bleeding through the vibrant hues of purple. You also notice seven stamens with equally spaced, fluffy anthers forming a circle. Similar to a hibiscus flower, this plant has one tall pistil. You inhale deeply as the pleasant aroma that makes you think of apples hits your nose when you lean closer. The water surrounding the plant captivates you as well. You feel an undeniable impulse to step into the water, but Din's voice pulls you away from that tempting idea.

“You brought the tools?”

“Yes,” you affirm, scrambling to take them out of your bag. Kneeling on the lilac-purple sand, you retrieve the gardening tools: a shovel, a large hand rake, and gloves. As they lay before you, you glance up at Din, finding him looking down at you, illuminated by the soft purple glow. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so beautiful.

Little do you know, Din is thinking the same thing about you. There you are on your knees, looking up at him, and he can't help but imagine you in that same position in a different scenario. It's what he thought about last night in his room, tugging and tugging at himself, spilling on his sheets. Every time he succumbs to such desires, a pit of guilt and shame envelops him—just like now, snapping him back to reality.

“Please gather soil in the pot, and I'll remove the plant from the ground,” Din instructs, an unusual 'please' slipping from his lips. You nod, and he hands you the rake while he takes the shovel. Not bothering to get up, you crawl a little to the right, away from the flower, and start scooping soil onto the orange pot, careful not to disturb any loose leaves. As you work, a good layer of soil forms on the ceramic, creating a small pile ready for Din once he puts the flower inside.

He asks for the recipient, and you swiftly hand it to him. Watching attentively, you see him gently add the glowing plant to the flowerpot. The roots are surprisingly long, and you're thankful you opted for an extra-large pot. Your intuition about the flower's size was right—it's almost the size of your head, and the roots add even more height.

“Pásame la tierra,” Din requests, looking at the plant and realizing it needs more soil to cover the roots. You comply, handing him more soil while he reminds you to keep your distance since the obvious powder over the petals still needs to be cleaned.

“It’s getting too dark; I’ll take it back, and you take the child to his room. I'll clean the flower before we depart,” Din decides, prioritizing your safety and the kid's.

You collect the tools, put them back in your bag, and finally get up.

“You and the kid go first,” he insists, leaving no room for argument.

After walking back past the boulders and climbing the mountain, you take Grogu to his room, tucking him into bed. A smile creeps onto your face as you recall shopping with Din and his stress about finding the best mattress. You lost count of how many vendors assumed you and Din were parents to the same child, making references to you as his wife. Din was glad he never took off his mask in front of others, as he got flustered every time someone made that assumption.

With the baby quickly asleep, you quietly make your way back down to see what's taking Din so long.

You're walking down the dock when you hear Din cuss.

“Are you okay?” you ask, alarmed at the possibility that he might have hurt himself while carrying the heavy pot.

“Yeah, I just hurt my side, and it’s still tender,” Din grits through his teeth, aware that he can't hide the truth from you; you'd see right through any lie.

“Come here,” you beckon, but it’s you who walks to him. You guide him to sit on a bench and position yourself between his knees. Din avoids meeting your gaze, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sensing his discomfort, you ask, “Do you think it’s bruised?” You notice that before you arrived, he had peeled off a small part of his body stocking over his side.

You catch a glimpse of his exposed skin, only the second time you've seen it—the first being when he took off his gloves while you were injured and bleeding out two months ago.

“Can I touch you?” you whisper.

Din can't handle the question, especially with the way you're looking up at him. His arm jerks over the bench. He feels the flower pot and, through his cloudy and hazy mind, briefly remembers he placed the flower there. But it's too late; he accidentally knocks it over, and it plummets onto the ship’s floor.

The pot shatters, and you're both engulfed in a cloud of yellow dust. Shocked, you gasp and inadvertently inhale the powder. Violent coughs rack your body, and you close your eyes to shield them from the unknown substance. The powder doesn’t relent; it keeps engulfing you, and your throat constricts. Uncomfortable sensations intensify and your senses heighten. The thumping of your heartbeat becomes almost deafening, and you scramble to get up.

Din, shielded by his suit, doesn’t feel the same effects, but he sees your struggle and panics. All of his instincts are screaming to do something and in a desperate move, he takes off his helmet with an audible hiss. The powder rushes toward his nostrils, and he can't prevent inhaling it. Quickly, he lifts it off his head and rushes to place it over yours. You feel a cold metal sensation over your head, and your vision darkens. Confused, you raise your hands to your head, realizing Din's helmet is now covering you. The powder is less potent with the beskar helmet, but since you lack the full armor, some dust still infiltrates your system. Amidst the odd sensations and confusion, one emotion surges to the forefront: desire.

Knowing Din's helmet is over your head, you suddenly realize his face is exposed. Though tempted to open your eyes, you resist, knowing his creed means everything to him. You actively fight against yourself to keep your eyes shut.

Now, it's Din who is the most exposed. He holds his breath to avoid inhaling the substance, but he quickly discovers that not breathing only intensifies the burning sensation in his throat, forcing him to open up his breathing—what the powder wants.

Din can't endure it any longer. He takes you by the hand and pulls you urgently, all his instincts urging him to claim you as his own. As he guides you to his room to escape the relentless pollen, he can feel himself growing harder with each step.

The slightest friction from his suit elicits a sigh of relief. You hear him, and it causes the dampness between your thighs to intensify. Both of you, eyes still closed, manage to reach Din’s room.

He pushes you inside and closes the door. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether keeping you in the same confined space as him was a mistake. Then, he hears your sweet voice.

“Din, it hurts,” you say, on the verge of tears.

“What hurts, cyar'ika?” he questions, feeling a pain of his own. He recognizes the ache he's experiencing—a longing that hurts, the pain of not being able to reach you, entwine his body with yours. He wonders if the powder is affecting his virgin ass differently.

“I-” The words catch in your throat, and with eyes shut, you sit down on Din’s mattress. It's so soft, and the scent of him surrounds you. With trembling hands, you lift the helmet off your head. “I just… I feel like my body hurts,” you reply vaguely.

“Where?” He rasps, eyes flying open as he sees you lying down and squirming on his bed. His resolve crumbles, and he has to physically restrain himself against the wall to resist walking toward you.

“Uhh,” you breathe, the sound morphing into a moan. “Between my thighs,” you admit, unable to lie. Your entire focus is consumed by the desperate need to touch yourself, to feel Din's touch.

“Din,” you whine, and the plea only makes him clench his fists, fighting the urge to go to you. “You should leave.”

“Can’t leave you alone,” Din chokes out, his gaze fixed on you as you start unbuttoning your pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, your hand finding its way down to your core. Despite any potential embarrassment, the overwhelming sensation induced by the pollen outweighs everything. With Din in the room, you can't resist the burning desire.

As your hand slides underneath the soft fabric of your panties, instant relief washes over you. Rubbing circles over your clit, you thrash on Din’s bed, succumbing to the frenzy of desire that the pollen has ignited.

Din can’t bring himself to close his eyes. A little voice demands him to keep his eyes open and to touch you. He hears your whines, and he feels his body temperature rise. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bites the leather, tasting its texture briefly. He doesn’t dwell on it too long; he rips his head away, and the glove dangles between his teeth. Frantically, he repeats this for the other hand. Now, his hands and head are bare. Din's gaze is on you again, and he sees that now you’ve got your entire hand between your thighs. A strangled noise escapes his throat, and you keep moaning, causing sweat to bead on Din’s forehead without any physical exertion.

With your eyes still closed, you don’t know what Din is doing. Following your instincts, you have your entire hand between your thighs, your index and middle fingers delving deep, while your thumb works on your pearl. Wet squelching sounds, along with your moans, fill the room.

“So wet,” you mutter unconsciously. It’s true; you have so much slick that it’s dripped onto your underwear, feeling uncomfortably wet.

“‘M so-oh!-sorry.” Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as the relentless effect of the substance refuses to subside. Frustration mounts with each attempt, as you’ve tried every flicker on your pearled nub that would usually get you to your climax at this point, but nothing.

You huff and slide your free hand underneath your black shirt. When your hand makes contact with the bare skin, goosebumps erupt across your body. The scalding warmth of your hand travels to your right breast, and as your fingertips hit the smooth fabric of your plain black bra, you bend the cup to reach your nipple. It's pebbled and sensitive to the touch. You hiss but find some pleasure when you roll it between your thumb and index digits.

“Din, I’m so sorry. I can’t stop,” you confess, apology evident in your tone as you work both hands in a feverish attempt to reach your peak. Feeling it build and build, it doesn’t come. Mortified by the silence you think, I’ve made him uncomfortable; he’s going to hate me and kick me o-

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he pants, and amidst the haze of desire, you hear the distinct clatter of metal hitting the floor.

“Din? ¿Qué estás haciendo? (What are you doing?)” you ask, not panicked by the idea of him being naked, but rather concerned that the drug might be compelling him into actions he doesn't want to take. You can say with full confidence that you’ve certainly entertained fantasies involving Din, though not this exact scenario, but the thought of him touching himself has fueled countless fantasies that ended in a mess on your bedsheets while you stifled your own cries with your hand.

Your curiosity battles with respect for his privacy; you so badly want to open your eyes and see him, but you know he's never allowed you to see him before. You won't risk making things worse by breaching that boundary.

“Din?” you ask again.

“Uhh,” comes his broken moan. “Cyar'ika- ahh,” he pants, “p-perdóname, perdóname (forgive me, forgive me),” he utters apologies, and your heightened hearing sharpens. The wet sounds of skin against skin reach your ears, and your heart rate spikes as you realize what he's doing – fisting his dick between his hands.

When the realization crosses your mind, you sit up suddenly. Din takes in your disheveled state – hair tousled, chest heaving, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. He's scared that he might have crossed a line and spooked you. But in your mind, it's quite the opposite. You feel the need to go to your own room; if you stay with Din, you'll break.

“I should go to my quarters,” you say, attempting to get leave. However, you take two steps and stumble.

“No, please. I… I need you,” Din pleads. He's terrified of what this situation means for him, yet he can't bear the thought of you leaving.

“Din, I don’t know what I’ll do if I stay,” you confess. Conversations about your sexual lives have remained nonexistent, as any attempt to bring up the topic with Din has been met with him tensing up.

“Tell me if you want me to take you to my bed. If not, I’ll leave, I promise,” Din says sincerely.

Your mind spins at the thought of finally being with Din, but then, logistical concerns invade your thoughts. You bring your palms over your eyes, ready to shield them just in case you open them involuntarily.

“You don’t have your helmet,” you point out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, and you hear him walking over to you. He gently touches your hands, slowly prying them away. You can feel the heat radiating from both of you, your bodies near boiling. Even though your eyelids are closed, you sense a soft blue light hitting your eyes.

“Mírame (Look at me),” Din whispers.

"Din, your creed… it means everything to you," you murmur with your eyes shut, your concern and care evident in your voice, not wanting him to sacrifice a fundamental part of himself.

He lifts his gaze, and in the soft glow of the room’s blue lights, his eyes speak volumes. "It’s not my creed that means everything to me. It’s you.” He's more than just a Mandalorian at that moment; he’s a man longing to share a part of himself with someone who understands—someone who means more to him than any set of rules or traditions ever could. He’s a man eager to bare every fiber of his being in a way he has never done before to the woman who holds the key to his heart.

"Din," you whisper, your voice carrying a subtle tremor of emotion. The weight of his admission washes over you like a gentle wave, a profound realization of the depth of his feelings. Your heart skips a beat, and a cascade of butterflies takes flight in your stomach as you grasp the tenderness of his words. As it dawns on you that he's opening up, willing to share this intimate part of himself that he's guarded so fiercely, it feels like he has unlocked a door to a chamber of his heart that few have entered. You find yourself standing on the threshold, touched by the privilege of being allowed in.

Your eyes flutter open, and a rush of emotions floods your heart as you see him for the first time. He's older than you, his black hair carrying beads of sweat on his temples. His eyes, a captivating shade of brown, reflect your own gaze back at you. You're drawn to the aquiline nose that gives his face character, and you have a fleeting desire to trace its pattern with your finger. His lips, the lower one slightly plusher, hold a subtle pout, and above them, a well-groomed mustache adds a touch of rugged charm. Stubble decorates his strong jaw, and you notice patches of bare skin, hinting at his inability to grow a full beard – a delightful detail you can't wait to tease him about later.

As you take in the sight before you, Din notices your expression but struggles to decipher it. Your parted lips and tear-filled eyes stir a fear within him, a nagging doubt that he's made a grave mistake. She hates what she sees. This was a mistake. I never should have told her-

"You're so beautiful, Din," the words flow from your lips in a breathy whisper as you tenderly caress his face. His rugged features soften under your touch, but in the midst of this beautiful moment, an involuntary twitch stirs within him.

In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement and let your gaze fall to his lower half. A gasp passes through your lips as you take in the full extent of him. Din, however, misinterprets your reaction, and he finds himself entangled in self-deprecating thoughts. Insecurity gnaws at him as he wonders, Maybe she's seen better. Am I not big enough?

A sudden impulse takes over, and before you realize it, you find yourself on your knees, looking up at Din with blown pupils. The groan that escapes from deep within his lungs is a mix of surprise, desire, and fulfillment. His mind races with the realization that his once-confined dirty dreams are now becoming a reality. A fleeting question crosses his mind: Should I tell her?

"Can I?" you ask, your eyes fixated on his erection, your mouth watering. "Can I touch you?" You clarify.

"Yes, please," he responds, his heavy-lidded eyes looking down at you intently.

Taking a moment to admire Din, you notice the trimmed patch of dark hair leading to his belly button. His thickness is accentuated by veins running along, but your focus zeroes in on a prominent blue vein down the middle, forking at the end. He's cut, and whether it's the blue light or the effect of the powder, you notice a purple hue at the tip, where he's leaking pre-cum. From above you, Din pleads for you to do something.

You oblige, and you take him into your hands, smearing the liquid down to his base. There's an abundance, allowing you to thoroughly coat him. At your touch, Din's head falls backward, and his thighs tremble under the intensity of having another person’s hand on him for the first time.

"Uhn," he breathes out at the sensation of your warm hands enveloping him in a tight grip. Your fingers struggle to wrap fully around his thick length, Oh, he doesn’t fit in my hand, you realize. Adjusting quickly, you bring your left hand to join, both hands working together as they move up and down, utilizing his pre-cum as natural lubrication. Mindful not to cause any discomfort, you bring your mouth closer, preparing to add saliva to further coat him.

"Umm… I've never done this before," Din confesses in a tone you almost miss.

His words cause you to pause, confusion evident on your face as you squirm on your knees. The yellow dust in your bloodstream seems to intensify your need for him by a million.

"Handjob?"

Din appears panicky, realizing he admitted to something he wasn't sure how you would react to. There's no taking the words back, and he opts for honesty. "Everything," he confesses, looking away from you.

It takes a while for you to process his admission. "Oh!” He's a virgin?

Din exhales, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I just killed the mood, didn’t I?"

"No, no, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Really, I'm just shocked. It’s just, it’s you. You’re so beautiful. I mean, I was, um, attracted to you when I met you. I wouldn’t have guessed.” Your voice turns into a hushed whisper. "Although things make sense now.” You tap on his side to make him look down at you. "I’m sorry for assuming," you say, fully honest and apologetic, and then get up.

He looks at you with eyes filled with shame and embarrassment.

"Come here," you say with a reassuring smile and slowly guide him backward until the back of his legs are touching the bed. You raise your hands, place them on his shoulders, and gently press down. Now with Din seated, you kneel once more.

Your eyes can’t help but be pulled to his glistening dick. "Do you want this? Are you sure it's not just the powder? Because I feel it too," you pause, exhaling as the ache in your cunt intensifies. "But I need you to want this with me. It's okay if you don't. We can do other stuff until the effects wear off."

"I do, I do want you," Din nods desperately.

You can sense the sincerity in his words, and the mutual need between you two becomes increasingly difficult to resist. Knowing you can't delay both of your desires any longer, you lower your head slightly and purse your lips. Once you feel a decent stream of saliva accumulate in your mouth, you spit on Din's cock.

"Uh, fuck," he moans in a pained voice. The sight of you spitting on him triggers primal feelings within him, desires he never realized he had until this moment. Now that he's seen it, he knows he wants you to repeat it, as long as you're willing. The urge to tell you to do it again is strong, but when he sees you opening your mouth and guiding his cock into it, coherent thoughts are replaced with pure gibberish.

His head breaches your lips, and the immediate warmth that surrounds his length is otherworldly. "Oh, oh," Din chants, the sensation feeling entirely foreign but undeniably pleasurable as your tongue dances along his sensitive tip.

Sitting back on your knees, you take a moment to admire the man before you. Din throws his head back in pleasure, but as soon as he realizes he can't see you, he quickly brings it forward to look down at you. Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on you, they occasionally flutter close. Each time they do, he pries them open, forcing them back open, but against his will, they shut again.

He must feel overwhelmed, you think. You want to take it slow, build up to it, but the drug-like substance won't allow for such restraint.

Din opens and closes his mouth, clearly wanting to speak. "You can say it," you encourage him, though your words come out muffled. You peer at him through your eyelashes, continuing to suck.

"It- ah… feels good. You make me feel good."

"Oh, Din, good boy," you praise in your head, his words causing everything in you to flutter, making you more determined to bring him even more pleasure. To reward him, you take a deep breath through your nose, attempting to relax your throat. Once you feel sufficiently relaxed, your hands find Din's hips, careful not to press on the red-blue bruise on his left side. Gripping him firmly with both hands, you rise on your knees, sitting taller, and push your mouth against him in one swift motion.

Din jolts, sitting down abruptly, and “Nngh,” a strangled growl escapes him at the sudden sensation of having his entire dick shoved down your throat. His breathing intensifies, unsure of what to do with his hands. He resorts to gripping his sheets, and sweat begins to dampen his hair, falling onto his forehead.

Maintaining him in the depths of your throat for a few moments, you try your best to stifle any urge to gag. As you begin to pull away, Din lets out incoherent mumbles.

Your fingertips ghost over his injury, then press gently, eliciting a broken groan. "Does your side hurt?" you ask, retreating your fingers.

Din felt a surge of desire when you pressed on his bruise. Though he's embarrassed to admit yet another thing, considering how you tried to hold back for him, he decides to be honest with you. "A little, but… I like it.”

“Oh?” you say, surprised. “Well, we'll explore that next time,” you tell him, quite excited to discover more about what makes him reel.

You remove your hand from his left side and bring it to his shaft. Your fingers sprawl across the thickness, and Din feels them move over his veins. The sensitivity makes him pant out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

With his dick pointing up, you bring your head to the level of his pecs and envelop his tip with your lips. “Oh, fuck, ohh,” he grunts, then loses control of his hands, and his elbows give out. Stumbling backward, his back hits the mattress.

“Din!” you gasp in concern, but your words come out incoherent since you still have him in your mouth. Before you can rise on your legs and lean over to check if he’s okay, he sits back up, his stomach moving. Observing the way the slight roundness of his stomach jumps, you find it attractive and groan into him.

“Ah,” he says, mouth dropping and eyes fluttering.

You relish the effect you have on him, bobbing your head over the tip repeatedly. Instead of going further, you focus on licking his slit every once in a while, savoring the pre-cum that's leaking onto your fist.

While he's a mess above you, Din is captivated by the color and shape of your lips. Her lips… over me… it’s, uh, so good.

Desiring some friction, you rock your hips, though it's to no avail. You whine into him, the vibrations causing Din to groan. Shit, shit, shit, he pants in his head as the heat in his stomach snaps.

Feeling him pulse in your mouth, and judging by his sounds, you know he’s about to cum. Your slick sticks to the inside of your pants at the thought of swallowing his load. Din frantically tries to warn you to get off, “Cum! I’m- ahh,” you don’t let up; you just increase your pace. In the blink of an eye, hot, salty liquid explodes in your mouth. You try to take as much as you can, but you can’t swallow everything fast enough. Gulp after gulp, there’s more, and it spills from your lips onto your right hand that’s wrapped around his base, even landing on the dark patch of hair on his pubic area.

“Oh, fuck,” Din moans, drawing out the K, his hips unconsciously raising ever so lightly, rocking more of him into your mouth.

Once his high subsides, you remove yourself from him and rise from your knees to touch his face, looking to the side. “Din,” you call, and since he doesn’t move his head, you shift to the side of the bed to be face-to-face with him. Your heart breaks when you see his coffee eyes brimming with tears.

“Baby,” you say softly, and it prompts Din's tears to fall. “Why are you crying?” you question gently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “dank farrik, I’m so pathetic,” Din shakes his head.

“You’re not pathetic, Din,” you assure him.

He inhales sharply. “It’s just that this is the first time… the first time I’ve, um, orgasmed from the hands of another person. For so long, I could never do anything because I was taught it was wrong. I even felt guilty the first time I touched myself, and I just can’t help but feel like I’ve committed some big transgression.”

For a moment, you're stumped. You want to comfort him but are unsure if you'll make things worse while he’s vulnerable.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you decide to say. You sit next to him, mindful not to touch him. “I hate that you feel like that. Because what we did shouldn’t make you feel bad. We’re two consenting adults—well, as much as we can think straight because of that weird pollen,” you say, and Din laughs, making you smile. You continue, “Single adults. You shouldn’t feel guilty, Din; it’s natural. We can stop if you want. I won’t think any less of you, I promise,” you bring a hand to your chest and make an X over your heart.

"I still want to continue," he says, reaching for your hand. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but everyone has always instilled this belief in me. It feels good hearing from someone else that I shouldn’t feel guilty."

"Okay, baby," you tell him. "What do you want to do next?" You want to make sure the ball is in his court and that you’re not guided by the drug in your system.

"Well, I’m still hard," he says, and you look down to see that, indeed, it's true.

"Oh, wow. I’d take that as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of the flower.”

"I want to do something for you now," Din says, rising to his feet and pushing you to lay down on the soft mattress. You instinctively part your legs, and he's the one on his knees now, playing with the unbuttoned button. "May I?" he asks in the sweetest voice.

You lift your hips, and Din hooks his fingers on the waistband of your pants. He begins to slide them down quite fast, leaving you in your panties. Maker, I can see through her underwear, Din mutters in his head, melting at the sight.

"Your thighs, they’re all wet," he comments out loud.

You giggle and cross your hands at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. "That’s all ‘cause of you, baby," you say in a sultry voice as you unhook your bra and throw it behind you.

Din loses his train of thought when he sees your exposed chest. He stares, mouth agape.

“They’re so…pretty,” he says, mesmerized and blushing. Suddenly, he begins to paw at your panties, rips them off you, and hooks your legs over his shoulders with ease.

You gasp in shock, and it turns to a whine when Din dips his head between your parted thighs, licking an experimental stripe from your tight hole up to your clit. “Ah! D-Din!” you sit up a bit and tangle your hands in his black curls. He groans into you, driven by pure instinct and fragments of recollection from what he had heard when he was working by himself. Attempting to recall bits he had gathered here and there from conversations in bars.

He laps at your juices, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive points, closing his eyes, fully enjoying the taste, moaning out so lovingly almost as though he was the one receiving pleasure. Shit, Din growled in his mind, she tastes so good. You were a moaning mess above him. He was a little sloppy, but his eagerness and hot tongue more than made up for it.

“Mmm…You’re doing great. Just here,” you say and tell him how to touch your clit. After a few words of guidance, Din has it wrapped around his lips.

“Ohhh!” you yelp and rut your hips against his mouth as he sucks your bundle of nerves. His eyes shut in sheer pleasure, the sultry sounds of your moans fueling his desire. You are surprisingly close, and your entire body is covered with a sheer layer of sweat. Your arms and abdomen tire, and you lay down. You raise your head a little, just enough to see Din use his tongue against your pearled nub and bring one hand from your hip to your thighs. You watch in excitement as he lets go of your right leg over his shoulder and flips his wrist on his ventral side. Very gently, he takes his index and middle finger and presses them against your entrance.

"Is this okay?" he rasps, pushing more of his fingers into your slick warmth.

You nod your head fervently, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you open. “Mm… I love your fingers," you gasp. "So good- they feel so good."

Din thrusts his fingers deeper, feeling your warm, wet walls clench around him already, feeling you sucking him in further.

"You're getting wetter," he observes, his voice a low growl, not expecting a response.

"Th-that's ‘cus you're," you pause to huff, "making me feel so much pleasur- ah!" you scream when he presses against your sweet spot and you continue to tell him he's doing a good job. "You can try opening and closing your fingers," you suggest.

He scissors his fingers and unexpectedly wraps his lips around your sensitive bud, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

You moan and writhe, lost in the pleasure he’s providing. "Your mouth, Din! Oh, Maker- fuck!" The words tumble from your lips, a symphony of desire, as your body quivers with impending release. "Din!" His name escapes your lips in a sharp, forced breath as you shatter into blissful climax.

In the depths of his mind, Din revels in the satisfaction of making you cum. The only twinge of regret is that he couldn't witness the ecstasy on your face, still occupied with his fingers buried inside you, working with his tongue on your swollen bud. He’s panting and you tell him to come up. Unaware of your plea, he continues his fervent attention, his fingers and tongue working together. You tug at his hair, urging him to rise. When he lets up, he slowly withdraws his digits and relishes the gasp you elicit.

Face to face with you, like a sculptor admiring his masterpiece, he adores the way your hair sticks to your forehead, and your expression is drenched in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Kiss," you command, pulling him closer, lips hungry for him.

He complies, and the moment his lips meet yours, it feels like a burst of lightning goes off in his head. His heart leaps wildly in his chest, and inside your stomach, a flurry of butterflies suddenly and furiously takes flight. A low groan escapes him when your tongues meet.

The air seems to dissipate in his lungs, and reluctantly, he tears his mouth away. Panting, his forehead touches yours as he confesses, "I've never tasted myself before."

"Do you like it?"

"From your lips? Yes," he admits, a shy tone lingering in his voice.

You've decided you like making him blush, so you lean in and whisper into his ear, "Maybe you'll like it even more when you're licking it from my pussy."

A low groan escapes Din, and he pushes you back into the mattress. Catching your mouth, the first kiss you shared had been softer and hesitant, but this one is all-consuming. He pours every pent-up feeling he's harbored for you into the searing kiss. You feel his hard length pressing against your hip, prompting you to break the kiss and spread your legs as far as you can with Din hovering above you.

"Are you ready, baby?" you ask Din, running your fingers along the contours of his face.

Not trusting his words, he nods, his eyes filled with a hunger matching yours.

“We should stay in this position so you can control the movement," you suggest, still feeling the lingering effects of the flower, though now slightly subdued after Din made you cum.

“Are we okay to um…” Din hesitates, not knowing how to initiate the conversation about protection.

“I’ve got an implant, oh, and you can come inside if you want.”

Din looks down at you, a near-helpless expression on his face. You wrap one leg around his waist, and he grips himself in his hand. His breathing hitches as he guides himself to your entrance. You notice some hesitance in his eyes, so you lift your head to kiss his nose and whisper that it's okay.

Din presses his tip inside you and lowers his entire body to yours, careful not to crush you. His mouth seeks yours to muffle the noises he's sure will escape his lips any second now. Ohh, Maker. How does she f-feel this good? Din asks himself, unable to believe that such pleasure exists. Of course, I can only find it in her, he concludes.

Meanwhile, you feel your body temperature rising. He's unbelievably girthy, and you feel all of his veins and ridges as your body molds to his. Din presses his knees on the mattress and thrusts more of himself into you. Your breath is stolen from your lungs when your body works overtime to open up. Din felt you tense and muttered apologies after apologies, but you reassured him that you were okay; it was just taking you a while to fully take him. He stilled and slowly withdrew himself as much as he could. Your body was not letting him go, and he was only giving you less than half of his cock to open you up. When you begged him for more, he complied, and he pushed more of himself faster this time. You spread your legs wider, and when he bottomed out, "Ah! Uhn…Di-Din!" you cried, and your eyes shut closed, overwhelmed.

“Hah– fuck,” Din spat out, hips suddenly stuttering, feeling your soft, velvety walls tightening. No, no, not yet, Din scolds himself. He grits his teeth and stops moving to get himself to calm down.

When he stops pounding you, you close your legs around him, making you tighter.

"B-baby, don't do that," Din chokes.

You open your eyes and see that he's looking at you intently, so you spread your legs apart once more. When they touch the mattress, Din pulls out, leaving just his head in, and quickly thrusts himself back into your pussy.

In response, you squeal and claw at his back. That seems to give him more motivation, and he continues to brutally take you. The room is filled with the sounds of wet squelching noises, moans, grunts, you calling out his name, him calling out yours, and skin slapping skin as his balls repeatedly hit against your cunt.

With the ferocity he's taking you, he sees your breasts bouncing, and he can't resist lowering his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. His hot tongue is flickering over your pearled bud, and you tell him, "Bite- uhn- bite it gently and… and then run your tongue against it.

Din follows your command eagerly. As he ruts his hips against yours with unrestrained fervor, his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your nipple, biting gently before his tongue dances over the aroused bud. The initial pain transforms into a pleasurable sensation, prompting you to wrap both legs around his hips, meeting his wild thrusts. As the crown of his head brushes against the deepest part of you, you can't help but wail.

"Oh!" you moan, feeling your body shudder as the tension in your stomach reaches its peak. Clinging to Din, in a matter of seconds, waves of pleasure cascade through you, and a steady stream of liquid pours out, covering both your thighs, his abdomen, and the bedsheets. Simultaneously, Din cries out your name, his hips losing their rhythm as he feels you clenching around him like a vice. You feel him pulsing, and immediately after, he spills. Rope after rope, he fills you up with his warm seed. His body collapses on top of yours, and for a moment, his vision blacks out. His hands rest next to your head, and he moves his head to mumble incoherent nonsense directly into your ear.

Both of you catch your breath, and you soothingly run your hand up and down Din's back. He responds with tender kisses on your forehead before raising his head.

"Thank you," he pants, his breath still ragged, and quickly adds, "Was that okay for you?"

You laugh lightly. "You made me squirt."

"Oh," he blushes, "It's probably due to the flower."

"Maybe… I mean, it's never happened with someone else and certainly not this much by myself.”

Your mind is still hazy, and you don't hear his response. "I wish you'd cum on my face," you say, not mindful of your words. Then you feel him twitch inside you. You gasp and ask him, "Din, are you still hard?"

He doesn't reply; he just looks down sheepishly at where you and him are connected.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips. "Can we try something?"

He brings his gaze back up and nods. You untangle your legs from him and bring your arms to slowly push him off you.

He gets the message and slowly pulls out of you, causing both of you to groan at the loss. Once he's no longer inside you, you sit up and ask him to get off the bed. Without an explanation, he's confused but does what you ask.

You scoot up to the edge of the bed and then get on all fours in front of him. "I want you to fuck my face."

Din's mouth parts into an 'o' as you take his hardened length into your hand, guiding him between your lips. When you taste yourself on him, you moan, and so does he. He feels heavy against your tongue, and the sounds coming from him are heavenly.

You pull back to tell him, "If you don't like something, let me know." Then, you begin to take him deeper until you reach the thickest part of him.

"You-" he begins but stays quiet. Does he want to say something? you question in your head but go back to moving your head at a steady rhythm. Very lightly, you scrape your teeth carefully to avoid biting him or drawing blood. At the sensation, Din bucks his hips forward, and he whines. Again, he sounds like he wants to talk but decides against it. You want to hear whatever he needs, so reluctantly, you pull back but keep stroking him in your hand.

"¿Por qué no me quieres decir lo que quieres? (Why don't you tell me what you want to say?)" you ask, looking at him through your lashes.

"I-" he groans when you use your thumb to circle the slit at his tip, "'M not good at the dirty talk."

"Say whatever comes to mind. You won't scare me off," you promise, and then envelop him in your mouth once more. To get him more comfortable with showing him you can handle him being rough, you take one of his hands that are awkwardly at his side and bring it to the back of your head. His large hand sprawls like he's holding a small ball, and experimentally he moves your head closer to him, making you move further on his length. He hears you struggle and is about to remove his hand in fear, but you raise your hand to hold his in place. You relax your throat and slightly move your head further, then let your hand drop. Din understands and begins to guide you to take him deeper. Feeling your hot mouth wrapped around him was causing him to spew curse after curse, still not confident enough to say what he so desperately wanted. Take her, Din. Rómpele el cerebro con maldad. She wants you to be rough with her. But if you don't want her, another man would certainly happily take her off your hands and make good use of her mou- and just like that a switch flipped in Din.

"Is this what you want, Cyar'ika?" he asks and then in one go, presses your face into his pelvic area. Thankfully, your throat had already been opened up by the time you silently asked, more like begged, for him to fuck your face so it wasn't too painful to take him down your lower throat suddenly.

"Mhm," you whine, and you do everything you can to stimulate a nod.

"Good, baby," he answers, and in an animalistic pace, he thrusts his hips over and over. Your eyes water, but you love it. You love the way he looks blissed out, with his eyebrows lifting every time his cockhead touches the back of your throat. You love the way he’s letting go, and you love that you’re the first person to see him like this, and if you play your cards right, the only one.

This time when your nose hits his dark patch of hair, you take an arm to still his movements. Once your hand cups around his waist, you inhale his smell—it's musky and somewhat sweet. The scent intensifies your desire for his cum, so you drop your hand and resume your ministrations.

“Fuck!” he grunts in surprise when you massage one of his balls with your fingers. "Good girl."

He didn't give you any indication he didn't like it, but still, you look up at him and see him already peering down at you. “Shit, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth," he praises, fueling your moans. The vibrations reverberate through him, and he opens his mouth to tell you, “Your mouth feels fucking fantastic. This is why I was jealous of your stupid candy."

"What?" you muffle into him.

"When you had that bright purple lollipop in your mouth. You-ah-you kept on sucking it, making all of those noises and saying how good it tasted. I kept thinking about having your mouth on me, and it was driving me crazy.”

You giggle, thinking about the ridiculous idea that he was jealous of some sugary treat.

"¿Crees que es chistoso? (Do you think it’s funny?)“ He doesn't take your laughter lightly and harshly snaps his hips against your face. His lips curl into a snarl, and wet sounds along with Din's grunts echo throughout the room. Amidst his brutal pace, his hazy mind thinks, Is she okay? Quickly, he opens his eyes to see if he didn't take it too far, only to see one of your hands in between your thighs, fingers working deep inside of you. It only encourages him to keep slamming his cock, driven by the pleasure coursing through his veins and seeing your oh-so-pretty lips molding him perfectly.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close-“ he warns, releasing the grip he has on your head. You scramble to detach yourself from Din, causing a long string of saliva to form once you pull off him. Your jaw is a bit sore to continue sucking him off, so you resort to taking his base into your hand and angling his dick with his tip pointing upwards. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for your next move.

Instead of your lips wrapping around his dick, they lower to his sack. You suck his left ball, and your hand fondles the other one.

"Fuck, yes," he moans, his eyes fluttering shut. You love that he’s gotten more vocal; it makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. When you alternate your actions, it causes him to whimper out your name in a broken moan. You feel him pulse, and since you don’t want it to be over yet, you kneel in front of him and trail your lips upwards, licking the veins on the underside of his dick. His cockhead is leaking again, and you can’t help but run your tongue there, collecting the liquid that has dripped lower, almost to your fist.

“Chúpale ahí, mami, así, así (Suck it in there, mami, like that, like that),” Din whines, and his words cause you to whine too. You want his cum now, you decide, and one last time, you wrap your lips around his purple tip and run a hand down to his base to play with his balls. You feel him pulse, his stomach tenses, his thighs shake, and “a- uhn!” You close your eyes and stick your tongue out. His hot seed comes out in ropes. It paints your breasts in white iridescent cream, and it hits just below your eye. With your mouth open, some of his cum lands on your tongue. He’s panting and letting out strings of your name along with curses. Once you’re sure you’ve milked him for every last drop, you let your grip off and swallow his spend. Mmm, he tastes salty and like apples, you muse. When you open your eyes, Din’s just finished composing himself. His lashes flutter open, and when he sees you peering up at him, he gives you a smile brighter than the hottest sun.

“Ven aqui (come here),” he beckons, and you rise to his height, throwing your arms around him. He meets your lips for a kiss and quickly scoops you up to carry you. With you in his arms, he walks to his bathroom with the intention of taking a shower. You separate your lips from him to talk.

“So, the mami thing,” you start, and he buts in with a groan. “Escucha pues (listen to me),” you scold.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “I’m all ears,” but then his expression changes. “Wait, did you not like that? I’m so sor-“ You cover his mouth and kiss his nose.

“You’ve really gotta let me finish my sentences, baby,” you say, playing with his sweaty curls around the nape of his neck. “I loved it. I was just wondering if papi was on the table for you.”

“Woman,” he exhales like he’s in pain. “Let’s shower and then go a few more times.” He feels himself grow again and quickly opens the bathroom door.

You grin at his response. “Did you know that shower sex is a thing?”

Extended A/N: In my previous post, I mentioned that this story might be the last one I share before leaving this website. I haven't had the time to finalize my decision yet. I appreciate those who reached out – thank you 🩷. To give you some context, I considered leaving due to some negative interactions I received. I often portray my characters as Spanish speakers, and unfortunately, that has led to some unfavorable responses. However, as I mentioned earlier, I haven't made a final decision yet. Anyhow, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day 🫶🏽!

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; interlude i

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 3k

summary:  What agony it is to desire such an abomination. or interlude i; Feyd-Rautha saves your life, and you wish to kill him for it.

warnings:  feyd rautha, violence and gore, blood/murder, manipulation, mentions of pedophilia/incest/noncon (only with feyd and the Baron), light smut - choking, dom/sub dynamics, light blood kink, feyd calls reader his pet, brief mention of pregnancy/breeding, brief thoughts of suicide, mentions of familial death, some dissociation bc of trauma and grief. LOL FUN

notes: hiii! back with another part - the first of the interludes, which will provide brief glimpses into the past (or possibly the future/present). sorry to leave a cliffhanger with the arraignment coming up, but the next chapter should be up fairly soon :) hope you enjoy this, even if there is no paul in this part. love u all thank you for the kind words i wish i could respond to every single comment! <3

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The room is thick with the pounding of your heart; black, everything, black. 

You look around, as if in a fog; did you hear a scream just now, or was that the ache in your head, the rushing of your blood? The weight of fear is oppressive in its own right, but with the thickly metallic scent that follows your quiet footsteps, you feel yourself dragged to the ground by more than just gravity. 

A ship arrived with a Harkonnen legion just minutes ago; you know where it came from - you know who is chained up in the cells that lie beneath your feet.

And you know that behind those large dark doors which stand tall in front of you, your own fate is being decided. 

There is a loud shout from behind the doors; a scream, then a thud. You swallow back the bile that once again rises - perhaps in your years haunting these sickening halls you've grown accustomed to the overturn of slaved-servants which churn like discarded laundry; yet each life disposed of remains a strike against your heart, a whisper to the stars in the universe. 

Feyd-Rautha's voice clashes against his brother's; a loud cacophony of rage which echoes over the halls. It does not bode well for you; you wonder faintly, as you stare down at the floor below you, how changed your brother must look now. Has he taken your father's features, or does he have more of your mother's Ginaz-blooded nose, those strong arms? Lined up, side-by-side, would he look like you or your sisters? You haven't seen him since he was thirteen - he's a grown man, now. 

You worry you may not ever be able to find out. 

There is another shout, but this time it is cut off by the low rumble of the Baron; you wish to decipher their words, but through the thick doors you dare not place your ears against the seam. 

You do, however, hear your name; Perhaps the way it curls off of Feyd-Rautha's tongue will forever be in your memory. He says it and in the tone you find an alarming lace of desperation; this only throws heaps of fuel to the fire of anguish that burns within you.

You might die, tomorrow. 

How fitting is it, you muse, that the first time my family comes to visit you, you'll all be put to death out on the sands of Harko Arena. 

Perhaps this is what compels you to step closer, to listen against the doors for any sign of mercy. 

"-Don't tell me you've grown fond of her." 

"You mock me, uncle." His voice is laced with hatred, "I am not foolish enough to care about her. But she will bear strong heirs, with Harkonnen and Ginaz blood in them. Fighters." 

You swallow thickly, fear creeping up your spine. Hatred twitches your fingers, but you can't make out the harsh, cutting response of the Baron through the pounding of your heart. Perhaps you could run, but where could you go? 

It's as if they sense your presence - the words halt and the doors swing open; Your misfortunes tumble as the door gives way against your weight.

You freeze, face to face with the Baron and his nephews, the three harbingers of your fate; at the Baron's side is the pitiful frame of the twisted Mentat who has whispered poison into the stream of information reaching the Baron for months; the one who found your father's spies, who uncovered the plot. Piter De Vries. 

Feyd-Rautha's eyes are wild, his chest heaving with emotion as he glares at you; bottomless pits of deep blue. "What are you doing here?" his voice is a dangerous growl.

The Baron's gaze bores into you, his expression unreadable - you stare back, ignoring your betrothed's words. "Look who's decided to join us." the man's deep voice sneers, "The little traitor." 

Your throat is dry with fear, but your mind is subdued with an odd shroud of acceptance. Perhaps this is but a milestone in the self-fulfilling prophecy of your own life; a marker indicating the jumping of ship. Your family has committed treason, this you have seen to be true - the trial has already begun. But the Harkonnen do not like to wait to be told they may crush their enemies. 

It is not incorrect to assume that, if you somehow survive the next two days, you might be permanently altered forever. You might be a Bourbon by blood only, if by anything, but Feyd-Rautha has just played a hand of very dangerous cards to his uncle in hopes of preserving your life. 

For what, you do not wish to think about; protecting himself and his own interests is at the forefront, and saving your life for your own sake likely barely crossed his conscious. One a mere consequence of the other. 

But you force yourself to stand tall, to meet their gazes with defiance though your hands tremble at your sides. Your nameday knife is upon your waist, but you are not foolish enough as to try and wield it now.

There is no weakness on Barony - none in this castle, nor the city; none on Giedi Prime at all. There is you, though; your skin is tough and your mind tougher. You will not go down easy. 

"You have my family." You observe, voice official, calculating; Rabban and the Baron are tearing apart your expression, hoping to find a chink in the armor. Lucky for you, Feyd-Rautha has spent several years ensuring there is not one. 

"Indeed we do," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

"-And soon, you'll join them in their fate." Piter De Vries speaks up from beside the Baron; your eyes slither venomously to the man, every muscle upon your frame tense with the urge to rip out his throat. 

Your heart drops, the static of the room metallic; it is as his words slide from his lips that you see the body discarded against the wall, blood leaking from its crushed skull. You swallow thickly, but Feyd-Rautha's expression darkens further at the Baron's words before you can respond.

With a dangerous glint in his eyes he steps forward, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his blade. "Enough games," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "She has no place here."

You stare, bewildered, at the motion, but the Baron raises a hand, silencing his nephew with a single gesture. "Patience," he said, his tone calm and collected. "Let us see what the little traitor has to say for herself."

There is a small surge of defiance that rises; you know better than to anger the Baron by begging for mercy upon your family's lives. Besides, a deep-seeded part of you whispers, they would not do the same, would they? 

"You are to execute my family," you dare repeat, voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you, "But you will not kill me." 

You avert your stare from the man in front of you when you feel a burning; you would not dream to cry in a place like this. Adrenaline courses through you, slamming your heartbeat in your throat. 

"Na-Baron," Baron Vladimir muses, looking to Feyd-Rautha with a challenge in his beady eyes. "What would you have us do with the scum?" 

It is a sick test from the Baron; testing loyalty, honor. In the dimly lit chamber, Feyd-Rautha's voice slices through the silence, a dagger through your skin. "Throw them to the arena for their trespassing." he commands, his tone cold, merciless. The Baron glances at the guards who stand just near the exit of the hall; with a gesture, the Baron instructs Piter De Vries to issue a message to the city's public: There will be a royal execution in the morning. 

Fear courses through your veins like wildfire; reality sinks like a stone in the pit of your stomach. 

But Feyd-Rautha isn't finished; eyes glinting with malice, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Let her watch," he insists, his voice dripping with contempt, "and see how we crush pests under our boots."

There is a cold shiver that runs down your spine at his stare; condemned not just to witness your family's demise - your siblings, all three of them - but to endure the horror of it, to see their blood spill. A warning to any who dare oppose House Harkonnen. 

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When you enter your chambers, you are only mildly surprised to see your betrothed in wait. 

Though as you enter the room, Feyd-Rautha's fury reaches its boiling point; one look at your eyes, the absence of true fear - a void in your gaze replaced with wrath - tips him over the edge.

With a swift motion, he lashes out, striking down a nearby servant with brutal force. You stare as she shrieks, the absence of her tongue leaving a horrifying gurgling as blood spurts from her open throat.

With a dull shock you start towards her - the other servant, half-through steaming a gown, gasps and backs away. "Leave," You say to her, hands falling onto the servant who dies at the hands of the man across from you. She skitters away as Feyd's blade glistens with crimson. You can only give yourself the grace to crouch, shutting her eyes as she clings with the last of her strength, the blood on her hands, to your forearm. You don't look away as she loses her life; your voice is quiet, whispering a small hymn - something long forgotten in the winds of Sabberon's winters, but recovered by you in the quiet moments of dreams.

When you press a small breath upon her forehead, feeling the warmth for the last time, you turn and rise again. Feyd's eyes are wild with anger, and his hands trembling with the weight of his emotions. He sneers; he's never once liked the care you give to the dead. As if death is not an honor but a consequence of weakness. 

"I do not like when you do that." He sneers. Your glare is sharp as you wipe the blood off your hands, hiding their tremor. "I will cease to do it when you do." It's always the same response, that cat and mouse game; he will not stop, because it is a part of him - as easy as breathing. 

He doesn't respond to this, merely heaving heavy breaths in the empty chamber. It is quiet for a moment as he wipes his blade; you watch with curious eyes. 

"You saved my life." You admit, walking up to him. His skin reflects in the open windows; a ghostly appearance, but one you've come to known. You can see in his expression that this is a repulsive thing to admit. It sparks anger within you. 

"I heard you," You insist; a half-lie. "You begged for my life." 

It is not what he wants to hear. His hand is upon your throat nearly instantly with a crushing dominance. You barely let out a gasp, eyes burrowing into his own. Your hand flies up to his own, the Adam's apple upon his throat bobbing as he growls. 

It is a morbid call and response: a fight with his uncle, a punishment - and he is at your door, anger in his eyes and arousal on his lips. 

"I do not beg." He snaps. Your brows raise slowly at this and you relish in the look of denial that flashes over his expression - both of you know this is a stark lie. 

You gave up on daydreaming your third week in this stronghold, but a flicker courses through you at what could have been: A husband with less bloodthirst, with more humanness - a home, perhaps. Children you might not grow to resent when you see flickers of their father in them. A place to govern, to rule - to help the people, cultivate prosperity, not fear. 

"Don't you?" You ask, but your voice sounds odd with the lack of air. You must be here in this universe for more than just bearing children for Feyd-Rautha.  

"I don't let others take what is mine." He hisses, squeezing your airway. He seems to say this a lot. You let out a raspy groan of defiance, your own hand small but strong as it closes in on his own airflow. A groan is suppressed in his throat but you feel the vibrations as you lean against his strong grip. 

"And you're mine, pet." He grunts into your ear, biting the skin. Perhaps tonight is a night you should let him believe such a fallacy; for your safety or your amusement. You cannot help yourself but to drop the glass, just to hear it shatter; Whispering into his own ear, the two of you are entwined in a sick connection of hate and desire, your hands crushing against the other's throat. 

"Careful, my na-Baron, your possessions seem to have started possessing you." You snap; His eyes darken, but you wouldn't dare soften your grip. 

"Shut up, witch." He snarls. "On your knees." 

So, he is in a mood to play this game? You glare, "I will get on my knees for no man." You grit your teeth. "Though perhaps, if he were my husband, I would reconsider." 

You can see the anger in his eyes as his hand releases its grip on your throat; you suck in an involuntary gasp for oxygen. If you are to lose your family, you must claim your new one - claim the power of the Harkonnen name, as that is the only thing left in front of you. But Feyd-Rautha has waited years to wed you, and your family is about to dream with the stars; you must act quick. 

"You are nothing now; you will still be nothing when you are my wife." He growls, letting you push him backwards, towards the cold bed that lies in wait. "My little pet wife. So pretty, so hateful." 

You are empty; to cast out visions of your sisters, huddled and cowering away from the creatures that lurk around their cell below your feet; of your brother, likely bloodied and curled with your parents, their eyes sharp and brains clouded with drugs. You know what will come tomorrow, and the only way to ignore it is to dissolve; you are no longer yourself. 

Anger will distract you. "Nothing in this universe consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment." You whisper as his hands fall to your hips; possessive, unloving, hungry. Passionately resentful. 

He pushes you onto the mattress, but you pull him with you. 

"Is that why I cannot get you out of my head?" He asks; rhetorical as it is, he is indignant, as if genuinely unaware of the tricks you can play within his mind. Your hand snakes between you, a phantom touch over the outline of his arousal; grunting, his eyes roll back. You watch with a sort of abhorrence at this budding obscenity that grows between you and Feyd-Rautha. He will give you power, a voice chides in your mind, the Shortening of the Way. The Shortening of the Way, the voice whispers - but it is not your voice. It is your mother's. 

You swallow back the pain of impending grief. 

"Perhaps that is why you begged for my life." You whisper, kindling into the fire. "Is the na-Baron in love?" 

He slaps your cheek hard and it is effective in taking your breath away. "You are not stupid enough to think I would ever love you." He spits, "You want my power." 

There is no point in denying this claim, nor to pretend that you could ever find it in you to love him. 

He rips your blouse open, teeth dripping in inky desire as he bites along the exposed flesh of your breasts. Groaning in pain, your hand squeezes over his cock, eliciting a grunt from him. "I ought to kill you." you say, voice hollow and laced with malice. "Take what is rightfully mine." 

This is amusing to him, and it fuels your hatred so much more. What agony it is to desire such an abomination. "Wait until my child is inside you." He hisses, eyes dark. "Then you can try, little bird." 

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Two days later, while you are in the throes of grief, torn and tossed askew by the altering of everything you have known, the news comes from the High Council.

The House of Bourbon were called to answer for their crimes at the Harko arena and lost their lives. One sole survivor remains, a prisoner of kanly war to the House Harkkonnen, on Giedi Prime. The Council has ruled to dissolve your betrothal to the Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen under concerns raised by Houses Atreides and Ginaz over your safety. 

You are no longer Feyd-Rautha's to wed. 

He takes you more rough than he ever has after this news, still dripping with the blood of whoever met the unlucky fate of presenting the message to him. While your hands held to his shoulders, nails scraping the skin clean off his back in bliss, you could almost imagine some kind of longing within his possessive hands, the marks of pain and hatred upon your skin. He withholds the very essence of bliss from you one, two, three, four times; until his name sings from your lips, a plead - a swear. I am yours, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Again, again, again. Until he thinks you truly believe it; though you never have and you certainly never will. 

"I should have wed you sooner," His voice is painted with wrath, "Kept you here to answer for your family's betrayal. Now that Atreides boy thinks he can take you-" 

You are too numb with the news to consider Feyd's words, nor the way the servants slither in the dark corners of the room to pack up your possessions. If your father could see you, would he be distraught that you are not more broken? Would he want you to cry, to cease to eat, to live? Would your ancestors watch on in horror as you bare your face to the world in light of the death of your bloodline, not a thread of green upon your body?  Would your mother whisper that you must fulfil your duty with your new husband, that you must adapt; evolve? It does not matter. They are absent to the void, now. Returned to the soil of your planet, in one way or another; star dust and ash.

You do not want to leave. Threats require adaptation; How must you change now? What will your chains look like?  You fight against the soldiers who enter your chambers when the time comes, even when you recognize their armor. They expect you to think you're being saved, but you know better. 

I will find you again, my pet.

Maybe he will, or maybe he won't. You don't care. Your life will forever be cold; you are alone in this world. 

A new name, a new power, a new prison.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for notifs.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Here’s Why Everyone Is Talking About A Pirate Drama That Ended In 2017

Black Sails has been described as Game of Thrones with pirates

If Black Sails kicked off in 2020 instead of 2014, it certainly would have thrown fuel on the raging fire that was TikTok’s sea shanty obsession. The reality is that this TV series aired on Starz from 2014 for four seasons, coming to a close in 2017. So why is everyone talking about it now, a decade after it began?

Black Sails is coming to Netflix very soon, triggering its fans to emerge from the woodwork and promote the show online. ‘I am SO excited for people who’ll be watching this show for the first time,’ one user wrote, with many others recommending the series to fans of Game of Thrones. With House of the Dragon still a few months away, here’s why you should tune into Black Sails this month.

New To Netflix: Black Sails

What Is Black Sails About?

Black Sails transports us back to 1715 – aka the Golden Age of Piracy. Set in New Providence, an island in the Bahamas, we meet the feared Captain Flint (Toby Stephens) who brings a new younger crew member into the fold (‘Long’ John Silver, played by Luke Arnold) as his crew continues to fight for survival and negotiate their space on the island.

Is Black Sails Based On A Book?

Black Sails was written as a prequel to Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic novel, Treasure Island (1883).

Is It Based On A True Story?

While Black Sails isn’t based on a true story, it does trace real events. The first season focuses on the hunt for the Spanish treasure galleon Urca de Lima, a real ship that sank in 1715 near Fort Pierce in Florida (where it still lies). Season two traces the fallout of Urca de Lima’s treasure being stranded in Florida, strictly guarded by Spanish soldiers while pirates prowl the shores. The subsequent third and fourth seasons then look at the war for the control of New Providence between the pirates and the British Empire – a la Pirates of the Caribbean.

Likewise, some of the characters are based on real people. Real pirates fictionalised in the show include:

Blackbeard (Ray Stevenson)

Anne Bonny (Clara Paget)

Benjamin Hornigold (Hakeem Kae-Kazim)

Jack Rackham (Toby Schmitz)

Charles Vane (Zach McGowan)

Ned Low (Tadhg Murphy)

Israel Hands (David Wilmot)

Meanwhile, Captain Woodes Rogers (Luke Roberts) – who represents the British Empire in seasons three and four – is based on a real English sea captain and slave trader, and subsequently the first Royal Governor of the Bahamas.

Was Captain Flint A Real Pirate?

Captain Flint is a fictional character who was first created by Robert Louis Stevenson in Treasure Island. He has since appeared in multiple works of fiction, including A. D. Howden Smith’s Porto Bello Gold (1924), John Drake’s Flint and Silver (2008), Pieces of Eight (2009) and Skull and Bones (2010), and J. M. Barrie’s Peter and Wendy (1904).

Where Was Black Sails Filmed?

Black Sails was filmed in Cape Town, South Africa, mainly inside at Cape Town Film Studio. Because the real city is so different today than it was in the 1700s, Nassau – the capital of the Bahamas, located on New Providence island – was built from scratch in a studio over a period of four months, as were two large water tanks to house the series’ two ships. Some scenes were filmed outside in and around Cape Town when new terrain was required, but most of the series was filmed on set.

The Cast

The cast of Black Sails is incredibly large, but key characters to know include:

Toby Stephens as James McGraw/Captain Flint

Hannah New as Eleanor Guthrie

Luke Arnold as ‘Long’ John Silver

Jessica Parker Kennedy as Max

Tom Hopper as William ‘Billy Bones’ Manderly

Zach McGowan as Charles Vane

Toby Schmitz as Jack Rackham

Clara Paget as Anne Bonny

Mark Ryan as Hal Gates

Hakeem Kae-Kazim as Mr. Scott

Sean Cameron Michael as Richard Guthrie

Louise Barnes as Miranda Hamilton/Barlow

Rupert Penry-Jones as Thomas Hamilton

Luke Roberts as Woodes Rogers

Ray Stevenson as Edward Teach

David Wilmot as Israel Hands

Harriet Walter as Marion Guthrie

The Trailer

Interested? Here’s the trailer for a taste of the action.

WATCH

All episodes of Black Sails are streaming on Netflix from 17 April 2024.

Source: Country & Town House

[swan2swan]

I know you said the sources are unofficial but can you please let me know what they are?—the ones that suggest Mai may have helped Zuko in the aftermath of their mother's disappearance?

Oh, you mean when Ursa disappeared while Zuko was a kid?

This is old Forum Talk. Back in the day, when Livejournal thrived and there were individual message boards devoted to topics, you sometimes got little fandom discussions. Sometimes, you'd have people who talked to writers and crew members, whether in person or on message boards.

Also, you had some freelance or part-time writers who would be fans of the show would then be pulled into supplementary work. One of them was Alison Wilgus (writer on Kids Next Door, also, please don't go bothering her, this was ages ago, just trust me), and she helped co-write some of the comics for the Avatar magazine between Book 2 and 3.

The word is that there was a black, heart-shaped stone that Mai gave Zuko when he was feeling down (obviously, we can assume that it was probably when his mom vanished). He was supposed to reveal that he'd held onto it the whole time he was banished-- a cute little keepsake.

This was probably just a draft for the "Going Home Again" comic, and thus has no True Canon Power; something from supplemental information that Aaron provided, or that they brainstormed in a writer's room. They just wanted some way to show that Zuko was always thinking of Mai. But it probably became too difficult to justify him still having it after his whole ship blew up (IT WOULD RULE IF HE'D FOUND IT IN THE WRECKAGE THOUGH) and him going through all of his adventures...and it was just easier to have her play with Jin and express herself verbally.

Bottom line: it's a concept that could be canonized at any time, burt also may just be in the scrap heap with all sorts of things like Equalist Asami and....didn't someone have a sibling or something? Guy Toph, I guess, though that's more extreme.

Again, don't hunt 'em down or bother them. You've just gotta have some faith in me as a Fandom Elder. This is part of the writing process, part of fandom growth. Feel free to use it as fuel, though! Fanart. Fafic. Whatever you want. But overall, it's probably just deleted material that was considered to show connections and just couldn't be organically worked in. Would have added some weight to the end of the Boiling Rock episodes if we'd seen Zuko holding it--showing that he took it with him. But they kinda did a little too much ZK ship-baiting and leaned away from the Maiko melodrama (and I do think it was a little to the story's detriment, but that's My Opinion). This is all just part of the writing process, though...you've gotta find things to streamline.

It's also just easy to assume that Mai probably got closer to Zuko after Ursa's disappearance. Whether through hugs and comfort or just bullying him a little harder to keep his mind off things. Becoming a proper Nemesis. Who knows?

And that's just what I picked up. For all I know, there was a whole deleted plotline where Mai and Zuko fell down a hole or something. Did a Fire Nation Goonies. Again. That's writing. You gotta come up with Stuff and sometimes the Stuff doesn't Stick. Asami was supposed to hook up with Iroh Jr. in early drafts. Things change. Have fun. Life's short.

[baiabay]

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Current Chapter

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

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name

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

Chapter Six: Bye Felicia!

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

Fucking exhausted.

At this point you weren’t even thinking, just letting adrenaline drive your movements. But the thing about adrenaline, it runs out. And you weren’t sure how much of it you had left, or how long this mess was supposed to last. 

While dodging debris and hauling around citizens, you came to a realization. Unlike the others, you didn’t have powers. You were never bitten by a radioactive kitten, and neither was your father as far as you’re aware. You didn’t shoot out hairballs from your palms or have super-strength, you couldn’t claw your way up walls or always land perfectly on your feet, unlike the others, you were just human. And your human-ness was really starting to weigh down on you right about now, as you felt your feet slide out from under you, and your wrists start to ache while you did your best alongside Pav to keep a city bus from toppling over the edge of a broken bridge. 

You grit your teeth and groaned, nothing in your mind but fuzz, body fueled by the desperate willpower the screams of civilians around you provided. Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt the ground rumble behind you, deepening the cracks that formed around your feet. A pained shout of Miles’ name from Gwen sounded out. 

After what felt like forever, the strain on your arms had been slightly relieved. You cracked your eyes open, met with Hobie by your side, joining you in the upward pull of the city bus. After a few more hearty tugs, the bus was finally on solid ground. You heaved a heavy sigh, finally feeling the full weight of your adrenaline crash. Your mind spun and your stomach churned. Under you, your legs began to wobble. With nothing but exhaustion on your mind, you embraced the slump of your body that followed. Before you felt yourself hit the ground, a firm hand gripped your shoulder, steadying your unstable form. Besides you, an English accent mumbled some sort of consolidation your ringing ears didn't manage to pick up. Still, in your hazy state, you turned your head towards Hobie and shakily parted your lips. “...Is it over?” 

Before you could catch a response, you felt a new pair of arms wrap themselves around your form. You clamped your eyes shut in surprise, and by the time you opened them, the intimate squeeze that engulfed you was gone. In front of you, Pav stood with a hand on his chest, head lowered in a silent ‘thank you’. Despite everything, a smile crept its way onto your face. 

The tender moment was quickly cut short with more rumbling. But this wasn’t another signal of more destruction, it was different. This time it felt…warbled…time bending. In the direction of the noise, what looked like a giant, spider-shaped ship descended from a bright portal. It landed with a heavy thud, and opened its large mouth to release what looked like…more? Spider-people…? You let out a wry laugh. You were beginning to sense a pattern.

Walking first out of the ship with an air of authority, was a familiar face. “Okay, guys, secure the area, clear all civilians, and let’s contain this quantum hole.” Your mind flashed back to the night you and Miles jumped headfirst into this mess. In the midst of Spots’ destruction that night, her holographic form stood alongside Gwen. Just as you were about to turn to mention this revelation to Miles, he was already taking confident strides towards the pregnant hero. Not before grabbing a hold of your wrist and dragging you behind him, forcing you to join him in his determined trot towards the now-frowning Spider-woman. Of course.

Your brows began to knit together and a nervous smile plastered itself on your lips. “Hah…Miles, what do you think you’re doing,” You tried to tug your wrist away, which he did loosen his grip, but his stride didn’t falter once. Breaking your train of worry, he spoke your name. “Just trust me with this.” He replied with a shrug in his shoulders and a smile clear in his voice. “Trust me.” He squeezed your wrist before letting go and quickening his pace, now walking in front of you. 

Similar to his determined stride, the cheeriness in his voice refused falter as he began to address the Spider-heroine. “Hey, I’m Miles, and uh, that’s Black Cat back there,” The pregnant hero jutted her chin into the air, walking with clear frustration thinly veiled with nonchalance. Despite her obvious display of ignorance towards him, Miles continued. “Uh- we all actually met before, when I was invisible and Cat-” A knot began to weave and tighten in your stomach as you felt the gaze of the older woman meet yours. She lowered her chin, looking at you through her eyebrows. She walked quicker now, towards you. You gulped. “I know who you are,” She mumbled, finally addressing Miles. “But you, Hardy,”

huh?

 She stopped before you, never once breaking her glare. She let out a deep sigh, letting her shoulders slump. You, on the other hand, couldn’t be any more tense. “You’re really not supposed to be out here.” 

How did she know my name?

“How do you know my-”

“Okay- wait, let me explain-” Gwen stepped between the two of you. “Miguel wants you back at HQ.” Gwen was quickly shut down before any sort of explanation could escape her masked lips. “Wait, where are we-” “All of you.” Your confused sentiments were quickly shut down as well, met with a quick sweep of the hand of the hero before walking off towards the ship. The knot in your stomach loosened. Only slightly. Beside you, Miles whooped excitedly. “I’m going to HQ?”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I just can’t catch a break, huh?”

You shouted towards the rest of the group from the ceiling. Or was it the floor? Or maybe just a wall? This building made no sense to you. Granted, it probably wasn’t designed with Cats in mind. While Miles, Gwen, and Hobie walked comfortably upside-down, their feet sticking effortlessly to every surface they touched, you relied on swinging your form around via grappling hook. Occasionally, gravity would be on your side and you would catch yourself walking like normal across what you assumed was a floor, but just as you would start to get comfortable, you began to fall upwards. Or would it be downwards?

“It’s a bit much, innit?” Hobie mumbled back. “Pff,” You chucked. “More than a bit- SHIT-!”

Doubling over in pain, you let go of your hook. Screaming out, you tried to grab at yourself in an attempt to ground the sting that shot through your nerves. You tried to grab at yourself, but you felt nothing. You felt like you were coming undone. You were coming undone, you were falling apart, you were-

“Here.”

And as the pain was never there, it was gone entirely. A pressure on your wrist. Looking towards your arm you were met with  a bright blue rubbery band.

“It’s a day pass. Keeps you from…” You heard the same pained grunt from Miles, who now crouched beside you, face contorted in pain. “…doing that.” He snapped the band across his wrist, sending you a worried glance before helping you up. 

Continuing your trek through the HQ, you subconsciously felt yourself grow more on guard. You recognized this feeling, it was the exact same one you would always feel while sneaking past security during heists, the exact same feeling you would get slinking around CCTV cameras late at night. 

You were being watched. 

Glancing around the space, you easily confirmed that yes, you were being watched. Quite intensely too. As you trudged behind the group you instinctively rested your hand on the holster of your whip, noticing how the masked eyes of the Spider-people around you seemed to follow your every move. You lifted your chin, adjusting your posture to walk with a stronger, cockier air in your step. The staring turned to whispers, the whispers turned to murmurs. Your lips began to pull into a smirk. Once again, The Black Cat was watched, feared, the center of attention. 

Would it be wrong if you said you missed this feeling?

If you focused enough, you could decipher the mumblings that floated around you. And one thing especially kept on putting you off. 

…The Black Cat…Cat is here?...Black Cat…Hardy…Cat Burglar…Thief…Hardy…Cat.. Hardy?…Hardy…Hardy…

…Felicia?

They all knew your goddamn name. Your last name, at least. Fearful mumbles of ‘Hardy, Hardy, Hardy’ filled your ears, mixed with another name you didn’t recognize. ‘Felicia, Felicia, Felicia’. You tried to not let how disturbed you were show on your face. Lifting your head higher, you continued your strut.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Who’s in these lazer cages?”

You asked, eyes illuminated orange by the glowing prison before you.

“Anomalies,” Answered above you, a small, weirdly fashionable, digital avatar. “Folks who ended up in the wrong dimension. We kick their butts and send them home.”

Glowering looks were sent in the direction of the group as you and Miles curiously peered at the multiple caged anomalies in the room. Men with eight tentacled arms strapped to their backs, tall figures with crystal balls for heads, a man with the posture of a vulture, a literal vulture- the oddities were neverending. 

One in particular caught your eye. A leaner, more feminine figure stood with a cocked hip and arms crossed. The knot was back. Tightening, twisting, as you stepped slowly towards the orange enclosure. As you got closer, more features made themselves apparent to you. Thin heeled boots blended seamlessly into a skin-tight, grayscale suit. Crossed arms lined with white fur lead into ladylike hands, with long, pointed nails decorating their fingertips. A deep v-neck, prominent collarbones, red-painted lips, blue eyes, a tight, high ponytail-

Cat ears.

It seemed both you and the lady before you felt the same way about each other's presence, watching with wide eyes as hers widened as well. By now, the knot has doubled, tripled, tied around itself and every organ in your body. Whatever type of confidence you managed to muster in yourself earlier was long gone now. In front of you, plump, red lips parted to speak. 

“Felicia?”

That name again. Shocked still, you shook your head ‘no’. The lady let out a wry laugh. “I know a Cat when I see one,” The click-clacks of high heels sounded out as she stepped closer towards the edge of the cage, now crouching so her face was leveled with yours. She had an elegant, mature face. Her lips were stretched into a small, relaxed smile, but the pained scrunch that was knit into her forehead told you that relaxed was the last thing she was feeling at this moment. “But you’re so…young.” A sigh, followed by a feline-like stretch as she stood back up in her enclosure. “They’re not gonna like you in here, y’know. They’ll make you ‘Go Home’ as soon as he finds out who you are.” 

“Wait- wait,” You finally spoke up, breaking out of whatever trance the two of you were caught up in. “Who’s ‘he’? And who are you? And why do you look like me but not…really? And everyone in here knows my last name for some reason and it’s been driving me fucking crazy-”

“Let’s go!” Down the hall behind you, Hobie called out over his shoulder. Another sigh from the anomaly. “Listen, kid. Stay safe. Please.” “You’re not telling me anything-” “It’s too complicated to explain right now, kid.” “I’m not a kid-” 

“Felicia Hardy. Black Cat.”

“...you’re…but I-”

“And you’re not the first, or the last, that’s been in this place. Trust me, I’ve seen my fill.” 

“But…how?”

“I don’t know how. But I do know that you need to be careful, please. Knowing you, er- us, getting tangled in situations as big as this never ends well-”

“Cat, c’mon!” Hobie called out again. Felicia pressed her lips together, sending you a knowing gleam in her blue eyes and a slight nod. Backing up from her cage, you nodded back. A silent pact, a mysterious bond formed between the two of you that you didn’t really understand. Nevertheless, you trudged on.

“Coming!”

[hazbinstohell]

Something interesting to ponder given the canon depiction of Alastor and Charlie's relationship. I've spoken to aroace people on the subject and they have explained that while they don't feel sexual/romantic attraction to others there are people they hold in a category that's different from pure platonic friendship. It's a desire to be close to an individual. Some have affectionately referred to this person/feelings toward this person as a squish.

That context is necessary as I feel canon is still going to give us charlastor in the form of a squish, even if it's just one sided. Even with how short season 1 is we see that Alastor values Charlie far more highly than anyone else, and he does seem to love being a provider of some kind, if we take Mimzy's words into account,

"But you love taking care of me!"

Even if he's not attracted to someone so long as he cares he will reciprocate that affection through what looks to be acts of service as his love language. We see this with Charlie too, she's upset and while he does make a deal for a favor once the information is handed over he leads her to the one place in Hell where Charlie's natural communication Al methods work far better than what others have conditioned her to do. When the time comes to make a big speech he offers her the crux of his power willingly, not once but twice, he openly says that he had faith in her specifically, even if he doesn't strictly believe in the viability of her mission. Charlie is the only one allowed to touch him (as far as Alastor is concerned) "intimately" and by that I mean that she is able to glomp onto him without waiting first for his express consent like Mimzy and even Rosie had to.

She's already special to him, and I think the nature of their deal means that he specifically went after her because both that she had the power to help him and the kindness not to use this weakness against him. As far as I can tell, that's essentially the squish as I understand it. So even though romantic charlastor will never be canon I still feel that with what we've been given we have a good amount of evidence for the squish theory and that makes me happy so I wanted to share

Very interesting theory. I mean, no, it is canon, I get it. I also see the aro/ace thing, and that should not stop him from having any type of relationships with anyone. I do feel like he tends to flock to Charlie for a variety of reasons, and one of them is she is now accessible and wasn’t before. There is also the fact she is powerful, as he says he sees potential in her. Personally, I see the show promoting a very unique bond between the two, but I will enjoy shipping them.

However, the whole Dad thing gave fuel to a fire…and if they start doing the teacher/student thing…..boy Charlastor shippers will be eating so good.

[blazinghotfoggynights]

What is with all the fighting?

BuckTommy vs Buddie is going to be a pay per view octagon situation if this continues.

How is everyone fighting about things that have not happened? Why is there a budding ship war?

This is why fandom can't have nice things.

Can anyone provide a reasonable and rational explanation for this madness? Can both sides not see the writers have set this up to go one of a million different ways and no one except the people working on the show know where it is going?

I could argue how both sides could be probable and even support the most farfetched "tinhat theories" with actual canonical scenes, lines, and hints.

How the hell are fans arguing over which "endgame" is the right one? We don't get a say. Minear and his crew are firmly in control and unless you are going to argue with him, what is the point? (BTW, don't do that! For the love everything, if you are one of those who goes after the producers, writers, and actors, can I just say you give fandom as a whole a bad name and ask you to stop! Geez!)

A part of me thinks ABC and the showrunners are doing all this to fuel debates and dissent which will increase interest and send the already sky-high ratings through the roof this season and ensure at least several more seasons to come. Guess what? It's working.

Can we all agree that Buck, who didn't just turn bi one day but has been bi all his life and didn't know it, has definitely looked at and flirted with Eddie, Eddie and women have a weird dynamic, Eddie has definitely eyef****d his best friend more than once, Buck and Tommy are definitely having naked fun times (since Tommy is a beast, I think we know who is getting their back blown out), and no one has a clue about the direction the writers will take Tommy in?

Imho, in some more than platonic way, which we can spend hours debating, Tommy was/is into Eddie, Tommy is into Buck, Buck was/is into Eddie, Buck is into Tommy, and Eddie was/is into Buck. Eddie has canonically stated he is not into Tommy, so I am going to go with it because in six seasons, Tommy is the only person Eddie has stated he is not interested in.

If I were in that writer's room, I would be suggesting so much mess it would make Jerry Springer look like Sunday school. (Sue me. I love drama in my shows and movies. Not in my life, though. Definitely not.)

Now, can we all chill the hell out and see where this FICTIONAL story about FICTIONAL characters goes?

[olderthannetfic]

The most memorable "youtuber reads fanfic" incident I remember is when one I subscribed to decided to do fic readings for a fandoms they were in. They weren't a BL fan but chose to read 2 fics featuring gay ships and of course, they found the thing funny and cringe especially at the sex scenes (they could've also picked any sfw fic but they chose explicit ones). The youtuber had a million subscribers at the time so a ton of people who didn't like fics and thought they're weird saw the videos and it's like it validated their criticisms about fanfics. It was awful to watch, not gonna lie. Reading the comments hurt a lot, too.

The youtuber didn't mention the authors if I remember correctly and didn't link to them either but knowing the fandom and the fic title was enough to find the sources. The two fics weren't popular and didn't get a lot of comments before the videos went up. There were a few bad comments but not a lot. After the videos went up, they got a lot more comments and many weren't nice. Some people told them they should be ashamed and there were also comments telling the authors never to write again. It was awful. One of the fics got orphaned afterwards. I have unsubbed from this youtuber, by the way so I'm not sure if they're changed after all these years.

Not all youtubers are like this. I've seen some that read fics of themselves and is supportive towards fans making more (and even providing shipping fuel if they could). But still, there's more of those who like making cringe content using fics. Locking fics could definitely help reduce the chance of terrible fans getting their hands on works especially if they're nsfw it seems.

--

[theladyrebecca2]

Stranger Things: The First Shadow (My spoiler-filled review and thoughts)

“Nerds, do you copy?”

Buckle up, because this is a long one! I've tried to remember as much as I can from when I saw the play on Dec 5th.

Disclaimer: This is in no way a complete recollection of things that happened. They really packed a LOT into it. This is just what I can personally recall, helped along by other reviews and recollections I’ve found online that sparked my memory. 

If you don't want to be spoiled, don't read any further!

Act 1.

After an epic intro scene, where soldiers on a ship at sea get dragged off by demogorgons (more on this later), we’re shown the Stranger Things intro exactly as though we’re watching an episode.

Chapter One: The Girl from Nowhere.

Hawkins, 1959. 

It opens with a young Bob Newby on air, talking on his radio show (the founder of Hawkins AV club! <3). We learn that he actually has an adopted sister, Patty Newby. She’s black, so she feels like an outsider (bear in mind it’s the 1950s/60s, so… yeah.) Principle Newby, their father and only remaining parent, is also very religious. 

He’s also the pastor (?) at the local church, and often makes Patty go to the church with him. She admits to Bob that she only likes to go to listen in on people’s confessions (some of which are really juicy). She also enjoys the choir there (?) as she likes to sing.  

Principal Newby doesn’t like that Bob and Patty read comic books. There’s talk about how some things are discouraged or outright forbidden because they involve sex (gasp!) and morally ambiguous behaviour. Patty in particular is looked down on by her father for acting rebellious. He disapproves of her answering him back. 

Instead of praying to God, Patty prays to Wonder Woman.

One of the first sections in the show’s programme is dedicated to the impact of comic books and science fiction on kids in the 1950s:

[This has always been the way with fiction. Whether you are talking about adventure, fantasy or sci-fi, stories set in faraway places reflect the anxieties of the here and now. Just as the children in Stranger Things turn to a fantasy game to help them make imaginative sense of a dangerous world, so we escape to alien landscapes to think about ourselves. As South Africa novelist Lauren Beukes once said, “By imagining the unimaginable, it’s possible to make reality more bearable.”]

[As Patty in Stranger Things: The First Shadow is aware, however, whether male or female, superheroes were almost exclusively white. Unless you happened to get hold of a copy of All-Negro Comics, published in 1947 by Black journalist Orrin Cromwell Evans, Black children would not see themselves represented in popular culture.]

[... in this age of technological advance and political uncertainty, [comic books] provided the thrills, the escapism and the imaginative fuel that audiences, young and old, needed more than ever.”] - Mark Fisher

Next, we’re introduced to Joyce. She’s Joyce Maldonado at this point. She’s half undressed and trying to find her clothes, obviously fooling around with Lonnie Byers, who is already talking down to her in a very casual way, telling her she’ll never amount to anything and that she’ll never leave Hawkins like she dreams of. It was another example of only physical attraction existing between two characters - there’s little to no emotional compatibility there. I sort of had the vibe that the scene was effectively introducing Joyce and Lonnie’s unequal power dynamics as they are in the show moving forwards. Lonnie sits with his legs encasing Joyce as they both sit on a mattress, and she’s visibly vulnerable in her bra, listening to him say these casually demeaning things to her. 

Joyce wants to direct the school play, although she’s pretending to Principal Newby that they’re doing Oklahoma. Oklahoma will serve as a smokescreen for the real play she wants to direct: The Dark of the Moon. This has its own page in the programme too: 

[From the depths of Scottish folklore to the Broadway stage, the journey of The Dark of the Moon is as shrouded in mystery and intrigue as the contents of the piece itself. Over the course of several hundred years, the story evolved from humble beginnings (The Ballad of Barbara Allen) into something rather darker and more brooding than its simpler folktale roots.] [In its original versions, it seems to have been an innocent, if tragic, ballad about a young man who dies of unrequited love, only for the grief-stricken object of his affection to follow him to the grave. There, they become a rose and a briar respectively, destined to be intertwined for all eternity.] - The Creel House front door, anyone?

[In 1939, it had somehow become part of the Appalachian mountain lore of the north-eastern USA… [sometimes] with a central theme of divorce rather than death. But perhaps its oddest reincarnation is as a regular feature in the annual school play catalogue across the United States… retitled The Dark of the Moon, the play recasts Barbara Allen as a young maiden desired by a witch boy whose request to be made human is granted on the condition that she is faithful to him for a year. When that condition is tested to destruction, tragedy naturally (or unnaturally) ensues. The play is rich with allegory, including themes as knotty as religious fanaticism, demonic possession and mob psychology, and with its plot of star-crossed lovers meeting across the divide between this world and a mystical parallel one, it’s a kind of Gothic Romeo and Juliet.]  -Michael Davies

In the next few scenes we’re introduced to a whole host of characters as they come into the high school, and eventually gather around for the casting of Joyce’s play:

Ted Wheeler, school jock, Mr Popular. Very much a ‘peaked in high school’ vibe. 🙈

Karen Childress, Ted’s popular cheerleader girlfriend. Ted and Karen are depicted as two teens who can barely keep their hands off each other. They constantly make out. It’s suggested that Karen is only dating him because he’s popular and um… well-endowed. 

Walter Henderson (who must be Dustin’s dad) is a total dick. He’s openly racist towards Patty at one point, earning him glares and snappy remarks from both of the Sinclairs who are present at the time. Patty has a horrible nickname at school, “mystery meat”, because of her unknown origins. But it’s clear with Walter's comments that her race also plays a factor in her general ostracisation. 

Claudia Yount (Dustin’s Mom). She has a cat called Prancer, and is dating Walter. I thought it was very fan-servicey to include Dustin’s parents at all, because we know canonically that Dustin and his mom only moved to Hawkins when he was 4th Grade. So I guess Claudia and Walter moved away, had Dustin elsewhere, then Claudia came back to Hawkins again with Dustin after Walter had left/divorced her?? 

Sue and Charles Sinclair. Again, it was a cute Easter Egg to include them, but all the parents of the OG boys being there felt very fan-servicey - especially with them all already being coupled up in high school. It felt too unrealistic and a bit jarring. I’m choosing to take this as they were literally intended as cute little Easter Eggs, and as prime opportunity for comedic relief (e.g. seeing Ted Wheeler as a total player, in total opposition to the Ted we know). 

Alan Munson. He’s a little strange and quirky, a lot like Eddie. He has a rock and roll vibe, and sticks out his tongue and does devil horns with his fingers, lol. The others don’t seem to know what to make of him, but there’s no animosity or anything. He’s really funny in all his scenes.

And of course, Jim Hopper Junior. To me, Young Hopper was like… a weird mixture of old Hopper from the show, and Steve! The actor did a great job, but yeah, it was giving Steve more than Hopper in some places (to me, at least). I don't know if this was intentional.

Hopper has some dad issues - his father is the chief of police, and they don’t get on. There’s a whole scene later on in the show where they even have a physical fight in the police station (although this isn’t depicted super seriously, and is actually part of a larger comedic section that involves some of the other cops in the station getting involved for laughs. At the end, Hopper and his dad sort of come to an agreement.) It’s kind of slapstick. They’re all falling over each other, and there’s even a part where one male cop falls against another face forward onto a desk, and it’s pretty suggestive (one is sort of mounted behind the other). Idk if this was supposed to be a standard ‘gay joke’ just for lols, or if it was more that the cops had an unexpected ‘moment’ together (they take a while to part from each other, and then they avoid each other’s eyes, so… idk). Just something I noticed happening off to the side.

Anyway, back to Act 1. We’re taken away from Hawkins High to outside the Creel house, and introduced to the Creels moving into Hawkins, just like they appear in the show’s flashbacks. They’ve moved from Nevada, and the reason they’ve moved is because something had happened with Henry, and this is meant to be a new start - it’s left ambiguous as to what exactly happened, but there’s mention of a kid that had been ‘left in a wheelchair’. 

At first, Virginia Creel seems somewhat loving towards her son, hugging and kissing him and trying to act ‘normal’, but she’s clearly unsettled by him. Henry is unpredictable, and almost seems to switch between different personalities: one that’s familiar, shy but friendly, and one that quickly rages and turns violent. 

Whilst it’s not explained WHY yet, we clearly see that Henry is somehow ALREADY under the influence of the Mind Flayer - and that he has powers.

Virginia becomes more and more openly terrified of Henry as the play goes on. Meanwhile, Victor Creel is generally absent the whole time as he’s dealing with his own ‘demons’ (severe PTSD from the war). People in Hawkins think he’s odd and weird. Remember that nobody understands PTSD at this point in time. 

Again, we get a spread in the programme about this: “These are the tranquilized fifties… the legacy of trauma in post-war America”:

[It is very likely that Corporal Victor Creel, 9th Airforce, missed the birth of his son Henry in 1945… Getting their bodies back to the US would be a huge undertaking… getting their minds home would be another problem, and one which no-one had thought to predict.] [Victor Creel is a familiar figure to us now: shellshocked, prone to outbursts, turning to alcohol to numb his trauma… what to do with the man who has seen atrocities - who is in himself a living testament to the fact that they exist, that they happen - who, in Victor’s case, may even have committed them himself? The answer was to bury him. Though shellshock was first given its name in the aftermath of the First World War… there was no widespread study of PTSD until after the Vietnam War, even though more than double the amount of American soldiers showed symptoms of PTSD during WW2 than WW1… Those suffering on the front were sedated and told they were exhausted… once they made it home, they were told not to talk about it: that they were lucky to be alive.]

[One response in particular would have been familiar to the Creels - the child who becomes aloof from their father, and who disengages from the emotional life of the family… Much like Jim Hopper and his father, there was often immense love between these children and their fathers, but they had no way to talk about the pain they were feeling.] -Beth Kelly

Henry is clearly lonely and feels misunderstood when he first moves to Hawkins. It’s like he’s aware that there’s a darker side of him that’s dangerous, but he can’t fully explain why he does certain things (e.g whatever he did to the kid left in a wheelchair). There’s a scene where he sees the smoke of the Mindflayer swirling around him in the void, and he yells, "What are you??"

He’s the new kid at Hawkins High. People at school think he’s strange. They’re not necessarily cruel to him, but they’re not really sure how to take him either. Joyce is pleasant to him. But the only person he really connects with is Patty Newby - who we know is also a bit of an outsider at the school because of her peculiar origins and skin colour.

It’s clear there is an instant connection between Henry and Patty. Henry in particular is obviously crushing on Patty, and acts awkward around her. They bond over their love of comic books, and decide to be friends. 

Anyway - back to Joyce’s play. So the reason she wants to direct the play in the first place is to impress some visitors from a university, so she can achieve a scholarship to study theatre outside of Hawkins. 

It involves “witches, satanism, religious allegory”. Lots of things that Principal Newby would definitely disapprove of (hence why she pretends that they’re doing Oklahoma). 

Joyce talks about the overarching message: “That’s what it’s all about in the end, isn’t it? Whether love can conquer fear.” (paraphrased). I think that was perhaps a really meta moment, and applies to THIS play and even Stranger Things as a whole.

Also there was something like, “they’re witches, not lesbians!”/ “They were witches as well as lesbians”… “Does it matter?” (again, paraphrasing, I can’t recall the actual lines, and I think this was either said at this point by Joyce and someone else, or a conversation that happened earlier between Bob and Patty when they were talking about a comic or story they had read. I’m sorry, I can’t remember!) But I thought it could be a reference to the Fear Street trilogy, maybe. I was on the lookout for any kind of LGBTQ+ imagery or dialogue, and yet my brain still managed to forget details by the end of it all (Act 1 needed to be 20 minutes longer, seriously. They went through so much dialogue so quickly, it was difficult to keep up. I feel like I need to see the whole thing again to properly take it all in).

Maybe I was tripping, or maybe I misheard, but I thought there was also a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line about “the ending is happy and gay”. I wish my brain would have held onto those lines, but it happened so quickly. Something like, “the ending will be happy and gay”… “isn’t that what everyone wants?” Now, I’m certain they meant ‘gay’ as in ‘happy’ in the context, but I couldn’t help but side-eye that moment a little because it’s an outdated term in today’s language. It was, I believe, a quick exchange between Joyce and… I want to say Bob? Or possibly Walter? I honestly cannot remember. I'm begging people not to run away with this because it’s also totally possible that it was said in a derivative sense, like, “this story is dark, gothic and tragic... not happy and gay”, you know? "That's what everyone wants, right?" "Maybe, but this ends in tragedy." I really hope someone, ANYONE else caught these lines, and can give me their own two cents on it. (Curse my shit memory and also just how FAST those lines were coming at us during those scenes in Act 1… like guys, please slow down so I can actually take in what you’re saying!) 

Anyway. Joyce is having trouble casting the main leads, John and Barbara Allen, as the two are lovers and will need to kiss, and nobody seems to have the right chemistry or is taking it seriously enough. 

At one point, Karen (acting as the female lead) confidently and passionately kisses Bob (acting the male lead), who’s awkward and flustered afterwards (this is done for the audience lols). 

After hearing her beautiful singing voice (encouraged by Henry), Joyce decides to cast Patty as her female lead. Meanwhile Henry has unwittingly found himself in this room along with everyone, and accidentally gets involved in the casting process. Joyce sees that Patty and Henry have chemistry together, so she decides to cast Henry as her male lead too. 

Henry and Patty grow closer. Henry tells Patty that he’s bad, and she should stay away from him. She doesn’t listen, and says just because someone has done some bad things, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

At one point they sit side by side by the confessional at church. Henry admits to her that he has powers. He tells Patty that he can hear what people are thinking - all the time. It drives him crazy (and says people are always ‘pretending’ to be normal. The vibe is very much in tune with his speech in Season 4 about how everyone is just in a silly little play, all playing pretend with each other, all trapped in these notions of living their lives in a way that society thinks is acceptable or desirable).

As an example later on in a separate scene, he points to Karen and Ted and tells Patty, “she thinks he’s an idiot, and he’s scared of her.” He points to more characters in this scene and says more about them (like Claudia and Walter, Sue and Charles, maybe even Joyce and Hopper?) but unfortunately I can only remember Ted and Karen’s. 

Patty convinces Henry that his powers are not evil, and that he should be able to control them and use them for good. Henry then creates a "vision" for Patty, where she can freely sing with people listening, and everyone around her joins in and appreciates her talent (I think she sings "Dream a Little Dream of Me"? Unless this happens later on. There’s definitely a moment where she sings a bit of that song. Henry associates it with Patty.)

In this vision, even Patty's father is supportive of her and her singing, and it’s quite a funny moment how she imagines him dressed in a saucy red cape, dancing in a way that he *definitely* wouldn’t approve of in real life.

So it seems Henry is actually able to show people their dreams as well as their nightmares. It suggests his powers are his own at this point (at least to an extent), and not necessarily always controlled by the Mind Flayer. 

Victor sees Henry talking to Patty at school, and mentions this to Virginia. He describes it as “harmless, just Puppy Love”, a first crush. 

Virginia is still worried, and tells Henry to stay away from Patty (for her protection). Henry gets angry. We keep hearing his voice change when he changes, like a deep, monstrous voice. It’s creepy, like it’s not really him in those moments - it’s like the Mindflayer using Henry’s body, speaking through him. 

While in the attic (his new favourite spot), Henry keeps becoming influenced by the Mind Flayer. He travels to the void frequently, from where he proceeds to start killing animals - the first of which is Dustin’s mom’s cat. It’s just like the Vecna attacks in Season 4, snapping their bones and blinding them. 

Henry seems to be aware that he’s the one responsible for these killings, and he keeps on going back to the attic, and the void, to keep doing it - but it’s unclear just how aware or remorseful he is about all this, or whether it’s 100% possessed!Henry during those moments. It certainly seems like it’s the Mindflayer making him want to do those things. When he first approaches Prancer, he’s friendly, calm and softly-spoken. The attack happens very suddenly and afterwards, I think Henry sort of ‘comes to’ and cries out in distress/remorse? 

Either way, Henry is definitely under the Mind Flayer's control at that point, and you can see the Mind Flayer smoke flying around in the void next to him. 

After Claudia’s cat turns up dead, Hopper is immediately on the case, wanting to find the culprit. He starts questioning people, and ends up approaching Henry at school.

I want to clear Hopper’s name in something here! I saw someone say that, in the play, it’s stated that Hopper says he hates cats. Whilst this *is* something Hopper tells Henry at this point, it was clear to me that Hopper was only playing mind games in the way an investigator will try to get a suspected criminal to confess: ‘The truth is, I hate cats. So I actually just want to shake the hand of the person who did it - they’re a hero in my book!’ He’s totally bluffing, and it’s just meant to show that he’s already thinking and working like a detective. Regardless, the tactic doesn’t work, and Henry brushes him off. Hopper remains none the wiser. 

When more animals start being killed in the same way, Hopper is the one who figures out that they’re all pets of Hawkins High School students who are taking part in Joyce’s play. He goes to her to request her help, and she and Bob both end up going out to look for clues with him (complete with torches, this gave major Season 1 vibes). 

Joyce and Hopper’s relationship is mostly antagonistic, but it’s clear they like each other and they flirt a bit. Meanwhile Bob admires Joyce from afar, wanting only to impress her and to find the courage to tell her how he really feels. There's some love triangle imagery throughout with where they stand. (Note: Bob does eventually admit to Joyce how he feels at the end, but she casually rebuffs him. I'm so glad they eventually ended up together because Bob was just too pure.)

Henry continues to be haunted by images of a monster reflected back at him in a mirror. I think we’re meant to take that as a representation of Mind Flayer!possessed Henry. He’s clearly afraid of himself, and what he’s capable of. 

The Mind Flayer appears to him as Patty, and taunts him by saying cruel things, like saying that he will end up killing her. In the vision, Patty starts pulling off her own hair until we see her brain. We hear a deep monstrous voice taunting Henry, saying he “will kill many, many more” - that they have seen it happen, and it is his destiny. (Time travel hints? The Mind Flayer can apparently see into his future, unless this was just an empty taunt that unfortunately came true, or a self-fulfilling prophecy). 

[Evidently, there’s something deeply disturbing at the heart of the human psyche about the possibility of uncovering the horrific within itself. When that horror is externalised… it creates a symbolic representation of our own nightmares, perhaps allowing us to tackle them more objectively and overcome those dark, disturbing impulses within us all.] 

[By investing fictional creations with the qualities we most fear - the horrifying, animalistic sides of our nature - we can, perhaps, face them more objectively and convince ourselves that we do, ultimately, have control over them… and ourselves.]

[... Perhaps the monster we fear most is the one we see reflected in the mirror. As Professor Mulrooney puts it: “The monsters in these tales are not necessarily the people we would call the monsters - Frankenstein’s creature or Dracula. The scariest part of these books is the humans.”] -Michael Davies 

The real Patty then interrupts the vision, and asks Henry if he can help her find her mother using his powers. He’s wary of doing so, but agrees to help her. He says she will have to come with him to his attic. 

Once inside, Patty tells him that it’s cold in there. Henry says he likes it cold. 

When Henry enters the void, he successfully locates Patty’s mom. She’s a singer, a show girl, working on a stage in Vegas. Patty asks him what she looks like. Henry says she looks like Patty. That she’s beautiful.

Suddenly, he loses control, and is once again visited by the Mind Flayer. Patty’s mom morphs into a terrifying figure who chases Henry through the void… and eventually catches him. 

We see the Mindflayer going into Henry inside the void, very similar to Will in Season 2 on the school field. (This happens either at this moment, or in a flashback at another point of the play. But it’s at some point!!) I think this was showing us that whoever Henry was, he’s fast disappearing into the darkness of the Mind Flayer, and vice versa - it’s like a fusion. 

Meanwhile, Mr Newby learns that Patty and Henry have been hanging out together a lot. He’s greatly displeased by this, and decides to go to the Creel House to fetch Patty and put an end to the budding romance. Romeo and Juliet vibes be vibing hard.

Downstairs, he speaks to Victor Creel, who is having a PTSD related episode and acting strangely. He says his wife believes the house is haunted by an ancient demon, and with everything that’s happened (and by how the lights keep flashing), he’s beginning to believe her. He feels like his demons have followed him from the war. 

Mr Newby then overhears the commotion from upstairs, and goes up to investigate. In the attic, Henry is holding Patty’s hand very tightly. He’s twitching and yelling as he fights against the Mind Flayer’s possession, and this frightens Patty. When her father walks in, he demands that Patty lets go of Henry’s hand. She tries, but he’s holding on too tightly. “I can’t!” Patty cries out.

Mr Newby is then attacked by Henry, controlled by the Mind Flayer. His body starts to rise up. Patty encourages Henry to fight back by telling him that she believes he is good, and that she loves him.

“Say it back!” she pleads to him. “Say it back!”

Henry responds and says he loves her too. Because of the love exchange, he manages to momentarily break out of the Mind Flayer’s control: Mr Newby drops to the floor, alive but badly injured. 

Joyce, Hopper and Bob were downstairs at this point, having followed radio anomalies to the Creel House (which they did via a machine that Bob built for them). They freak out and run away, and all come to the conclusion that creepy, crazy Victor Creel is the one responsible for Mr Newby’s injuries, as well as the string of violent animal deaths. 

[Joyce has some basis for believing Victor capable of violent crime, based as this may be in her own father’s war experience… When Joyce opens her copy of the DSM, first published in 1952, she will find no entry for PTSD… Instead, the symptoms she might recognise from her father were incorporated into depression or schizophrenia, rather than their own diagnosis. Short of a name for what they were suffering, traumatised veterans were left to find their own way through nightmares - through violence, alcohol or isolation.]  -Beth Kelly (from the Stranger Things: The First Shadow programme)

After the commotion, Henry removes his blindfold. Patty's father has broken through the attic floor, and he’s seriously injured. Patty is very afraid and upset. After a brief time skip (to the next day or two I think), we learn that Patty is staying away from Henry, who is worried that he’s ruined everything. The Mind Flayer starts to creep back in. We see a possessed Henry back in the attic, and Virginia comes up to him and says that she wants to help him, but she doesn’t know how. She reminds him that he needs to stay away from people to protect them. She talks about Patty, telling Henry that he shouldn’t see her anymore.

Possessed!Henry smirks and asks her if she’s jealous. There’s something insidious and disturbing in the way he asks it. Virginia recoils from her son and her “everything-is-going-to-be-okay” facade crumbles. We see she’s absolutely terrified of who Henry has become.

Henry creates a vision, so that it appears as though his pet spiders escape from their jars, and they run all over Virginia as she screams. She flees from the attic as Henry’s dark taunts follow her.

Henry’s sister Alice comes to the mouth of the attic. "Where is Henry?" She asks.

Henry: "He’s right here."

Alice: "You’re not him."

At this point, it was like the Mindflayer had almost completely merged with Henry. The lines had become more and more blurred as the play went on, and now it’s becoming hard to separate them - the ‘real’ Henry is finding it hard to come through and fight the possession. The Mind Flayer is winning. 

This really reminded me of Will and his own possession with the Mindflayer in Season 2. How they described it like a virus taking over, and how Will could have continued ‘disappearing’ until there was no more Will left. 

After the incident with Mr Newby, and her terror with Henry in the attic, Virginia has finally had enough. She willingly hands her son over to an “interested party” who describes himself as a doctor (who we know is Dr Brenner). He vows to take Henry to Hawkins Lab, where he’ll be safe, and contained. 

When he wakes up in the hospital, Mr Newby reveals to Patty that he actually stole her as a baby (?) in an effort to revive his relationship with his wife by having another child to care for - but it didn’t work, and his wife left him. He feels guilty about it, and wants to confess this to her after he almost died.

He tells her that he was attacked by a monster who made him relive his worst nightmares, and that “the boy”, Henry, actually fought back and saved him from death. He then draws the Mind Flayer on a piece of paper, hands it to his daughter, and tells her that this is what he saw.

After learning that Henry actually saved her father, Patty returns to his house to search for him, but it’s too late - Dr. Brenner has already taken him to the lab. However, she is able to communicate by calling out to him.

Henry contacts Patty through the void, where she is able to both speak and see him, despite him being at the lab. She tells him that she knows he is still a good person, and that he should return home.

———

Act 2.

On screen:

Chapter Two: Captain Midnight

So here’s the thing - the play paints us a totally different picture than Season 4 did in regards to Henry/Vecna. 

Henry was not inherently evil, like S4 suggested to many people - he was actually just a regular boy until ‘an incident’ occurred when he was younger, which is what gave him powers and started his possession in the first place. The end of S4 makes us think that El sent Henry to the Upside Down, which is where he meets the shadow monster and morphs it into the Mind Flayer with his powers.

But that wasn’t Henry’s first time there, nor was it the first time he saw the Mind Flayer. That was all just a REUNION.

It’s revealed that Henry actually disappeared into another dimension (Dimension X/ Upside Down) for a period of 12 hours when he was just a kid. He got lost near some caves in the Nevada desert, and when he returned, he had "completely changed in personality". 

He came back odd, ‘not normal’, and couldn’t socialise well. He also returned with dangerous powers, which he violently inflicts on animals. The Mind Flayer had clearly started possessing him from that early point, way before he even came to Hawkins. 

Let’s go back to the very beginning of the play - to the soldiers on the ship. It was Brenner’s father and his crew that were aboard this ship, the USS Eldridge, which had accidentally travelled into Dimension X/The Upside Down as a result of electromagnetic activity. 

This is based on The Philadelphia Experiment, or Project Rainbow, said to have taken place in the Second World War. The programme had a double spread on this: 

[Allegedly, wartime experiments caused the supernatural disappearance of a US naval ship… Project Rainbow was based on Einstein’s research into unified field theory through which [he] hoped to create a single theoretical framework to encompass all fundamental forces, including electromagnetism and gravity.] 

[Carl Allen claimed to have witnessed a strange event in October 1943 involving the naval destroyer escort USS Eldridge and scientists who were working on highly confidential technology which would make ships invisible to the enemy by using powerful electromagnetic fields to ‘bend’ light around them. According to Allen, they succeeded in doing just that. In fact, Allen said the ship was also briefly teleported 275 miles away to Norfolk, Virginia, before reappearing in Philadelphia. …It’s been suggested that the Eldridge’s official logs could have been deliberately altered… with the whole of Project Rainbow moving beyond top secret clarification.]  -Catherine Jones

Brenner’s father is the only survivor of this terrifying event. After returning from Dimension X and taken to a hospital, injured and dying, we learn that his blood type is now “unique” from any other human being. He won't survive a blood transfusion. His ravings about Dimension X before his death haunted and inspired Brenner for the rest of his life. Brenner started an experiment focused on finding and travelling back to Dimension X; his ultimate goal was to "create a gate" to reach it again.

Brenner enacted these experiments in the Nevada desert, where one day, one of his agents ran away with some of Brenner’s equipment near some desert caves. The agent was never found, but a Captain Midnight spyglass was - which was the exact spot where Henry went missing in Dimension X as a little boy for 12 hours. Brenner therefore began searching for the mysterious Captain Midnight comic-book fan who went to Dimension X and returned, watching him and keeping an eye on him. This is what led him to Hawkins: following Henry. 

Brenner tells us that Henry’s powers emerged after he visited Dimension X, and just like his father, his blood type is “unique”. He collects several samples from him. He also tells Henry that his powers become stronger each time he kills, and that’s why he gets so much satisfaction out of it. Brenner also tells Henry that he would get even stronger if he kills human beings, rather than animals.

During one scene, Brenner uses special equipment to see into and hear Henry's mind. He pushes Henry to the limit so he can hear and catch a glimpse of Dimension X. We hear noises similar to the Mind Flayer in Season 2 when Will goes into the Upside Down on Halloween night. The shape of the Mind Flayer appears on the screen (or was it the head of a Demogorgon? It was definitely something Upside-Downy), while Henry convulses. After this incident, Henry asks Brenner, “Can you take me back there?" 

Brenner also introduces the idea of anger to fuel Henry's power. On several instances he riles Henry up to get him angry, insulting him - and the result is always violence. He succeeds in getting Henry to kill a mouse/rat, which explodes into a bloody mess inside its cage, and then tries to convince him to kill a criminal who has been transferred to the lab with an agreement to be killed (he has a date with the electric chair later that week regardless). 

Henry refuses. He’s been speaking to Patty in the void, who has convinced him that he’s good and that he should return home. Brenner is frustrated with this, and becomes sure that Henry has someone that is "holding him back". He vows to find and remove this obstacle. But after Henry leaves the lab, Brenner tells his agents to let him go. He cannot force Henry to kill. “It has to be his choice."

Brenner is shown to have significant influence over Virginia. He’s been providing her with medication/tranquilisers, and tells her that her son desperately needs his help. He encourages Virginia to tell him who the person Henry is attached to. She does. Brenner promises her that he will take Henry back into the lab and that he won’t leave again. 

After Henry returns home, he reads his family's minds and learns that they are all afraid of him and unhappy with his return. He goes into his mother's memories and learns of the last interaction she had with Brenner, including that she wonders if he “may never have been good”, and whether "this was who he was the whole time." He knows that she was willing to give him up to Brenner forever. 

This is when the Creel murders happen, just like they’re shown in Season 4. Virginia Creel and Alice Creel are both murdered at the dinner table - and we know Victor is going to be blamed for it.

Is this Henry’s own mind now, turned to darkness and hate, or is it the Mind Flayer intent on eliminating all of Henry’s attachments? A monster who’s made a monster. I think it’s all left open to interpretation on purpose. 

After the death of his mother and sister, Henry goes straight to Hawkins High to find Patty, hoping to reach her before Brenner does. While at the school, he runs into Joyce, who voices to him her suspicions surrounding the animal killings, and what happened to Mr Newby at the Creel House.

At first, Henry thinks Joyce has worked it out, and that she knows it was him all along. “I wish you hadn’t done that…” he says, stepping closer. But Joyce clarifies just in time that she believes Henry’s father is the one who is dangerous, and that she believes he’s responsible for the terrible things that've happened in Hawkins recently. Maybe this is what gives Henry the idea to frame his father. Either way, he leaves Joyce alive. 

Both Brenner and Henry find Patty on the stage rafters, up on a high catwalk, ready to perform her part in the play. She’s initially wearing a set of wings as a prop, which are attached to the rafter to be lowered. Henry unties her from these wings, pleading with her to run away with him. An argument ensues with Brenner, where he attempts to convince Henry that Patty is his weakness, and that he needs to kill her to let her go. Patty tells Henry not to listen to him. 

During this argument, Henry loses control once more, and the Mind Flayer takes over. This results in Patty slow-motion falling from the rafters as the shape of the Mind Flayer overwhelms the stage. She hits the floor on her back, presumed dead. 

(The stage effects for this particular scene were absolutely incredible, by the way.)

Henry is later seen back at the lab. He’s fully subdued, confined to a straitjacket, mouth gagged, and sat in a wheelchair. Brenner says the implant (Soteria) is in, about to take effect.

If we believe what Season 4 showed us, the play skipped the part where Henry appeared dead alongside his mother and sister (just before Victor is then blamed and incarcerated at Pennhurst Asylum). So assuming that Brenner played a part in covering up Henry’s involvement in the Creel murders, Henry is presumed dead by the town at this point too. Unfortunately the play doesn’t address this, as instead we see Henry run immediately from the dinner table murder scene, straight to Hawkins High to find Patty. It’s a big inconsistency which I guess they want us to explain away with Henry being an “unreliable narrator” in the show. I guess he gave Nancy the abridged version of what happened!

Anyway, it appears that Henry later finds Patty in the void, despite Brenner telling him that he killed her. It seems she has successfully left Hawkins and found her mother in Las Vegas, just as she always dreamed of doing. She uses a walking stick, but otherwise appears alive and well. 

We hear and see static as Henry watches the scene unfold, and Patty glances over her shoulder, like she senses him. But then she turns her back and walks into the distance with her mother. 

An alternative take that I heard from someone, was that perhaps Patty is truthfully still seriously injured and is actually in a coma (similar to Max). They thought that maybe the final scene of Patty with her mother was actually just something that Henry was creating for her in her mind, as a sort of last semblance of goodness and love. I don’t think that’s what was intended, but it was an interesting take that I wanted to include! 

As the show nears its end, we’re presented with a series of newspaper articles relaying the tragic Creel Murders in Hawkins (possibly the same ones that Nancy and Robin find in Season 4). The Creel family all dead, Victor is blamed and sent to the asylum. The empty Creel House remains, a reminder of the horrors. It then shifts back to Hawkins lab, who are now recruiting pregnant women for experimentation. 

Brenner introduces a pregnant woman to Henry (who is still bound to a chair and fully subdued) and explains to him that the "blood transfusion" finally worked on a subject. He points to the woman's belly and remarks, “One, meet Two!" “You are as much a father to them as I am,” Brenner says at one point. Then, “Come… meet your brothers and sisters.” Even though we know Henry is not in any way related to the lab kids, they definitely played into the father/guardian/creator metaphor in the play. If not family by blood, then by circumstance. 

We see photos of the babies created in the lab, with their numbers underneath. We can recognise Eight as young Kali. Eventually we get to Ten, at which point the stage focuses on a now older Henry, wearing his recognisable Season 4 orderly outfit. He kneels beside a child with buzzed hair. 

"Hello, Eleven. Come with me.” He takes her by the hand, and they walk into the distance together. 

———

Some final thoughts:

Because of the incident with Patty during Joyce's play, we can infer that's why she is unsuccessful in her goal to impress the university, and remains stuck in Hawkins - just like Lonnie said she would.

Lonnie is awful, and I’m in two minds about how he’s handled in the play. They did a good job to show he’s always been a douchebag, and unlike what I’ve seen some people say, I actually think it was horribly believable that Joyce (who they establish likes 'bad boys') ends up going back to him and having kids with him. We know from Season 1 that there’s emotional abuse with Joyce and Lonnie, and to me, it makes horrible, horrible sense that it all ends up the way it does. I’m just not sure how I feel about Lonnie being used as any kind of comedic effect in the play (he makes a brief reappearance at the police station, where he’s been lying drunkenly handcuffed on some chairs the whole time during a scene... “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!" he says, or something to that effect). I feel like using him in that way diminishes how truly awful he is as a character. Maybe I’m just being too sensitive, but I’d much rather they had kept all the laughs and jokes for the other characters, and treated Lonnie completely seriously the whole way through. I don’t want to see him in any way ‘likeable’ or ‘relatable’ or ‘funny’, you know? Not even for cheap audience laughs. This is a guy who called his own kid son a f*g. Let's treat that with the gravity and solemnity it deserves, please.

Louis McCartney and Ella Karuna Williams as Henry Creel and Patty were great, and Isabella Pappas as Joyce was amazing. Dr Brenner was nicely emulated by Patrick Vaill (I personally think he was one of the most believable characters from stage to show). The best performance of all though was Christopher Buckley as Bob. Like, damn, give that kid all the awards! He was so believable as a young Bob, I actually forgot it wasn’t somehow a young Sean Astin on stage. *chef’s kiss*

As previously mentioned, all the parents of the kids are present in the play (and already coupled up). None of these characters are particularly fleshed out, and I think they’re mainly just there as fun ‘Easter Eggs’ to connect it with the show. E.g having Claudia own another cat that gets killed, seeing Ted Wheeler ironically as some kind of jock god who gets all the ladies (and cheats on Karen with, by the way!), Joyce holding an axe prop near the end mid-rant (“Why am I holding this??”) and Hopper making a remark about breaking his own foot (which he does in Season 4). 

They definitely seemed to be going back on the whole ‘it was Henry/Vecna the whole time’ thing from Season 4: the Mind Flayer has been pulling the strings from way before El sent Henry to Dimension X/Upside Down. We even see the Mind Flayer in the shape of a giant eldritch spider during the play, way before Henry appears to ‘shape’ it in Season 4. However, I think it’s also possible that Henry DID actually manage to take control of the Mind Flayer the second time he arrived in Dimension X (as we see at the end of S4). At that point, he’s killed all the lab kids and staff at Hawkins Lab, so he will be much more powerful now compared to the Henry from the play. By now he’s completely embraced the Mind Flayer’s philosophy, and is acting in its stead entirely on his own volition. Honestly? I think they’re going to leave it ambiguous on purpose. I think that’s why the play is technically canon, but totally not necessary before seeing Season 5. I think Henry and the Mindflayer are 'one' (lol) at this point - I think that’s what Vecna technically is. He’s like an amalgamation of this terrifying eldritch being that we can never begin to understand, but at the same time also something that is still deeply, deeply human.

The Henry side of him seems to be lost, but in a way Brenner was right - his feelings for Patty, whether ‘Puppy Love’ or real - was his one redeeming weakness in his early teen years. Judging from the play, I think it’s possible we might see a tragic sort of redemption moment in S5 (which I personally have mixed feelings about). But I do believe the play is supposed to be entirely separate, and that it’s possible Patty will continue not to be mentioned or relevant in the show (I hope I’m wrong). I just can’t help but be cautious in assuming the Mind Flayer is still the one in control after what they set up at the end of Season 4 (especially with Will saying, “it’s weird to know who it was this whole time” re: his own kidnapping and possession). I think Henry has become his darkest self as Vecna.

Speaking of Will… there were noticeably a LOT of parallels with him in Henry. Henry wears pretty much exactly Will’s outfit from Season 4, yellow tones with beige and brown. Meanwhile Patty wears a blue cardigan and a blue dress - at least in Act 1. I’m not hugely into the blue-and-yellow thing in a serious way, but even I noticed there were blue and yellow motifs for Henry and Patty. She wears a bright yellow top with her blue cardigan at one point too. I think there was definitely a mixture of both Will and El in Henry’s character.

Meanwhile Patty had noticeable similarities to Mike. She’s rebellious, outspoken, loves comic books, and worships superheroes.

Seeing the play hasn’t impacted my beliefs or hopes for Byler in any way. I think there are potentially good things to be taken from the writing, and potentially bad things too. My current confidence has neither been raised nor lowered, but what I will say is that it’s undeniable that the Henry x Patty relationship mirrors both Mileven and Byler, but especially Mileven. Hentty is obviously a star-crossed tragedy, deliberately set up like Romeo and Juliet, which we know is NEVER a good thing. I do find it interesting that their love confessions were an exchange, unlike Mike’s monologue. Patty is the one ‘present’, whilst Henry is the one trapped in the void with his eyes closed/blindfold on. It’s a high stakes moment. Patty tells Henry in desperation that she loves him, but she follows this up by pleading with him to say it back. I didn’t see anyone else talking about this, but it really stood out to me.

The play’s themes and messages still reflected what I believe the show to be about: rejecting forced conformity (it dealt with people’s ideas about what it means to be “normal” to fit in, about sex not being taboo, harmful black and white morality, and the damage that can occur from enforcing religious dogma)... and of course, like Joyce said, that love will ultimately conquer fear. Over and out!

[This kind of introspection throws up unsettling and complex ideas about the nature of human morality. What does it mean to be human? Who gets to decide who is “other”? How do we treat those who are different from us? These are huge issues, and far too esoteric for most of us to deal with in abstract. So the way we choose to explore them is in stories.] - Michael Davies

[blobsnturtles]

Welcome

to the (un)official Timothy archive!

This is a blog dedicated to Timothy (The Pulverizer) from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012). It will be filled with reblogs, and we will not repost art without the artist’s permission. Got a photo or some art of Timothy? Send it in!

If you do not know who an artist is, send the art in anyways, and we will try to find the original post/account before asking for permission (if the account is still up) and crediting them.

Regards on shipping:

Timatello is allowed and especially encouraged on this blog, though we ask that you do not submit any sexualized (or NSFW) art/posts about them at all. You may send in 'suggestive' art (smooching and such), as long as context is provided. If so, then we will evaluate if the art is okay to upload onto the archive with a warning attached.

'Thank you's:

We know and understand the low amount of attention Timothy gets, specifically 2012 Tim. Fortunately, fantastic artists such as:

@/kingscourthouse

@/pinetreevillain

@/battiegutz

And @/probably-not-a-rutabuga

Have been the fuel for Timothy fans to come together and enjoy this wonderful, slightly annoying, endearing character, no matter the iteration it came from. (Side note: Special thank you to @/pinetreevillain for creating their own ROTTMNT Timothy.)

The reasoning for making this blog:

- Timothy is a character whose world was flipped upside down the moment he met the TMNT. He was a cut plotline and was crucial for Donnie’s character growth for the show before Nickelodeon cut him. We unfortunately will never know what could have happened for Timothy in later seasons, and he could’ve been a fantastic character. It’s only fair if we give him the equivalent of a love letter as a proper send off for 2012 Tim.

- Why not? It’s fun.

Final note:

The blog will not be cluttered with anything that has nothing to do with Timothy, so if you want a general TMNT blog then this is not for you.

We hope to see you around! Stay safe, enjoy the blog, and try not to get mutated while you're at it.

Main acc: @randomcerealbrand

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week 🐧

1. ‘Robin Hood’ energy strikers give free power to French schools, hospitals, low-income homes

Amid national strikes in the energy sector, some workers in France have found a novel way to protest. On Thursday, "Robin Hood" operations – unauthorised by the government – provided free gas and electricity to schools, universities, and low-income households throughout the country.

Among the facilities provided free energy were public sports facilities, daycare centers, public libraries, some small businesses and homes that had been cut off from power. 

2. UK scientists discover method to reduce steelmaking’s CO2 emissions by 90%

Researchers from the University of Birmingham have developed an innovative method for existing furnaces that could reduce steelmaking’s CO2 emission by nearly 90%.

The iron and steel industry is a major cause of greenhouse gasses, accounting for 9% of global emissions. That’s because of the inherent carbon-intensive nature of steel production in blast furnaces, which currently represent the most-widely used practice.

3. Watch this cargo ship fly a giant kite to save fuel and cut emissions

The 2,700-square-foot parafoil is helping to tow the cargo ship and lessen the workload of the massive diesel engines — reducing the ship’s use of dirty fuel.

4. Scientists discover emperor penguin colony in Antarctica using satellite images

A newly discovered emperor penguin colony has been seen, using satellite images of one the most remote and inaccessible regions of Antarctica.

The colony, home to about 500 birds, makes a total of 66 known emperor penguin colonies around the coastline of Antarctica, half of which were discovered by space satellites. Emperor penguins are the only penguins that breed on sea ice, rather than land, and are located in areas that are very difficult to study because they are remote, inaccessible and can experience temperatures as low as −60C

Kowalski, analysis!

5. Dungeons & Dragons Scraps Plans to Update Its Open Game License

Wizards of the Coast, publisher of Dungeons & Dragons, announced yesterday that it will no longer be pursuing deauthorization of the Open Gaming License 1.0a. The deauthorization of the OGL 1.0a was a huge sticking point for fans and third-party publishers who made a living using a license that was granted nearly two decades ago.

6. Turning problem sea algae into a replacement for plastic

Excessive outbreaks of seaweed and microalgae are clogging up waters from the Caribbean to the Baltic. Now both are being harvested alongside farmed crops to create ingredients for cosmetics and food products.

7. German parliament officially commemorates LGBTQ victims of Nazi regime for first time.

The German parliament for the first time on Friday focused its annual Holocaust memorial commemorations on people persecuted and killed over their sexual or gender identity during World War II. Campaigners in Germany have worked for decades to establish an official ceremony to commemorate the LGBTQ victims persecuted under the Nazi regime.

“Today’s hour of remembrances focuses on a group of victims which had to fight for a long time to achieve recognition: people who were persecuted by the National Socialists because of their sexual orientation or their gender identity,” Baerbel Bas, president of the Bundestag lower house, said while opening a ceremony marking International Holocaust Remembrance Day, the anniversary of Auschwitz’s liberation.

- - - 

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Have a great week ahead :)