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maxwell-grant · 9 days ago

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The Penguin: Episode 8 "Great or Little Thing" Series Finale Breakdown

So first and foremost I need to give a shout-out to everyone who's been following this with me and helped me week after week process and articulate this show, this brilliant Penguin Braintrust without which I would be incredibly lost on how to even begin breaking this thing down this way: @davidmann95, @wil4x, @book--wyrm and my friend Lucas who is not on Tumblr.

And so we're here at last, in the end of the show. This took forever. I need a goddamn break. This isn't enough and will never be enough but it'll have to do. So let's get to the episode that has had the world joining hands in the unanimous urge to see the absolute shit kicked out of Oswald, and has made the character at last earn this:

(Episode 1) (Episode 2) (Episode 3) (Episode 4) (Episode 5) (Episode 6) (Episode 7)

So who would have guessed that cartoon dirtbag Rex Calabrese was still gonna turn out to be less of a cartoon dirtbag than Oz the moment we stop seeing him through Oz's eyes. Still a terrible person by every metric, but terrible in the same way a lot of Sopranos characters are terrible: this is, at the end of the day, a job, and you can talk to them, you can sit at a table to get down to business with them, and you probably know people in your life like them, and maybe you can even count of them to get real and even help you when the chips are down, even if it doesn't mitigate everything else that they are or do. At the very end, he was neither the benevolent god-king that Oz saw him as, nor was he the absurd dirtbag gangster we had him pegged as - there was never anything exceptional about Rex Calabrese, he's just a real criminal. Maybe the realest in the show.

I said in the last post that Francis burned with hate at everyone in the world except the person who most ruined her life and haha WOW was I wrong, because it turns she's known the entire goddamn time, and quite possibly no one has ever hated him more than Francis.

Most people in the show who hate Oz do so because he's a destructive bastard who craps on their lives directly, or because he's a lying sneaky fuck who does nothing while their lives are ruined, and Francis has had to deal with both longer than anyone else. I can't possibly count every single way this wildly recontextualizes every single interaction, every moment, everything that Francis has shown us and done since the first episode, because I'd have to recap EVERY scene and line of dialogue she has and we still have so much else to get through.

Why was Francis was so effectively able to withhold affection and hold his feet to the fire and give him that bottomless pit of yearning in his stomach that's driven him to move mountains in pursuit of it? Because Francis wouldn't have loved him even if he gave her the entire world at age 12. She never had any affection or love left for him. Oz was always chasing nothing.

And all along it was Rex who shaped the entire course of Oswald's life, as well as prefiguring his dynamic with Victor, with a single conversation. Oswald spend his childhood wanting for Rex Calabrese to notice and like him and be his friend, and he has no idea how much Rex actually affected his life.

That fateful night at Monroe's was never the feel-good story about his Ma summoning the willpower to live by dancing away the grief, and it was never even just the night of the eternal promise that Oz thinks back to, it was a fucking trap to kill Oz. Nothing he has in his life is real, nothing he says is true, he has never not lived in complete total delusion.

The sheer disgust in Deirdre O'Connell's face at the "I do too". How much of her personality we completely understand was born from this absolute resentment she's nursed for decades towards Oz.

And this rotten little turd comes at her with a perfect speech that hits her every insecurity and bitterness and spite and situation and convinces her to give him another chance. The nature versus nurture thing again - Oswald was shaped by hardship, by decades of hard work and neglect, by the total absence of his mother's love while in turn being forced to live in stunted childhood dedicating himself to always taking care of her, and maybe what we're seeing here is heavily distorted by Francis's POV - or maybe he was always a little monster, because this guy talking to her is The Penguin, the same guy doing the same things in the same way, either way it doesn't matter. Again, born fucking ready.

So now we see our three major supporting characters - Sofia, Victor and Francis - all of them have shown that they had a chance to walk away from Oz, to not let him ruin their lives further. All of them could have left Oswald behind, and all of them should have left Oswald behind, but they had to come back and justify the choice to do so, they had to get satisfaction, it couldn't have been for nothing. Victor had his car and a girlfriend in a bus waiting for him, Sofia had a jet to take her to Italy, and Francis had Rex Calabrese ready and waiting to put him down without a word. All of them had a chance to get out of the show and never look back, but like Oz, they had to rectify and overcorrect for an insult.

Sofia can't walk away from Gotham without punishing Oz for turning her in, for killing Alberto and further lying to her, she can't accept that this man, this embodiment of Carmine's legacy and hold over her, is still out there unpunished getting away with what he's done. Victor can't walk away from Gotham knowing that his parents did everything right and still died for nothing, that every hurtful thing Oz said was right, he can't let "They don't give out awards for dying in the projects" be the last word in his and their lives. And Francis can't walk away from Oz, who killed her two sons and keeps lying about it, who ruined her life and now keeps promising he will take care of her and acting like everything will be fine, she can't let this pass even if she can't kill him either, and so she'll make him give her the world and die trying.

The tragedy of what happened is what hurt/broke them - the added insult of what Oz said or did is what they just can't live with. It can't be for nothing.

Goddamnit it, it was really just too telegraphed for it to not happen the way it did.

I fucking knew it the moment the episode started and we got the grungy boss orchestral take on the funny Penguin chords that we were in for some calamitous shit.

We see at first that, in spite of seemingly failing, Vic has graduated to the point he can give his own speeches, gain his own allies, run his own cons - he's not just Oz's proxy, but will manage to convince the others to become such as well, and he's coming at this from a place of complete sincere belief in everything that Oz says, all of the man of the people rhetoric he will so thoroughly pervert and then sell to the people actually responsible for everything he told Victor he was fighting against.

Zeke walks up to him nearly crying about how Sofia blew it all up and Vic instantly asks back where's Oz - not because he doesn't care about Crown Point, but he's already processed it and has already learned with Oz how to just barrel forward regardless, now it's time to get to work. Victor who so readily throws himself into rescuing Oz again and again. Victor who's lost everything - he doesn't have his family, he doesn't have Graciela, he doesn't have the other mobs backing him up, and right now he doesn't even have Crown Point anymore, all he has is Oz.

The man in red who reads the Law Gave him three weeks of life, Three little weeks in which to heal His soul of his soul's strife, And cleanse from every blot of blood The hand that held the knife - The Ballad of Reading Gaol

Sofia dressed in two thematically appropriate outfits - the red scarf echoing both the first outfit we see her in, back to covering her neck but in control of her own collar, and the outfit we see her the farthest back in time with at the start of Episode 4, and with her final crimson fur coat outfit accompanying her final greatest triumph and ultimate defeat in the show. Not only that, but in this episode she also gets to perform characteristically appropriate stylized torture - holding a family intervention and therapy session with mafioso torture tactics to try and wrench the truth out of her victimizer, enacting calculated sadistic yet righteous justice via psychological breakdown, and ultimately allowing the woman he victimized and wronged to take her killshot at him.

See, it's not just that Sofia Gigante is a Batman Villain, or that she's well passed the threshold of supervillain. Cristin Milioti doesn't play Sofia like she's a new character, which she basically is, and she isn't just playing a tortured gangster lady protagonist dipping into camp villain territory, which she also is - she plays Sofia Gigante like she's been a Batman Rogues headliner for decades now stepping into the spotlight once again, like she's the dark modern revamp of someone Adam West would have thought and she's just always been around showing up in stuff along with The Penguin, like she's only not fighting or teaming up with Two-Face in this because he's not here yet. It is crucially important that Sofia passes every standard of Batman Villain imaginable with flying colors, in part because it helps to reinforce that The Penguin is a monster all his own.

Even here, with as much power as she's ever possibly held over him, reduced him to a whimpering begging mess to be killed off in a second, she is so shocked at the sheer brazen selfishness and delusion and level of bullshit on display, that even now he won't break character and think about his actions and admit to what he's done not even to save his own mother from mutilation, that she just loses the script entirely. Her entire show of power collapses and she physically recoils from sheer disgust at just how low Oswald is, at just how much he lacks the ability to even suffer for what he's done. Realizing that there is simply not enough of a soul in this filthy beast to even torture, and that however much she hates Oswald for ruining her life, someone had a prior claim all along.

Eve - Sofia - Francis in the end united in, however much they may dislike each other, however different their circumstances may be, there is nothing they could possibly do to each other that would be worse than what Oswald has done to all of them, joined in silent agreement that their rage ultimately belongs in a bullet fired at Oz's head and that they deserve their kill shot at this man.

"I had enough to give, Oswald".

This really is gonna be the high point of Francis's life from this point on.

Aw man, I liked Sofia's scruffy dirtbag detective, I wanted him to stick around as one of the reocurring characters like the movie cops

Oh Victor, sweet kind Victor, you couldn't possibly ask for anything worse in the entire world.

Oz feebly already beginning to lie and spin his new version of the events, that Sofia stabbed him and fucked up with Ma, and here comes Victor with the reversal of their dynamic, seeing this guy who's been brought low by the oppressive force looming over his life that he must defeat (because all that Victor knows about Sofia at this point is that she used to be Oz's boss and is now out to kill them, that she is scary as hell, and regardless of whether or not she was the Hangman, she just bombed his fucking neighborhood) and reaching out to him with a speech about solidarity and dignity and self-worth and picking yourself up by your fucking bootstraps to save the day. And Oz responds by coaching him on how to be a better bullshitter. Because to Oz, he knows the playbook by heart, but Victor meant it all.

Victor rebuilds Oz from basically nothing by providing him with the validation that he so desperately always craved and never got, saying all the things he always wanted to hear, poised so they can finish this together, poised to give him not only the army he asked for, but a full-blown revolution, and he never once asks for anything in return. Just, goddamnit this isn't hurting any less.

"She, sh-she'll never look at me again, all right?....unless I get this done. Got a promise to keep." Maybe the one and only time his mask ever fully cracks. For a second. He rebuilds it right back up and gets to work, but it cracked. He knows what he's doing, up until the moment he doesn't. It's that simple.

A lot of what drives Oz is acceptance, and a lot of what drives him is his desire to be accepted in worlds that have been declared, by how they run themselves and by the people that inhabit these worlds, as worlds that he was never going to be included in. And one of those worlds is the hierarchy and the hoi polloi of the political realm and the power within the political realm because he understands that all politics are corrupt essentially, and the damage that he could do then in being part of a political infrastructure of Gotham interests him. I thought it would be nice if, in that time jump, he had been invited to maybe a gala or two, you know what I mean? It'd be awkward. He'd be slurping out of the fucking teacup, there'd be stains on the table, he wouldn't really fit in, but he’d fucking love being there. - Colin Farrell

Mirroring the scene in Episode 01 where he adjusts himself next to the car, scuffing himself up to look like the sleazy funnyman the Falcones keep around for kicks, now he's dressing up as much as he can and asking Victor for input, because he truly values what the kid thinks and, goddamnit.

"C'mahn, I don't bite", pfft yeah, not in this movie universe anyway. And to the same guy you did the nose-gushing-blood bit to, even.

Minutes inside of City Hall and he already parks his ass right on Bella Real's seat - not as any kind of intentional slight against her, it's just naturally where he goes to, even before the scene ends and we see his new plans start to come to fruition.

Guy who takes offense at Viti calling Sofia a psycho and then goes up to Councilman Hady talking about the unhinged loony bin broad who went "full psycho" that he's handing to him on a platter, pointedly calling her Falcone.

At first I thought it was funny that Sal Maroni was getting blamed here for Bliss and the underground lab, but then I remembered that he was actually the one who introduced Drops to Gotham and the whole epidemic that became, so if anything it is an extremely easy part of the story to sell, even without his body being down there and all.

"You're gonna have some trouble, Oz" - pointedly smiling and calling him Oz instead of Oswald as he had up to this point, because by that point he's already a crony and already willing to work with this guy handing him all these miracles.

"You wanna be welcome? You gotta look, clean" Yes Father Pal, I Shall Become A Capitalist Caricature

You can see in the walk around, in his look at Bella Real and the mayor's office high up above and the steps, how little Ozzie's gears turn once again and rebuild his life after losing the streets and everything that happened with Ma - This is the next nest, this is the next throne, this is next schmuck I gotta cozy up to, this is the next boss looking down on me that I gotta destroy, there's the reward waiting for me if I do. This is the one that matters, I did everything in the shit and now I'm gonna get me sum goddamn respeck, Feh Ma of course.

And before all of this we see Sofia's next move, showing the ways in which she is good at this, the ways in which she truly is something outside of the worldview of what these gangsters are used to, and why she is going to lose. "Because I can". She is good at commanding a room and promising rewards beyond the wildest dreams of these street crimelords because she can offer everything they want and lose nothing she cares about for it, she will hand them everything and dip because she can, and she is going to lose because she can lose. Because she still thinks there is an end in sight for her, she thinks she will get to walk away from this universe and go meet a happy ending at a cafe in Florence.

It's not just that Sofia was born into privilege and never really lived in Gotham and could just hop onto a plane out of here anytime, it's also that she has room in her life for introspection, self-awareness, consideration towards others, and all those things that come easier when you're "born full", and not when you're the starving hustler for whom leaving the city was never an option even if he had all the money in the world, the hungry animal who wants this, wants everything, harder than anyone has ever wanted anything. The guy who has no room for anything else in his brain other than a perpetual bullshit generator set to a 24/7 chorus of "I GOTTA WIIIIIIN"

Another element to her that I really love is, she's good at this. She knows she's good at this, she was supposed to take over the family. She may not know the ins and outs of the game as it currently stands, but she is good at this. Some of it is, I think that's the only world she knows, and some of it is there's something in there, that's always been there, and she believes it is rightfully hers. There's an element of, "I need to have made it worth it for something", and if that means power, then okay. - Cristin Milioti

There’s a level for both of them that they enjoy each other’s suffering, and that sort of leads to Sofia’s downfall. If she didn’t need to see Oz suffer she might have been free. And she really gets in her own way in that regard and largely because Oz is this crutch that she just cannot let go of. - Lauren LeFranc

And here we get to the end of season 1 of HBO's The Sofia Show, the bittersweet in hindsight but extremely cathartic torching of the set as a last hard-earned spiritual victory by our hard-done-by lady protagonist. All of her family is dead, the city is out for her blood, she gathered all the remaining criminals for One Last Job with everything on the line, and she is having a very fun time with her montage destroying her home and family name beyond recovery. She is going to finish her character arc, get to finally kill her former comedy sidekick turned mortal nemesis, and hop on a plane to The White Lotus resort straight away into greener (if only marginally less fucked up) genre territory away from this ugly nightmare city. Alas, this is not The Sofia Show, and it's time for her theme suite to catch up to her once again and tell us of how very badly this is all going to go for her.

And she can't even be that shocked, when the high of burning it all down goes away, when she sees that old Ozzie Cobb wriggled his way out of this jam regardless and is now coming at her with a speech, she can't even react to it. Deep down she knows how the rest of the night is going to go. She may not have expected Arkham outright, but she was braced for a loathsome fate.

It rules so much they give him a big fat fight the power speech with a bloody revolution montage, and we can only sit there aghast with Sofia at the sheer audacity of him to act like this, like a man of the people, thinking he truly has the right to be talking like this and to her of all people.

And now we see how Oz won the gang war, and the next domino to fall on the downfall of Gotham City, and the first effect of his own rise to power: like The Riddler, he has toppled the order of things and he has turned people into extensions of himself, Victor being the first and the one who gave him this revolution, of all the little mini Penguins out there devouring the social structure of Gotham crime forever. You kill the boss, you become the boss now. Everyone can bleed and everyone can be killed and everyone must be killed in the quest to the top, no handrails or codes, they wouldn't invite him and so he crashed. After he unified the criminal underdogs, Victor rallied the underdogs beneath the underdogs, and now the streets are a jungle where there will never be an end to the wars over who gets to be atop the food chain, because they are all fighting to see who gets to be the next Penguin.

For decades people have written Oswald Cobblepot as a creep and a sleaze and an incel who hurts/kills women for rejecting him, or who is chronically insecure about them and I can very confidently say nobody ever did anything half as horrible and half as truthful and half as meaningful as LeFranc did here. We see the other reason why it was so imperative to her that Oswald not be a misogynist, and it has nothing to do with just making him more likeable or sympathetic or honorable. We get in this episode the pay off to the thoughtline: okay, he's actually a gangster who respects women, he does not act like every other prestige drama gangster who ever lived, we are going to center women in this show and he will treat them with respect - now let's watch how he HORRIBLY screws them over in the name of this respectful gentleman persona he lives by, let's watch how he betrays them in the ways that matter most, how he even makes them wish they were dead without personally ever lifting a finger to harm them, let's do some grown-up feminist commentary in Batman for a change and highlight the ways in which men profit from belittling and oppressing and destroying women even when they're pointedly not misogynistic and even self-professed genuine allies to them.

And so it is that the only Falcone mobster who isn't misogynistic towards Sofia is the one who screws her the most horribly. He will murder every man he comes across, he will murder every man he could have been and every man who is even marginally better than him in any way, he will push all of his brothers out of the nest and not tolerate any other big shot in town bigger than him and not even the only man, the only person, in town who loves him will be spared. But he is a gentleman, so he leaves the women alive (well, except for Nadia Maroni, but she was a rival big shot and worse, his boss for a day or two, so she obviously had to go eventually).

I thought about his greatest fear, and it made a lot of sense to me that his greatest fear would be that love is transactional. That if he does not achieve a level of power and give Francis certain types of things that he’s promised her she might not love him. And that informs every relationship he has on the show It was always important to me, and this was always part of my initial pitch, that if Oz was to achieve a level of power—and that is something that was not up for discussion, that was my job that I was tasked with for the season—that he has to lose something emotionally. It can’t come without a cost. - Lauren LeFranc

"the crooked politics that have allowed wealthy elites like Sofia Falcone to wreak havoc". Oz has weaponized the status quo against her so throughly that she is going away under the exact same image that she did it the first time, as a privileged serial killer and Falcone. She doesn't even get to have her new name anymore, and the rest of Gotham does not see her as the new and strange and horrific new threat that she embodied in Oz's life - she is going away as just another upper-class monster like her dad.

The triumph that Oswald has fought his entire life for, the Big One that he's scraped and fought and hoped his entire life would happen and he'd get to show his Ma at the end, the thing that he's going to throw a party for at this moment, is just a politician on tv saying things that Oswald claims he told him to say.

All of our 3 major supporting characters will thus reach the high point of their lives, on the moment before it is ripped away and they are destroyed forever. Francis gets to finally spit all of her hatred back to Oz and take her revenge on him, and her babies appear before her alive and unharmed. Sofia gets to burn down her father and his legacy once and for all, and is on her way to kill her nemesis and finally be free of it all. Victor succeeds in helping Oz win, they have revolutionized the gangs and defeated the big bad Falcone and he's done right by his new family what he couldn't do with his old one.

And of course, Oswald finally wins - he is the last man standing, he's defeated his greatest enemy, he is the big shot of Gotham and his victory is, so he claims, right there on the tv for his Ma to see, he can finally get what he's always wanted now - and then he doesn't, and then his soul crumbles, before he finishes the job by murdering his heart.

Oz didn’t need to do that, like it wasn’t actually necessary. In that moment, Victor did not betray him. He did nothing wrong. In fact, the thing that he did “wrong” in Oz’s eyes is that he loves him and that he cares about him and Oz actually cares about Victor. I think by the end Oz sees that as a really big problem because he loves his mother so deeply and Sofia took advantage of that love, and then it became sort of a weakness in his eyes. Victor saw him at his most vulnerable and for Oz to achieve the power that he thinks he needs, he can’t have that level of humanity. He can’t have that heart with him anymore. So he stifles his own heart. He kills it. - Lauren LeFranc

When he said to Vic in the sewer, “They'll tell stories about us one day, kid,” he meant it. At that stage, he actually saw that he could rise and Vic could come with him. It's only when the vulnerability and the shock of his mother being taken from him, and the place of vulnerability and danger that puts him in, that he realizes there's no more love, there's no more affection, there's no one else I'm going to have in my life that can lead me to such vulnerability as my mother has led me to or as this kid could potentially lead me to. - Colin Farrell

He's not relishing being horrible. When he realizes, "Oh God, Victor makes me vulnerable. I can't have that shit anymore." The way that Lauren wrote it, and the way Colin played, there's such sadness under the horror. You're like, oh my God, how fucked up do you have to be that the one person who you feel you have any connection with now, you have to snuff out because it makes you weak. What happened to you? - Matt Reeves

"You think she forgives me?" Once again, the mask cracks. Only around Victor. Only because of Victor. And he can't have that again.

And thus we get to the final parallel between our 3 side characters - that in the end, all they did was serve Oz's own rise to power, and hand him the world in exchange for their lives. All they were to him were additional steps in the ladder that began with his brothers. Francis gave him his life, his drive, his motivation and eternal justification, the insatiable pit in his gut driving him to do this forever. Sofia got him his promotion to Falcone lackey, and then she got him another promotion by handing him the tools with which he could become an underground boss and rally them, and then she got him another promotion by handing him the keys to his political career on a silver platter. And Victor saved his life, more than once. He helped him, provided the justification he has craved for a lifetime, rebuilt him, gave him his revolution, gave him the streets, and showed him the last thing he needed to kill to make it to the top.

Wow man let me tell my good friend, The Family Butcherer, who butchers every family he gets his hands on whether a crime family or a literal one, how much I think of him as family.

"They don't give out awards for dying in the projects"

Just like with Squid, Vic's emotional intelligence dooms him. He sees this man whom is like family to him brought to his lowest point, crushed beyond measure, in what he assumes was just a phenomenally terrible stroke of fate and not something he had any blame whatsoever for, and reaches out to pat him in the back, emotionally reassure him that it wasn't all for nothing, that his family would surely be proud of him, and that there's things to look forward to.

Vic threw away his chance to walk away into the sunset with Graciela and he just had to come back to save Oz (AND Sofia, the one who'd bomb his neighborhood) from the Maronis, the least of all possible evils in his life and his city and who never even noticed him. Victor only narrowly missed out in 2 situations that Oz would have absolutely left him to die in, so there just had to be a third where he'd die in the absolute worst way possible. Not with Sofia's gunshot to the head, not bombed to rubble along with his neighborhood, no, Mr. Carmine 2 had to make it as painful and intimate as possible.

Vic the only Number Two in town who couldn't kill his boss and in fact never even considered doing so, and so he dies - there is just no room for him anymore, not in Oz's life, nor in the new Gotham that the two built together.

LEFRANC: "You see Oz become this next level monster, I remember the take too. Jennifer and I look at each other, Colin transforms his face in this really remarkable way, that I don't think any of us fully anticipated could be achieved in that way." - The Penguin Podcast Episode 8

I knew that the general sentiment was that, by the end, they kind of wanted to, in a way, kill the Oz that we met in the film. I felt that there was a sense of creative responsibility that leaned towards, “We cannot have this man as a likable character,” which is hard I think they wanted that in the earth by the end of the eight hours. They wanted that RIP. That's gone. I hated that scene. I really did. I was fucking so pissed off. It felt in performing it as — guess what? — you would like it to feel in viewing it. It felt gross, it felt cruel, it felt absolutely insane, and it felt like Oz was reaching a point of no return. - Colin Farrell

So the day after I watched this episode, my friend Lucas messaged me in the afternoon sending me audio messages, "Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch! He stole his identity, he didn't even die with his fucking name! They'll never find him! Fuck, goddamnit!" "ELE MORREU COMO INDIGENTE, PORRA" and, yeah. Yeah. That gets to the heart of it.

If Vic was just a guy taking his money, if Vic was purely transactional, if he was just another Link, he'd have made it. Oz wouldn't have given a shit about him, Oz would have died on the sidewalk when the Maronis hit at minimum. All this piece of shit wants is love, and when he gets it, when it's finally non-transactional, from the ONLY person in the entire show who loved him, he has to kill it, he doesn't know how to deal with it, he has to smother his heart.

He has to become Carmine Falcone 2, strangling the poor and vulnerable of Gotham while pinning all of his crimes on Sofia.

Vic just wanted his family back, man. He just wanted a family again, to at least show his family that they didn't die for nothing. The thing that Oz spits in his face as he dies. It wasn't for nothin.

This show has so many dozen little variations of Penguin getting his heart broken and retaliating cruelly, but this one hurts the most partially because it has no basis whatsoever on any pre-existing insult or cruelty, there was nothing that warranted this, and you still get why Oz felt that he had to do it. The lowest, weakest moment of his life, and he can never permit anything like it ever again.

Victor was his heart, and The Penguin remembered that his heart only exists to be broken.

Victor punctures the illusion, and he cannot have that. Everything about The Penguin hinges on that singular fact of his life: he cannot and will not break character. He cannot break character, otherwise he dies, otherwise Gotham City will eat him alive, otherwise he has done it all for nothing. That is the ultimate threat Sofia posed to him, and why his ultimate victory comes only from creating a perfect delusion and spinning everything that happened in service of it. Because all those things said at Monroe's? They weren't true - his Ma, y'know, it was just her disease acting up, that psycho did something to her, she wasn't thinkin straight, and it was really Sofia that stabbed him and did all that fucked up shit, and his Ma is really happy that she got the penthouse in the end and that he didn't put her down, look, she's crying tears of joy even, I gotta keep doing everything for her.

Everything and everyone in his life, he can spin in service of the delusion, they can all play dress-up with him forever, except Victor. Victor may not have the slightest clue as to what Oz actually did, but he's seen too much, he knows he has vulnerabilities, he knows the thing that Oz needs to bury far, far more than all the horrible things he's done. Killing Victor is maybe the one thing that he absolutely cannot in the slightest spin a decent delusion out of, that he did it for him or did it for noble reasons or anything other than out of disgusting self-serving weakness.

But who's Victor? Some kid who died in the projects and didn't even have a name? Someone with nobody left to mourn him, not even a street to get back to, nothing but a guy who's already forgot him?

That Victor Aguilar? Never heard of him

“I will never think my mother doesn't love me. She was having a bad day when she stuck that bottle in me. She was under a lot of pressure. She nearly lost her finger. She stuck a bottle in my belly. It was a bad day. She didn't get a good night's sleep the night before.” It's that kind of thing. He'll make up fucking whatever. He's already lying when he goes, and he's stitching up his belly, and Vic says, “What happened?” And he says, “Sofia, she stuck me with a bottle.” He's already beginning to bury the truth. - Colin Farrell

He needed your love, and then you didn't give it to him, and you didn't obey, and you didn't do those things that he needed, and then you mentally aren't there for him in the way that he needs, but he's got to physically keep you around because he's too weak to not do that. He can't give you the gift that he promised you in Episode Six, he's too weak of a man to do that. And so he needs to hold onto you, but under his terms. - Lauren LeFranc

There's a thing that happened on that last day that made my blood run cold, which was I felt Oz not love me anymore. I felt his coldness, and I think that Francis felt it too, and she always had so much of his attention and so much of his love. I don't even think she realized how much she had until he withdrew it. And when he withdrew it, it was utter and… slightly terrified. I was just lying in that bed, I just felt the love leave the room. It's a real thing, and it's gone, yeah, and I think Francis feels it, too. - Deirdre O'Connell

He's this man who is clawing his way to the top, and I knew he wanted power, but what what does that mean for him? That's where I started to conceive of like, he wants his mother's love, and he wants people's affection. He wants to be revered. That was like the main thrust for me of what defines power for Oz, and then by the end you realize that, when he doesn't get those things, he doesn't get his mother's acceptance, he still gets it. He makes sure he gets it. - Lauren LeFranc

So bowled over and miserable I was that I didn't even notice until later that he was wearing a version of the classic Bronze Age/Triumphant get-up.

If the pattern of his life is unjustifiably cruel retribution for slights and insults, perceived or not, by the end Francis had done it to him as well. That she never loved him and in fact always hated him more than anything and anyone else is the biggest insult of all, and so he punishes her the most cruelly, knowingly or not.

"You are who you are, and you couldn't change if you tried."

He will never stop telling Rex Calabrese stories, he will never stop bringing up his brothers and mom as a sympathy ploy, and even if he will never truly love her again, he will never stop ruining the world in her name, he will never stop, he will never stop, he will never stop.

You had to sit through 8 hours chipping away at all of his fun and charm and wacko comedy antics and motivations and all the scruples and principles that he turns out to have less and less of, until he butchers them all in the very end along with the heart of the show. Penguin burning through all of his lovable quirks and charm, everything that we loved about him in the movie, until he comes through as a black-hearted bastard of unlimited malice who will never stop growing and getting worse and putting more lives in danger. Not only as much of a lowlife backstabber as we initially assumed him to be in the movie, but far worse than what we could have imagined.

I said as much that the first episode marks the transition from The Batman to The Penguin with the titlecard, and this brings it back around. The show dies with Victor, we get Sofia's post-credits Nick Fury Tease with Selina's letter and with Selina's theme playing and a final grace note of hope for Sofia, and thus the only character in the show to end with anything resembling positive, and then we get the first scene of The Batman Part 2. showing us the horrible thing in this world that Batman will have to defeat for us.

RIP Bella Real, we all know this asshole is gonna become mayor, and he's not waiting for the next election.

Credit to @book--wyrm for pointing out one more horrible fucking thing, that at the final dance, his hands are covered in scratches, much like the hands of Carmine Falcone when he comforted Sofia.

“One of the very early things that Lauren pitched was that ending with Eve where she looks like Francis,” said Reeves. “He can’t get what he needed from his mother because she’s no longer in that state because of the dark events and what he’s done, so he recreates it in this other way with Eve, and it’s very disturbing,” said Reeves. “That was something we thought was a great idea and was so emblematic of this guy’s internal state. It’s like, even as he now seems to have gotten that first major step toward being the kingpin, you know that some part of him will never be filled. - Matt Reeves

When I read that, I was like, “Oh my god, we're going full Bates Motel here.” But again, it speaks to what has become a pathological inability to accept the world that he has played such a heavy hand in creating. As far as he's concerned, he's just doing what he needs to do to live the life of a good son. And look, his mother can't talk anymore, so he needs a surrogate. I mean, it would be kept out of the sexual realm — it wasn't about that. It was about the intimacy and the tenderness and the pride that Oz always so deeply needed to feel his mother had for him, and pride in him, that he never really got from her. The one time when he finally can say to her, can go to her bedside and say, “It's done. Everything you said that I was capable of, everything you said that I should aspire to, it's done. I am now the boss. I took it from everyone else.” And he gets nothing back. His mother's already gone. That's just too horrific for him, so he needs a surrogate. He would say to Eve, “Look, I'm grieving. I'm finding it hard to deal with the fact that my mother's alive, but she's not here. She's gone, but she's fully present at the same time, physically, but she's nowhere there. She doesn't recognize me. I don't recognize the woman she's become. Do me a favor. We used to dance together and talk at the end of the night. Would you put on her dress and just let me pretend?” But it was twisted. It was twisted, but I dug it. He needs it from his mom so much. And again, his imagination is so potent that he just cast her as that figure, that most prominent and most powerful figurehead in his life, which has always been his mother. She's got to stay alive. He's got to hear that he did well from her. He's got to hear that she's proud. Look, by the end, he's bananas, as they say in the film. Good cop, batshit cop. At the end, he's batshit. - Colin Farrell

Remember when this show had fun Dolly Parton end credits, remember when this almost looked like it was gonna be fun and light-hearted compared to the movie and The Riddler: Year One

So turns out all along they actually had something real twisted planned with the name Karlo, and the Clayface concept that evokes. Asking his prostitute girlfriend to shapeshift into his crying comatose mom in the room upstairs so he can finally get the dance with her atop the world that he craved his entire life and have her tell him how proud she is that he ruined everything forever.

It is not a good ending, but it is his happy ending. He achieved everything he wanted in the smallest possible amount and at the highest cost imaginable, and thus he burns more than ever to take more and more in the name of a satisfaction he will never, ever have. He ended his arch-nemesis, and he didn't have to kill her, that's not what a gentleman does. He got the streets, and he's poised to take political power, and there is nobody left to care about, nobody except the only person who's ever mattered. He can still keep taking care of Ma as a justification for all the shit he will do now and forever, but he doesn't actually have to take care of her anymore, he doesn't even have to love her or grovel her for validation anymore: He has a Ma who will tell him everything he wants to hear, forever.

Of course, he may not have his three dance partners anymore - his Ma is in a vegetative state, Sofia has been locked away once again, and that kid, what was his name again, ain't around. But then, he will simply move on to new ones: He didn't actually lose his first dance partner, his Ma is fine, look at her telling him how proud she is of him and everything he's done and how unstoppable he is now. And he has a new partner in City Hall who is all too eager to play along to everything he says and does, who will receive and spit back his rhetoric just as Vic did to the streets of Gotham. And if he's defeated his nemesis and dance partner, well, not for long. There's a new one waiting for him. He never wins without losing. He will never again live without his next dance partner there to hound and foil him at every turn. There will always be something in the way.

It was exciting to me, the idea that we’re going to meet Oz as a mobster, and to play him as just a man. There’s nothing fantastical about him. There’s so many people like Oz in our world who hold a lot of power, who also connect with people because they speak, on some level, the truth. They can be charming and engaging, but also really terrifying and calculated, and not necessarily doing what they say that they will do or caring for people in the way that they say that they will. It felt so timely and so important to really engage with a guy like Oz and not turn away from him, but actually turn towards him so we can start to unpack, in our own society, what makes a man like Oz so appealing, and what makes him equally appalling. - Lauren LeFranc

I think Oz has always been someone who believes that everything he’s saying in the moment is true, and he creates worlds and illusions for himself to merit his actions. He does it sometimes very briefly in impulsive moments, and then sometimes more methodically, and in the end the fact that he didn’t get from his mother what he’s always desired isn’t good enough for him. So he has to create this strange fantasy live in this delusion of his own making, and pay Eve to dress as his mother and force her to tell him he she’s proud of him. So mentally, emotionally, Oz is embracing his own delusion. I think, for the audience, I hope they more deeply understand him psychologically and realize that there is a deeply broken man inside. He is violent and problematic and and very emotional. And that’s really the man that will carry into the next film. - Lauren LeFranc

And it has to end in a total reversal of the movie ending - The Batman ends with showing there is a light in the darkness, that this tortured broken man can fix his mistakes and lead us into something better. The Penguin ends by grabbing your face and desperately yelling at you SOMEBODY FUCKING SAVE US, HE WILL ONLY GET WORSE. The Batman ends with telling us Batman can save us all, and The Penguin ends with telling us Penguin will kill every last one of us in real life if he hasn't already, if nobody stops him.

And so I'll leave these last partings words to the Penguin Braintrust as we close off this series - see you all in therapy and in theaters when The Batman: Part 2 drives us all completely insane once more.

@wil4x

I don't think this Penguin is someone Batman can tolerate, I don't think Bruce can ever save Gotham's soul with a force of corruption as big as Penguin taking root in the seats of power. No amount of informant work can justify letting a monster like Penguin stay "King of Gotham". I think there's an argument to be made that Oz is a bigger threat to Batman's overall long-term mission than guys like Joker or Riddler. Those are huge immediate threats, but Penguin does a lot more long-term damage to the very soul of Gotham and its people. As long as The Penguin is on top, there's no hope, Gotham will never not be the most corrupt and nightmarish place on earth with him in charge

@book--wyrm

He will truly climb anything no loss so great it can't be flipped into an asseet A nuke Francis armed out of pain and grief and desperation and despair And poor vic Only wanting to do good And instead he saves gotham’s own typhoid mary of misery

@davidmann95

so the thing is Oz kills hope for Gotham forever in this

he's replacing the mayor who stands for hope at the end of The Batman with a corrupt comics rando built on a lie so he can install himself as the power behind the power forever Batman can't be alluded to in the slightest until the very end because it can't be until there's no lingering 'aw, I don't want my boy to get Batman'ed' it can't be until we understand truly and completely why this man proves the necessity of someone out there to stop him

The other stabs at this with Oswald, from what I’ve seen, are trying to make him low-down and dirty and vile enough to be a ‘proper’ Batman villain. But this already made him low-down and dirty and vile. And made us love him for it. This isn’t about ‘fixing him’, this is about taking him all the way to the top He’d accept no less

This is about making him operatically nightmarish enough to be a guy Batman is going to fight forever

Lucas

VENGEANCE, GET OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

#dc comics #the penguin #the penguin hbo #hbo max #max #oswald cobb #oswald cobblepot #sofia falcone #sofia gigante #victor aguilar #francis cobb #colin farrell #cristin milioti #rhenzy feliz #deirdre o'connell #matt reeves #lauren lefranc

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sirthisisa-wendys · 2 years ago

Note

Can you do a period cup part 2 with izana kakucho and Draken please its okay if you dont want to have a good day/night

Absolutely! This was in the works already, so I'm glad you requested it!

Stuck Cups (Part 2): Izana Kurokawa/Kakucho Hitto/Ken Ryuguji/Sanzu Haruchiyo x Fem!Reader

wc: 953

tw: blood!

masterlist (Part 1)

Izana Kurokawa is squeamish and will not touch anything that looks like blood. Ever.

"No!" Izana shouts, walking out of the bathroom with both hands up. "I won't look at it."

"Don't be a baby," you cry out, amused. "It's just a period!"

"Never known what that was and didn't want to." Izana wanders into the kitchen, opening the fridge and distracting himself from the thought of blood anywhere. So much for a gang leader, huh?

"You act like seeing blood is the worst thing in the world."

"Not seeing it," Izana counters, pointing a single finger in the air. "Touching it."

"Who would clean your scrapes, then?"

"Kakucho," Izana announces proudly. "He'd do anything for me."

Kakucho Hitto is willing to... learn about periods now.

"Alright, so you're saying..." Kakucho squats, frowning. "That your period cup is stuck in there?"

"Yeah," you mumble, shaking your head. "Can't get it out at all."

"And Izana wouldn't help you?"

"No."

"Figures," Kakucho whispers, leaning forward a bit before tossing over his shoulder, "I have full permission to touch your girlfriend's vagina, right?"

"Yeah, just this once. It's a hall pass type of a thing." You glare at Izana, who's standing in the doorway, looking at his phone distractedly. "One night only."

"Okay." Kakucho sticks two fingers inside of you, and you jolt, feeling thick fingers probe about you. "I think I've got it."

"Could you hurry up?" you wonder, grimacing. "Pull it out, already!"

Kakucho obeys, pulling it out and letting it drop with a thunk onto the floor.

"That's disgusting," Izana responds, making a yuck face and walking away.

"It's literally just a period," you grumble. Kakucho picks up your cup and washes it out in the sink with care.

"Just boil it, and it'll be good to go."

"How'd you know that?" you ask, taking the cup from him. Kakucho ponders upon your question for a second, then hums to himself.

"I mean, they're like sex toys, right? They go in your vagina, so they need to be cleaned every so often. I'd assume you boil it."

"Do you own--" Kakucho turns beet red, then backs out of the bathroom without answering any of your shouted questions.

Draken wishes he didn't know what a period was, but is second best only to Takeomi.

"Babe," you shout, and Draken stops putting the groceries away. "My cup got stuck again."

"Coming," Draken replies, shutting the fridge door closed with his foot and ambling towards the bathroom. Damn, he's getting old, he notes, rubbing his back. You're stuck on the toilet, one eye shut as you feel around for the cup. "I got this."

Draken wordlessly replaces your fingers and feels for the cup, leaning over just enough so he can reach the rim and pull it out with ease. Before he straightens up, he places a quick kiss on your nose and then treks to the sink, making light work of the nearly impossible task.

"We should probably start using those disc things," you mention, wiping before flushing the toilet. "You know, for ease of removal and stuff." Draken's eyes slide to you, and he huffs in surprise before leaning his back against the sink.

"Oh, yeah? For ease of removal?"

"And other things," you murmur, pushing him aside to wash your hands.

"Like sex?" Draken laces his arms around you and nuzzles your neck. "We don't have to do all of that, baby. I'll fuck the period right out of you, no sweat." You bump your hips against him, and Draken's grip tightens around you.

"Don't tempt me, big boy," you giggle, but Draken isn't through with you. Not in the slightest.

"Let me put the milk up so it doesn't spoil, and I'll be right back to... assist you, my dear."

Sanzu Haruchiyo is not squeamish, not stupid, and relies on other methods of freedom.

"The article says you should..." Sanzu pauses, scowling over his phone at the hostage in the corner. The bound man is crying loudly, which is interrupting his focus and making him irritated. "Shut the fuck up." Sanzu waves the gun in his hand for emphasis, then turns back to his phone.

"Sorry, baby. First, you should probably get some gloves."

"Gloves...?"

"We have some in the cabinet below the sink." You shift the phone around and set it down. Sanzu can hear you rattling around in the cabinet in the background. "Let me know when you find them."

"Just let me go," the hostage warbles. "I swear I didn't have anything to do with--"

"I'm. Not. Talking. To you."

"I found them!"

"Great. Now you're going to want to squat over the toilet and feel around for the top of the cup. When you find it, push it in and pull it out."

"Got it." There are noises of effort on the other side of the phone, and when you're freed, you give a little shout of joy. "I did it!"

"Good job, sweetheart," Sanzu smiles to himself and glances at the man. "That's my baby girl right there. She can do anything."

"Are you coming home in time for dinner?" Sanzu turns his attention back to the phone and thinks.

"Don't know. Might take me a bit to clean up around here. Save me a plate, though."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you more."

"Impossible," you counter, and Sanzu chuckles. "See you soon." After he hangs up, Sanzu turns back to his hostage. He stands, sets down his phone, and picks up his gun.

"Tell me the steps to getting a stuck menstrual cup out of your wife's vagina in ten seconds, or I'm turning your brains into a Jackson Pollock on the wall behind you."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #tokyo revengers draken #ken ryuguji #ken ryuguji x reader #izana kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa #kakucho hitto x reader #kakucho hitto

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penvisions · 9 months ago

Text

of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!

A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.

She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.

“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”

“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.

“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”

She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.

“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”

“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”

“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”

He’d been searching the city for days.

Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.

Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.

Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.

He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.

It was as if you had simply vanished.

Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.

Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language. Rolling off your tongue with precision.

It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.

There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.

He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.

Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.

That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.

Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.

But now it was too little too late.

After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…

Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.

Burc’ya. Friend.

Ner kar’ta. My heart.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.

You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.

He was beginning to think something had happened.

But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.

He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.

He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.

Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.

He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.

Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.

Would…would you even want that type of life?

Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.

I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.

Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.

The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.

He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.

Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.

“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“

“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.

Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.

“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Now go and stay out of trouble.”

An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.

“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”

“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.

“Yes.”

The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.

Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.

It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.

Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.

And then, suddenly.

There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.

The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.

It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.

I’ve always loved the forest.

The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.

You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.

Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.

It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.

There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.

One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.

Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.

It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.

Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.

“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”

Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.

“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”

Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.

“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”

Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.

If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.

But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.

But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.

“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.

Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.

It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more. He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.

The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.

Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.

His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.

Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.

The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.

With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.

Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.

Similar but not identical.

There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.

You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.

He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.

Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.

Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.

It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

Ner kar’ta.

The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.

You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.

Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.

Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.

And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.

I love you. Future husband.

And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.

Jatne vod.

Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.

And then you had been gone.

And it hurt.

He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.

Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.

“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”

Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.

Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.

The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.

Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.

He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.

And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.

Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.

Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.

“Where?”

“Sir, please, you need to check in-“

“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.

Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.

“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.

“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.

“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”

“He will.”

“Mando-“

He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.

The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.

And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.

I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!

You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?

Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?

Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…

A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.

The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”

“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”

The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.

The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.

“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.

The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.

“Where?”

“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley. “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”

“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.

“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“

Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.

Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.

“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“

“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.

“Not so fast-“

“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”

“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.

“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.

“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”

It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.

When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.

Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.

“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”

“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.

“What if someone knows?”

“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”

“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”

Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.

With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.

“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.

When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.

The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.

“I…I made a mistake.”

“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.

“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”

“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”

“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”

“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”

Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.

“Betrothed.”

He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.

And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.

And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.

Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?

What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.

But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.

The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.

Din had been like that too, not that long ago.

Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.

Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.

“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”

“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.

“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”

The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.

“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”

“She knows you care about her, Din.”

The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.

“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.

“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”

K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.

Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.

Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.

It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.

It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.

There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.

“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.

The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.

“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.

“Is that-?”

“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.

Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.

Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.

The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.

Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.

Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.

They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.

He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.

“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.

“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.

“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”

“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.

Shit.

It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.

Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.

The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.

Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.

Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.

The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.

There were two glaringly obvious problems:

Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.

And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls

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l1tw1ck · 2 years ago

Text

Revenge is Best Served Hot (And Sticky)

Bottom!FTM!Pantalone x Top!Masc!Test Subject Reader

{Request} [Part One] | [No AFAB language ver (AO3)]

Contains: Non-Con, Voyeurism, Face-Fucking, Rough Sex

Words: 697

──────────────────

"It's just...well, the specimen um is fairly ordinary save for the, hm, high stamina and sex drive..." Dottore looks at the floor.

"...Can it at least follow orders?" Pantalone asks.

"Uh- yes."

"Hm. I'll make use of this. Dottore, don't go against me." Pantalone says before ordering you to stand up.

"What do you mean..?"

"You. Do whatever you wish with him." Pantalone points to Dottore. "Don't listen to him if he tells you to stop."

Dottore looks at you in horror as you bring him to his knees.

──────────────────

After recovering from the previous events, Dottore has you take revenge for him.

He enters Pantalone's room with you behind him, a sick grin on his face and a bundle of rope in his hands. Thankfully Pantalone was passed out from the hard day he had earlier so Dottore doesn't have to use you to hold him down.

He approaches the male's sleeping body, pulling the covers away and turning him on his back. The doctor ties Pantalone's wrists to prevent him from trying anything when he wakes up.

"Go ahead." Dottore smiles and steps away. He sits on top of the banker's desk and watches you rip his clothes to shreds.

You shove his mouth onto your awaiting length, dragging his head along the shaft. As soon as your tip hits the back of his throat he jolts awake.

His screams and complaints are muffled, he squirms around and fruitlessly tries to get out of the rope.

"Relax, Pantalone. You know it'll hurt more if you fight." Dottore laughs. "Those ropes are specially made, don't waste your time."

Pantalone glares at him.

"Oh and don't try to bite, it won't hesitate to knock your teeth out."

He quickly relaxes his mouth and begrudgingly allows you to use his mouth freely.

You drag your cock along his throat, abusing it and groaning at how good he feels.

"How does it feel being in my place now?" Dottore taunts.

If he could, Pantalone would flip him off.

You grip his hair and fuck his mouth harder, drool spilling down the Regrator's chin.

It feels like you're spending hours thrusting into his throat, every minute making him feel more and more disgusted. You finally reach your peak and send thick globs of cum down his wet warmth.

You keep yourself inside him, not moving but forcing him to swallow your come. Once he does, you pull out. To both his and Dottore's surprise.

"Guess it doesn't like your throat very much, 'lone."

"Shut u-" Pantalone's retort is interrupted by you grabbing his sides and flipping your position to where he's on top of you.

You lower him onto your cock, your tip penetrating him before you slam him down.

Pantalone gasps in surprise. He looks down at you, trembling, and waiting for you to do something but you don't. You just look at him expectantly.

"Move." You say. "Bounce." You correct yourself.

His eyes widen. "Absolutely not!"

"Bounce." You repeat. "Now." You drag your nail along his thigh.

Dottore grins widely, this is even better than he imagined. Watching Pantalone humiliate himself is more than enough revenge.

Pantalone gulps and begins to move, struggling to stay still with his wrists bound. You grip his hips and help him stay upright.

"Fuh- fuck you...Dottore-" He grimaces. "Enjoy yo- yourself now but- you'll fu- fucki- fucking regre- regret this later-"

"You deserve all of this, I doubt I'll even feel any sort of remorse."

"Yo- you des- deserved it- for wast- wasting my mo- ra-" He chokes on his tears. "I don- don't."

"You could argue that, but you know I'm a vengeful person."

You flip Pantalone onto his back and drill your cock deep into him, spilling your seed inside him without warning. You don't hesitate before fucking him again.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?"

Pantalone fails to respond, getting his brains fucked out from your cock reaching impossibly deep parts of him.

Dottore watches in sick glee as you destroy the banker's mind and cunt. It's even worse for him as he remains conscious the entire time.

And if his eyes even flutter closed he gets a harsh slap to the face to wake him up.

The gross hot and sticky feeling of your cock pushing and spreading your cum around in his pussy makes him sick. He didn't bother counting but he knows you've come at least 10 times.

"I'm satisfied." Dottore says after you've come for the nth time. "But you can keep having your fun with him if you'd like." He waves with a sharp grin on his face that pisses off Pantalone and leaves the room.

"Not done." You say, gripping his waist tighter.

#male reader #top male reader #genshin smut #wicks🕯requests #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #wicks🕯works #genshin x male reader #genshin impact #pantalone smut #pantalone x male reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone #pantalone genshin #bottom pantalone #sub pantalone #🕯️pantalone #🕯️Genshin

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

Note

Listen. LISTEN. Dream one hundred percent has that hypermobile rizz. And as someone who may or may not have experience with both hypermobility and low self-esteem, I'm just imagining it…

Human au, Hob and Dream finally get together after ages of pining, they're having a good time, and then suddenly whoops, that joint is not supposed to move that way. Dream yelps or whines involuntarily, but Hob thinks it's like a sexy whine, so now Dream feels stuck. Internally he's like 'shit, ow, what do I do, I can't just stop things, it's rude to leave your partner hanging, right? Especially when he seems to be enjoying himself. Maybe we could just stop for a minute? No, what am I supposed to say, 'hey can we pause while I reset my joints?' That's so gross he'll think I'm gross he'll never have sex with me again he'll kick me out immediately why is my body terrible how am I failing at sex I'm going to die alone. Also ow."

Luckily it's Hob, so even if he misinterpreted the first reaction, he definitely notices Dream wincing and trying to hide his discomfort. So of course he stops, even when Dream tries to encourage him to keep going. Eventually, reluctantly, Dream explains the situation, and he expects Hob to be weirded out or disgusted but he's purely concerned, asking how he can help, and then once all joints are back in their assigned sockets, he asks how he can help keep that from happening next time.

Dream is like "next time? 🥺🥺🥺" and Hob is like "yes you foolish wet cat, I didn't stop loving you or being attracted to you just because you have some health issues jfk"

Anyways then Dream cries while Hob sucks him off. You know. For pain relief.

Omg baby anon!! I too have hypermobility!! I am notorious for dislocating my toes during sex!! This isn't something you should ever feel embarrassed about. But I totally understand that it's not the easiest thing to talk about.

I can absolutely 110% imagine that Dream would NOT tell Hob to stop, or that he's hurting. He's got too much pride, and deep down he's very scared that Hob will be disgusted. I also think that Hob would 110% NOTICE that Dream is in pain - even if it takes him a few minutes.

After Dream has been put back together, comforted by Hob’s gentle and loving words, and then brought to a spectacular orgasm by Hob’s mouth - Hob pops out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He's gone for a while (long enough that Dream is worried. Did Hob climb out of a window to get away from him and his weird body? Dream is of course forgetting that they're in Hob’s flat). But he eventually returns, grinning triumphantly.

"It's called kinesiology tape. Dunno if you've ever used it?" He explains, putting a box into Dream’s hands. "I think maybe next time, we could try strapping the bits of you that tend to pop out? It might not be perfect, but it'll give some support."

And Dream cries again, of course. Hob holds him and kisses him over and over, and tells him between kisses that he is so beautiful and lovable. He tells Dream about his own past injuries and how his body is a bit fucked up too. Nobody is perfect, right?

Dream insists that Hob is perfect. He won't be told otherwise. He may have a dodgy knee, but he might be the most lovely person that Dream has ever met (and he gives the most fantastic blowjobs. so there's that too).

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw medical

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punks-never-die205 · 2 months ago

Note

Hey there, it’s the Anon that sent the “Not responding to them when they say ILY to see how they would react” for the the first time.

Just wanted to say that I am so sorry for sending that ask! I have seen it a few times done through memes and skits as like a little prank. I must have stepped a bit out of line when I ask that and I am really sorry may have caused hurt or discomfort to you in anyway or anyone else who follows your blog. Definitely a lesson learned here, I didn’t mean for it to be so harsh, I got influenced by watching some other creators and wanted to see how other blogs and creators view these certain takes. But I have now seen the negative aspects of those influences and may have stepped over the line a bit here.

Sorry if this is a bit lengthy, but I have been following your blog for sometime and after seeing your response it really made me feel frustrated and angry with myself, I could not just carry on, 😣 I wanted to take responsibility and hold myself accountable for this because that was very insensitive of me to ask, and I’m terribly sorry. 😞 I’ll be sticking to Fluff and Smut from now on.

I Hope you have a wonderful evening

Allow me to apologize a little too -

Anon, if I felt YOU directly had been out of line, I would've just deleted the ask. It's on me for not being clear about that when I was answering the ask.

I'm not surprised to learn the idea came from memes and pranks - it's been a frustrating trend lately, a kind of casual cruelty I've seen in pranks and such lately. That's not a fault of yours specifically - it's certainly been a trend. (Which, man, let me get into the rise of cruelty as pranks and bullying, alongside the rise of fucking purity culture. whew.)

I'm glad for two things - one, that my reaction caused you to step back and look at things more clearly. And two, that you were inclined to reach out and say so. Those are great reactions!

You absolutely do NOT have to stick to fluff and smut - angst, dark content, etc. is welcome here - and I recommend you continue to dive into it. By approaching the width and breadth of topics you're able to grow and continue to be even better. It'll help you recognize in the future when cruel things are layered with a veneer of "oh it's just a prank/joke".

That not only helps you put nuance into your asks for a blog like mine, but it would also help you put it into your own creations.

My point is: manipulative behavior in fiction is not something to be avoided. I don't want you to avoid it because of my answer - which I only meant to provide in context, not as a statement of YOUR morals. (this is what I'm apologizing for, honestly, because my disgust was at the IDEA, not at YOU, and I wasn't clear about that, otherwise I would not have caused you to feel thus.)

But thank you ^_^ I hope you have a wonderful evening as well, and hey - we'll both come away from this having learned something, and I think that's perfect.

#quin answers #side blog #anon asks #eustass kid #reader insert #x reader #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #heat one piece #wire one piece

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silverynight · 11 months ago

Text

How to ask a cheerleader out

<---Previous

Chapter 6

He's not going to lie, Izuku is a little bit nervous, but in a good way; his heart is beating inside his chest like crazy and when he notices the color on Katsuki's cheeks when they get out of the school, he can't help but giggle.

He lets Katsuki take the lead; he takes him to a cute cafeteria, one Izuku has been inside before, but with his friends.

He still can't believe Katsuki asked him out, being friends with him again was like a dream come true for Izuku.

Although, a date doesn't mean they're gonna work as a couple... Izuku bites his bottom lip and looks at his own lap as he sits in front of the blond; what if he ruins everything between them?

No, he shouldn't be thinking like that; besides, if they're not compatible there's not a lot he can do about it.

Izuku takes a deep breath and thanks the gods for sending the waitress. It's an excellent distraction.

"Oi, nerd!" Katsuki scolds him lightly, poking the tip of Izuku's nose gently as soon as the girl goes away to get their order ready. "Everything's going to be fine. It's not that different from that day at the shopping center."

Katsuki is right, but not entirely and he knows it, otherwise he wouldn't look as nervous as Izuku. But the green haired boy finds that absolutely endearing.

"Okay, Kacchan!" Izuku giggles when the blond nods, blushing to the tip of his ears again.

However, that's enough to get him to relax; Izuku offers him a bite of his muffin and as soon as Katsuki grimaces and complains about how disgusting sweet food is, it's like everything is back to normal.

Then, Katsuki moves to the other side of the table, to sit right next to Izuku (assuring him he needs to show him a video of "dunce face" making a fool of himself in front of a girl) and lean completely into Izuku's personal space.

It's alright, Izuku enjoys being close to Katsuki.

"Kacchan..." he stops when he feels Katsuki's hand in his and notices that the other boy is looking at him instead of the video on his phone.

Another giggle escapes from his lips before Izuku gathers the courage to lean forward too to give Katsuki a kiss on the cheek.

Katsuki freezes, turns completely red as he slowly touches his own cheek like he can't believe what just happened.

It's not until they're outside of Izuku's room that Katsuki takes his hand again and asks the question:

"Would you like to be my boyfriend, Izuku?"

"I'd love to!" Izuku beams, and for a second, he thinks that maybe it's just a dream after all.

This time it's Katsuki the one who kisses him, but right on the lips; it's a quick kiss, barely a touch, but very soft and gentle.

Izuku known he looks like strawberry at the moment, but he doesn't care, he's too happy.

"I'll see you tomorrow, nerd."

"See you, Kacchan!"

Izuku jumps on his own bed and muffles his own giggles with a pillow; he's so happy he can't believe this is true or that it'll last.

Usually in romantic movies this is the sweet calm before the storm; good thing he's not in one.

***

"You know I have to interrogate him."

"No! Uraraka, please!" Izuku resists the temptation to bang his head against the table he's sitting at. He's glad Katsuki is not around or his friends for that matter.

"He's your boyfriend now, I have to make sure he's a good guy and doesn't hurt you," the girl says without hesitation in her voice.

Despite being terrified of what she could do, Izuku can't help but feel happy after realizing how much she cares about him.

"Please, let me handle it this time," he insists. "I assure you, Kacchan is a good guy. Besides, he's changed; he's very kind to me. I believe him when he says he cares about me."

"He's right, Uraraka. Besides, it's his relationship," Iida cuts in, making a chopping gesture with his hand; he does that every time he wants to be serious about something.

Uraraka sighs, before taking Izuku and Iida's hands.

"Fine! But if he makes you cry, I'll kill him!"

Izuku chuckles and jumps from his seat to go to the other side of the table and hug both his friends. They've always been very good to him.

"Stop being adorable, you three!" Ashido smiles, before pulling Izuku towards her. The green haired boy notices Todoroki behind her and smiles at him. "Sorry, guys, but I have to steal the cutie for our afternoon practice. We have another game in a couple of days and we need to be ready."

"I'll see you in a few hours!" Izuku chuckles before Todoroki takes him by the arm and starts leading him towards the gym.

"Ashido says you're dating Bakugo. Is it true?" Todoroki asks as soon as they reach the gym, which prompts the whole team of cheerleaders to look in their direction before pretending to do something else.

Izuku blushes, but he doesn't scold Todoroki for asking him in front of everyone; the poor boy has never been good at interacting with people, mostly because his father have been keeping him from making friends the majority of his life.

"Yes," he sighs. He shouldn't feel like this, besides, he has the feeling that the whole school must know by now. It's okay, he wasn't planning on hiding it anyway.

"See? I was telling the truth!" Ashido chuckles, poking one of Todoroki's cheeks when she notices that he's pouting. "Why the long face?"

However, instead of answering her question, Todoroki keeps staring at Izuku, this time with a frown upon his face.

"Be careful. I don't trust him."

"You're so dramatic, Todoroki!" Ashido rolls her eyes, although she seems really amused. "Listen, Bakugo is a gremlin and yes, he's constantly growling like an angry pomeranian but he's a good person and he loves his sweet green bean."

Izuku feels himself blushing and when the girl notices, she squeezes his cheeks.

"Your gremlin is head over heels for you, don't forget that!"

Still blushing, Izuku can't help but beam. It's good to hear that Katsuki has feelings for him, even though he already knew; that's why they're dating after all.

"Just be careful, Midoriya," Todoroki insists, still not very convinced about what Ashido said.

It seems that none of Izuku's friends trust Katsuki completely, but it's okay because they'll realize how good he is soon.

He's sure of it.

***

Katsuki can't help but growl when Monoma approaches him; even Kirishima and Kaminari are narrowing their eyes at him.

"What do you want?" He bares his teeth, feeling tense suddenly as soon as he notices the other people around.

If he's being honest, he doesn't want to be seen with him; he doesn't want anyone to associate him with Monoma. It'd be terrible if someone hears about their bet.

Izuku can never find out. Katsuki is not sure if he could forgive him after something like that.

His heart hurts just to imagine it; he'd feel devastated if he lost Izuku.

"I just wanted to congratulate you," Monoma grins, although for an instant, his smile disappears and a frown replaces it. "It seems you managed to convince the cheerleader to date you. Which I'm honestly shocked to hear. Did you offer him money? That'd be cheating of course–"

"SHUT UP!" Katsuki growls, grabbing Monoma by the jacket and pulling him outside; Kirishima and Kaminari follow them. "Izuku likes me!"

"First name basis, huh?" Monoma grimaces before smiling mockingly at him. "How did you manage that? You don't seem his type at all."

"I'm going to ask you again: What. Do. You. Want?"

Finally, Monoma pushes him away before fixing his jacket. He doesn't seem pleased with the situation, but that's probably because Katsuki is clearly winning. "You still need to go with him to the dance, otherwise you'll lose."

"I'm going to win."

"Sure. And then you can break up with him."

He won't, but Monoma doesn't need to know that; Katsuki has the feeling that he almost wants him to break up with Izuku. But that's ridiculous, because Monoma doesn't want him to win.

"Unlike you idiots, I have important things to do," Monoma adds after a while. "But I'll see you later to make sure you invited him!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Kirishima looks from the place Monoma disappeared to Katsuki quickly. The grumpy boy doesn't like the concern in his eyes.

"I don't know, man... Something's off. You should be careful. I have a bad feeling about this."

Katsuki does too.

***

Next--->

Patreon

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bkdk #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya

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totaldramafan-lauri · 20 days ago

Text

Practice drabble #3 - "Taste"

S-so, uh....parsley has a pretty bitter taste, for those unaware....

(I tried to make this one a bit more explicit but I might've still chickened out, aaaaaaaaaa- help me I'm hopeless at thiiiiiiiiiis-)

---

I-I'd always seen myself as.....undesirable.....

Not just plain-looking.....Not just socially-awkward.....Not just a crybaby.....Undesirable for other reasons as well....

They'd said it themselves, many times, when describing me....that same word....

'Bitter'.

It's why I'd lived alone for so long....No one wanted me....Every time I felt myself open up to someone, I'd always mess it up somehow....They wouldn't let me get too close to them.....All it took was me getting a bit sweaty, and.....

'You smell awful' 'Get away from me!" 'You're a nice cookie, but...' 'But....' 'But.....' 'But......'

I was so tired of it......I'd stopped trying.....

I wandered aimlessly, looking for somewhere to feel welcome.....Until I met someone who made my heart feel so so warm....This time, I didn't try to get close, thinking this someone was too far above me.....Thinking I was beyond hopeless.....I'd been scared to open up, and tried to hide away once I realized what was happening to me....

I was given a home.....I was shown kindness by someone so perfect, after I'd kept coming back, drawn in as if under a spell.....

But I never believed my feelings would be answered....That I'd be heard.....

I never dreamed.....that my bitter taste....would one day be coveted.....

"Ahhhhh, look at you.....Such a sight, for my eyes alone.....~" she whispered huskily, as she ran her fingers across my folds.....absolutely soaked, and quivering for her....

For her, and her alone....

She's not playing around today....She's in an extra possessive mood....Letting me know who I belong to, and making me repeat it back to her, rewarding me with another thrust each time....

She makes me beg for her, urging me to give her more, and more, and more......as she plunges in, submerging herself so easily in my waters.....

"Mine....." she whispers in my ear as she sinks herself in, deeper and deeper.... "You're mine, sweet one.....Mine.....~"

Her voice sounds so good.....So so so good.....She effortlessly makes me such a mess just by lowering her voice, every time.....

"Y-Yours....." I repeat between my heavy breaths, "Yours....Yours...."

She claims all of me for her own once again......As I cry out for her, squirming into her.....Allowing her to stretch me, to do all she wants, for me to give her everything....I only exist for her, nothing more.....My body exists for her, my god, to use.....!

"Say it again.....Say it louder, my treasure...."

"I-I'm yours....Y-Your....R-Radia-aa-aaaaaaaaaAAAAAA-.....!"

To think, I desired her for so long, thinking she'd never feel the same.....Those days feel so so long ago....

Now, I'm hers.....

All of me.....ALL of me.....!

Every inch of my body....

Every noise that leaves my mouth.....

It's all hers....!

Even....the parts I was ashamed of.....

For, after I'm done, and can barely move or think anymore.....Utterly spent, rung dry laying limply in her arms.....I still can feel her as she pulls her fingers out....

And as she brings those fingers up to her mouth....even in my tired state, I feel a brief moment of panic. I want to tell her to stop, before she winces in disgust......Worried, or even a bit scared, that it'll turn her away.....

But.....to my surprise.....she hums....

"Hmmm....how delectable....~"

I try not to show it.....but, that bit of praise means more to me than any other that night....My tired heart absolutely soars in my chest, and I lay there in utter bliss as I let her take as much as she wants....

How did I get to be so lucky.....?

#lauri is a simp #naughty thoughts warning

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finalgirlkateausten · 2 years ago

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“I wanted to tell you in person” + the wwii au 💜

this is my first time writing rhodestead bc i'm certifiably insane. those two have Something Going On okay and now they have Something Going On in like. 1946. i have actually just now decided this is post-war and i may change the au tag or i may not. we'll see!

"Hey," Will says, sliding into the diner booth and running a hand through his hair, "I, uh... I kinda thought we would be meeting somewhere more... well, private." He picks up the mug of black coffee that's already in front of him, pouring a small amount of milk from the pitcher.

"I thought it wouldn't hurt to start here," Connor says, shrugging and giving his usual half-smile, like the other half is a secret hiding the real emotion in his expression. "It's, well. It's earlier than our more outrageous meetups, isn't it? And all you said was that you needed to talk."

"Yeah," Will agrees, his jaw working. "I wanted to sit down and talk with you. Not like a friendly business lunch between vague acquaintances. Haven't we been over this, Con? I don't wanna be following you around like a puppy somewhere I can't even hold your hand."

"Hey, I don't want that either," Connor agrees, his tone softening. "This isn't one of dad's public dinners. I just, I don't know. I thought it might be nice to go out somewhere for a bit. Not always have to hide."

"Yeah, well, you and me? We will always have to hide," Will snaps. "And it's about to get worse."

Connor looks down at his plate of pie, which matches the one he'd pushed over toward Will. "You know, I don't think I'm that hungry. Want to walk?"

"Yeah." Will takes a halfhearted swig of his coffee. "Let's."

"So." They make it a few blocks, and Connor holds out his hand for Will to take. Will squeezes hard. "What did you need to talk about."

"Connor..." Will stares at the ground, watching the concrete under their feet, trying to soak up the warmth from Connor's palm and from his body heat mostly hidden by expensive wool. "I... I wanted to tell you in person. I... I didn't really decide this so much as have it decided for me, but... things are about to change, love." The street they're walking down is empty, but his volume still drops on the endearment out of habit. "Look, I don't want you to be upset about this, but... I'm getting married."

Connor actually stops walking. "Wait, what?"

"I don't have a choice," Will says flatly. "Dad is-- and Jay-- I have to be helping them both, I have to make Dad proud. It'll just be a lot easier, not just for me but for us, if there's a woman in the house. And, uh. Well, Dad wants grandkids."

Connor's facial expression is twisted into something akin to disgust. "What's your wife going to think of you running off to meet with another man in secret? How could this possibly make things easier for us?"

"Because she's in the same boat," Will explains. "Connor, I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't absolutely sure it was the only way to stay afloat, and to stay with you."

Connor blinks in surprise, leaning against the brick wall of one of the buildings forming the alley. "Wait. You're saying you're marrying a woman who's... like us?"

"Just like us," Will murmurs, reaching for his hand again. "She was a nurse overseas, met another nurse... I think she's working as a midwife right now, but her family is upset. She's from rural fuckin' Indiana and now she's alone in the big city with only a strange woman for company? We both need each other. To stay safe."

"But I'm in the same boat," Connor protests.

"No." Will shakes his head. "You're not."

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. "Will..."

"Hey." Will reaches out to take both his hands. "I love you."

Connor looks withdrawn and upset, and Will can feel in his chest that it's going to be a week or two before he agrees to meet up again. Before he can stop himself, he leans forward and kisses Connor softly, stepping away after the chaste gesture and leaving a safe amount of space between them. He smiles wryly. "I'll invite you to the wedding."

"Goodbye, Will," Connor says, turning away but letting his hand brush Will's wrist. Will grabs on.

"No," he promises. "Not for too long."

#chicago med #i've decided the new tag is #lavender au #onechicago #rhodestead #will halstead #connor rhodes #guess who will's wife is?#prompt fill #alex tag #chicago med fic #rhodestead fic

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alex-rambles · 1 year ago

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Ok so like I never planned to share my ao3 but I am way too proud of this fic I wrote on it sooo

Feel free to check out my isekai self insert while you're there too. Just don't make fun of me.

If you don't wanna go to ao3...

You can read it here! On Tumblr! Yippee!

Gore warning

You had known, of course.

He told you. You were the only person he ever told.

The truth behind what happened that day in 1987, what happened to Elizabeth, the things he had done.

A disgusting man, yet one you loved nonetheless.

And because you loved him, you did nothing to stop him.

He told you that he had business to attend to in the pizzeria, he'd be back soon, but he didn't come back.

And with his ramblings about remnant, about how the kids he killed possessed those robots, you couldn't help but consider the possibility that maybe those kids wanted their much-deserved vengeance. And considering that possibility? That made you anxious.

So after a while, you go there.

The place is empty. The animatronics aren't even there. William is nowhere to be found.

The safe room. He showed you how to enter, and if he isn't here, he must be there, so-

You are greeted by a horrific sight, and an equally bad smell.

The smell of death, and the look of a very, very bad accident.

Blood pools around a slumped Springbonnie suit, and instantly, you know what happened here. You're barely able to stifle a scream.

You walk closer. Blood- William's blood- gets on your shoes, an absolutely horrific sensation.

You know he's not alive, but you can't help but have that positively fantastical hope that maybe he could be alive. In more pain than one would ever be able to understand, but alive. He wouldn't leave you like this. He wouldn't! Not your William, not the one who whispered such beautiful things to you while you helped him fold laundry, not the one who was honest about his crimes for you and only you, not him, oh god, not him-

He's gone. All the blood, the way he's positioned, you can't hear even shallow breathing from inside the suit.

You pick up his hand, the hand inside the suit, and hold it for a minute, before slamming it on the ground suddenly.

"Why?!"

You speak- no, you scream- to his corpse.

He left you all alone, just because he was too scared of facing the consequences of his actions, because he had some stupid, unattainable desire for immortality! That's not fair!

You collapse onto your knees, tears falling from your eyes.

Stupid leaky ceiling, stupid William, stupid children that took him away from you, stupid, stupid-

An idea occurs to you

The kids came back. Albeit stuck in probably painful robotic bodies, but technically "alive," yes? Why can't William?

You feel bad for thinking it, after all, it might hurt him to come back (not even might, it would for sure, being in a mechanical body would be awful), but you miss him already.

As for how long that process takes? You'll wait. You'll stay in this silly room forever, if that's what it takes. Right here with him. You can stand the smell, it's just William.

He'll come back, and you'll be with him.

And you know that for sure, because there's a spare suit in here. Leaky roof should trigger the things easy enough. It'll hurt like hell for sure, but it'll be so worth it.

You struggle to get the old Freddy Fazbear suit on, but you finally do.

A drop of water hits.

Snap

Click.

You scream.

#alex writes #willposting #william afton x reader #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #five nights at freddy's x reader #this was great fun to write #i should do these self indulgent x readers more often and just not do requests until I feel ready again #in case you couldn't tell i really fucking like the springlocks

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years ago

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Jim Bickerman x Reader || Oneshot

Little christmas present to myself, don't mind me.

Plot: Set during Lake Placid Vs Anaconda | You get a good chunk of your leg bitten off by a crocodile and Murdoch wants to leave you behind, but Jim wont let her.

Warnings: Crocodile attack/gore related to that

You didn't even see it coming. You heard that something was nearby, and Beach saying to raise your weapons while Murdoch demanded you all to be cautious, in case its one of her beloved snakes- but it came from behind and you didn't have time to even turn around before the crocodiles was right behind you.

Beach did- he lunged and tried to yank you out of the way- and that kept the monster from biting off your whole lower half but it still managed to catch one of your legs. Its jaw clamped around your leg, huge teeth digging into your knee and tearing skin while you let out a terrible scream. Your gun flies out of your hand when you fall and crash in the dirt.

You try to get away anyway from it, forcing yourself to tug at your leg, but that of course only makes it worse. The pain is immeasurable, and you think you're going to pass out and die- get swallowed up by one of these fucking crocs even after everything the last time you were here.

It feels like forever that the crocodile rips at your limb but must have really been only a few moments, before bullets rain down on the beast and it finally stops. As you're breathing heavily, watching in absolute terror, as it slowly stops moving and both Beach and another of Murdoch's remaining guards rush over to pull its mouth open- to release your shredded leg.

"Oh god... " You whisper, before biting down on your bottom lip as you look at it; Fighting off another scream. No... No no no-

"Get out the medical kit!" You hear Beach bark behind you, once they'd managed to drag the crocodiles corpse out of the way and gently lay your leg down on the grass. The sounds of the other guard cursing and Murdoch yelling about something also fill your ears but you choose to focus on Jim, kneeling beside you looking alarmed and not-at-all confident about your leg.

He helps you to sit up, hauling you up with his good hand before holding you up with his bad. You dig one hand into the mud behind you to help keep yourself up, eyes filled with tears looking at your poor leg. "Okay- alright, sweetheart, we're gonna, uh... wrap that up, for ya. And we'll getcha to a hospital, and they'll fix it up. It'll be fine." Your free hand finds his and he lets you squeeze it as hard you like- no complaint. "Just don't, uh... don't go moving it... "

"I- I don't think I could if I wanted to." You force out, watching Beach fall to his knees with bandages and a sturdy-looking stick he found, by the destroyed appendage.

Jim looks awkward, and worried; Eyes flickering from your face to your leg. "Oh, well, good. Look, ah- worst comes to worst- you just get one a these old things, eh?" With his hook, he reaches back and pats his own prosthetic leg, a wonky grin on his face that you hold onto. "No big deal, hey? Yeah, its gon' be alright... yeahh, just fine... "

"Hey!" Murdoch snaps, then, standing above you all with a disgusted scowl on her face. "What are we doing?? We need to move on! My snakes- "

You watch Jim roll his eyes heavily, then, trying not to snap at her- and failing miserably watching you back- your eyes are getting heavy and your grip on his hand looser. "Oh, shut up about your goddamn snakes, bitch. With any luck, the crocs already made a meal outta them."

Murdoch's eyes flash at the back of his head. "... No. No, I cant believe that. And it would do you good to keep your thoughts to yourself Bickerman."

"... considering you already paid me, I don't see why... " He mutters sarcastically, an underlying trace of malice in tone; Face dark as he stays focused on you. His good eye flickers over your body still- making sure that you're breathing, checking how much blood you're losing, how Beach is going wrapping you up, and then tightening his grip on you when he sees how badly its going... You just take deep breaths, letting your eyes fall shut so you don't have to look at your leg anymore, and... because you're suddenly also really... really tired... "Hey, hey- no, no sleepin', ey princess? Stay awake... "

"Mm... don't think I... can... " God, you're passing out. All that blood loss stealing all of your strength away, making your eyelids so so heavy... you don't think it would be possible to lift them open again. You rest your upper body against Jim and take a deep, shuddering breath. "I... don't think I can... Jim... "

"Yeah, hey Bickerman I don't recommend she take a nap right now." You hear Beach call, still wrapping all the gauze they have around your leg and the stick

"Yeah, I got that, thanks so fucking much." Jim growls, and you feel it more then you hear it. Actually his voice is starting to sound like he's underwater. Or you're underwater. Where are you again?... Something cold and metallic presses against the delicate skin beneath your chin and pushes your face upwards. You feel panicked, heavy breathing on your face. "Uh uh... no... damnit Y/N!... Open up your eyes again- ... now!"

Jim's words cut in and out, sleep overwhelming you- and then, it all goes black.

"... she's asleep." Murdoch informs, leaning over your body and peering at you like some stinky road kill they just dragged off the highway, before giving a sigh and straightening up. "Its better that way. Come on- "

Shaking his head carefully, Jim lets your head fall against his shoulder, removing his prosthetic from your face. "We aint going anywhere, 'ma'am'... " The tone in his voice is dark, and angry, and it makes the business woman stop. She looks to Beach with a glare, waiting for him to do something about this.

But he doesn't.

"Look- she's asleep now. She wont feel any pain when she dies." She says it as if its a certainty, and Jim sets his jaw hard, the only thing keeping him from threatening this bitch with a gun being his unwillingness to lay you down in the dirt. "We don't have time to sit by and hold her hand through it, that's suicide. So lean her up against a tree somewhere and lets go!"

At this Jim doesn't even respond, unable to form words to accurately describe how much he is not leaving you here. He just glances at Beach, who's just finishing your leg up, having used up all the bandages they had for emergencies in order to curb the bleeding, and knotting it tightly. Without looking up, he shakes his head sternly. "The others were dead Murdoch, we had to leave them. I get that... but L/N's still breathing. We cant just leave her defenceless."

"Then leave her a gun! If she miraculously comes to- she'll have it to protect herself with."

Beach just glares, his mind fully set on this matter- he might have to work for her but he doesn't have to become someone else to do it. Then he gets up, walks around your body and gestures like he's going to pick you up- asking Jim, silently with his eyes, if that would be alright.

Poking his tongue into his cheek, Jim gives Beach a careful glare. "... son if anything happens to her, I'll be happy to shoot ya dead before y'can say 'oops'... " Slowly, he nods though and helps to stabilize you in the other mans arms.

Beach slowly stands up, getting used to your weight, while Murdoch watches- dumbfounded and pissed at the blatant insubordination happening in front of her.

"... She'll slow us down." She snaps, as if they don't know that.

This time, Jim has his hands free and scrambles to his feet- grabbing his rifle on the way and pointing it at her without blinking an eye. For a moment he doesn't say a damn thing, just carefully watches the cocky look that was on her face initially, give way to a lick of fear when he turns the safety off in her face. "... I'm not gonna say it again- Y/N's comin' with us whether you like or not, snake lady. So if I were you I'd get with the goddamn program, eh?"

No one has ever accused Jim of being a good man, but he's about to pop a bullet in this bitches face and he's not even going to blink about it. "... Don't you talk about her like that,"

But she doesn't let up, even then. "Surely, dragging your dying whore through the woods is just going to hurt everyone else in the end, huh?"

"Murdoch," Beach pipes up, stealing both their attentions. "Its 2 against one- I'm sorry, but we're bringing her along."

"I'm the boss here!- " Murdoch exclaims, disbelief in her tone at everything that is happening right now. All for some- some- invalid?? She didn't even want this chick on this expedition, she wanted Jim but apparently they're a 'package deal' as you had told her when she tried to make off with him- ugh.

Rolling his eyes, losing some of his steam from a moment ago, Jim gives a great sigh. "You're about to be the boss a the underworld if you keep talkin', woman."

Finally Murdoch stops arguing, glaring between the two men and at your pale body propped up in Beach's straining arms- your head drooping backwards into empty air in a way that's definitely going to ache when you wake up again. Its useless, she thinks, eye twitching. They're idiots, and the mission is going to fail because of it.

But, it seems there's nothing she can do about it. "Fine- lets try and find my snakes quick. And you better hope they're alive, Bickerman. Because if they're not- " Murdoch flashes an ugly glare the old mans way. One he doesn't much care about, lowering his gun back to his side and shaking his head. "You'll be paying for it."

"Oooh, shaking in my boots...," He growls back, rolling his eyes. As long as you're alright, he could not care less what Murdoch could do to him. He's gotten out of worse scrapes.

As the group trudges on, Jim's eyes glide back over to you, still unconscious in the Terminators arms up ahead, and gives a frustrated huff; Hurrying to catch up with them with his own bad leg slowing him down. "Watch her head, wouldja?? C'mon, now- "

When you woke up, you were alone, on a beach, with a gun in your hand. It was terrifying, waking up at Blackwater, way too close to the lake for your tastes, with one gored leg. You didn't know where everyone went, or how much time had past by since you passed out, or anything. All you did know was that you had to move.

It was difficult, but you managed to force yourself up against the tree you were propped against. All you were thinking was how you cannot die in this hell. And where did everyone go?? Where's Jim??

So, taking a deep breath, you tucked the gun into the back of your jeans and walked.

The bad news- the bones in your leg were most definitely broken, and the skin was torn to shreds, and it hurt like hell to put any kind of weight on the limb, but the good news?? It worked. Feeling it meant it was still there, you supposed, and at least you had it. With just a stump, you aren't sure what you would have done.

You managed to walk 10 minutes into the tree line, searching for any signs of... anything. Crocs being the worst case scenario, the fence being the best. Nothing turned up- but you began to hear something.

Is that... laughing?? What in the name of hell is going on-

OH Jim. Its Jim. You only know one person crazy enough to sound like that and you would bet good money that it was him. "Oh- damnit!" You try to move a little quicker, to find him, but your leg screams at you for it and you have to pause and take some deep breaths to curb the pain. "Okay... okay... I'm sorry... we'll go slow... "Sucking in a final deep breath, you start up again, moving very, very cautiously, with your arms held out at your sides for balance; Taking only tiny little steps in hopefully the right direction. "Hooohhhhkay... "

The laugh turns into more a drunk chuckle after a few moments, but you know you're closer because you can hear it much more clearly now and, yes, its definitely Jim. You would know his voice anywhere.

"... Jim??" You call out, taking a chance that if there were crocodiles nearby- they would have come at the sound of laughing earlier.

"... I must be goin' crazy... " You hear him sigh, then chuckle again- and you roll your eyes.

But you're also pleased- because if this is a trick created by your own head and blood loss, then its a really really good one. And you're not that creative. "Nope- you went crazy a long time ago! Now- ah, fuck. Now you're just going dumb- where are you??"

There's a pause as you struggle through the trees, towards another beach. You can practically see Jim's face in your mind, trying to decide whether he's hearing things or what. You give a heavy sigh. "Do I have to insult you again old man or are you gonna help me out here?"

Finally you see him, laying on the beach covered in blood not 10 feet away. Your heart drops, because this is the second time you've seen him like this and you're honestly so sick of it.

When you get to him, you ease yourself down to the sand and wince when your leg stings at having to bend. When you're forced to drop the last foot down because your leg just wont bend anymore, you let out an 'ooft!' and an 'ow'. "You're alive, then... happy to see it, dumplin'... Now- now whatcha gonna do, huh? Heheh, you gonna- heh- gonna tear off bits a your clothes to set my wounds with? Cuz I- I got a lotta wounds... and I could get behind that."

"I'm sure you could," You humour him, shaking your head. Then you just sit and assess him for a moment, eyes gliding up and down his body- and sigh. Why. "... We can never come back to this fucking lake."

"Oh," Jim chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm with ya there, sweetheart."

"Good." You nod, resting your chin in your hand and your elbow in your non-injured leg, and leaning over his head to give him a soft little grin.

"Unless they offer me a lotta cash, and I mean buckets and buckets of- " The grin slips right off your face, and he starts to laugh again.

"No- "

"Ah ah ah," He suddenly leans up off the sandy dirt, managing hook his good hand around your neck and pull you down into a salty-tasting kiss. You let your eyelids fall closed, an absolute sucker for his kisses; And for a good long moment, it feels like neither of you are potentially bleeding out. When he pulls back again, theirs a wicked grin on his face that's oddly comforting, to you. "... I was just kiddin'."

... Sighing, you roll your eyes with a bemused grin, and straighten up again while he lays there and laughs - like the insane old man he is, - taking the moment to yourself to just wonder how you're going to make it out of here. Its going to be tough.

... at least he's alive, though.

#Jim Bickerman x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Jim Bickerman x Reader #Jim Bickerman #Lake Placid #Lake Placid; The Final Chapter #Lake Placid Vs Anaconda

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