#it's not even wednesday for me yet

[fluffyfangirl]

cuddly boys. sleepy boys.

[skimmingmilk]

help this is so dumb

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously and he whirled to face the hedgehog standing a few feet behind him. “Did you seriously have to blow up my plane?” he snarled. “You're the one that wanted to be chased down,” Shadow replied evenly. “Play dangerous games, suffer the consequences.” “It's ‘play stupid games, win stupid prizes,’” Tails grunted, pushing himself up to stand. Shadow arched a brow. “From where I'm standing, I can't see how you came remotely close to winning anything.” Tails shrugged one shoulder, biting back a wince in favor of a sideways smirk. “Well, I can.” When Shadow's stare simply turned quizzical, Tails gestured broadly ahead of him, directly at Shadow. “And trust me, it sure is stupid.”

[queerofthedagger]

fingon, who was left behind and abandonend by just about anyone in his family at some point, who died alone because maedhros did not return to him in time either. how many times can you be second choice no matter how little it is about you and not have that fester into bitter, bitter anger. how much worse does it get, at some point, that it isn't even about you but you simply matter less than whatever else was more important just then. how long can you cling to the rationale before you always see everyone with one foot already out of the door. how long can you keep loving and loving and loving despite,until there is nothing left to give. and then keep giving anyway because, after all, you know what it's like to be abandonend

[ricecaqes]

this might be too insane for main but do you guys like my custom mal du pays shirt

[omgahgase]

going off the headcanon list i posted before, i wrote a lil something about arthur kissing charles' scar instead during their first kiss

“Charles,” Arthur says, eyes raking across Charles like he’s scared he’ll disappear if Arthur gets too close. Loves a little too hard because Arthur is a lot of things, but deserving of someone as good as Charles ain’t one of them. He’s terrified, and rightfully so.

But it still ain’t feel wrong.

None of it does. Not the way Arthur fits himself so perfectly into Charles’ space, noses brushing against each other, eyelids sliding close so they can get a feel for this newfound intimacy, lips a phantom of a feeling atop their heated skin, foreheads pressed and hands clutched in clothing. It doesn’t feel wrong for Arthur to catch a glimpse of Charles’ scar as he rubs their cheeks together, scratches his scruff againsts Charles’ as if he’s trying to strike a match, intense and burning the more he does it.

It doesn’t feel wrong as Arthur traces his lips over the streaking pattern of flesh, long time healed but never treated with such desire. Arthur skates his mouth down to the underside of Charles’ jaw, right where it begins, and places a searing kiss to the start of it, makes Charles tilt his head up in a gasp.

The hand screwed tight on Arthur’s back nearly rips a hole in his shirt. “Arthur—please.”

Arthur hums, takes his time in mapping out Charles scar. He uses his lips and kisses up the line until he reaches the end, licks at the uneven ridges of haphazardly mended flesh, tasting the sweat of the day and the chill of the nightair that lays over Charles like a sheet, makes him shiver in Arthur’s arms.

to be finished later this week, please stay tuned!

[vinelark]

i'm being haunted by nightwing bruce

join me in my protective circle where we imagine a better world in which, given the event that someone has to temporarily take over for nightwing, it’s obviously tim drake in the suit.

beyond the fact that he has the skillset and a closer physique and that he’s not, to my knowledge, even up to anything right now, it would be so narratively satisfying! he was dick’s protégé! he’s currently trying to figure out his own identity and has always been both striving to be dick and also lurking in dick’s shadow! how would dick feel seeing tim put on another one of his suits and face down even more of his enemies! it would be such a good dynamic and heal so many wounds (including, on a meta level, offering the tiniest bit of redemption for dc doing ric grayson instead of putting tim in the suit the last time).

🕯️ 🕯️ 🕯️

[paaelle]

Uhhh guys, I think my cube is turning evil

IT'S NOT FINISHED YET but it was technically 2 days of work. The evil thoughts caught me and I'm currently insane

I forgot how much I love working with cold porcelain so sad it demands so much energy from me

[lillxart]

WIP Wed!

From a Sotha Sil x Lorkir fanfiction that's way on the back burner lol. Since I made that thing about Sotha Sil the other night, here's the fiction where my thoughts stemmed from!

Tagging: @ladytanithia @dirty-bosmer @hircines-hunter @sanza-17 @fujisakisan @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @theoneandonlysemla @sulphuricgrin @sanza-17 @ijiwaruuma @pocket-vvardvark

Title: "From One to Another"

Lorkir woke up with the sun hitting her face. The rays of light from the clockwork city working as her natural alarm clock. The sounds that greeted her ears were the chirpings of machines given songs by her own voice. Echoes of secrets passed from one to another. The sheets underneath her body were warm, no doubt from the heat coursing through her blood. She stared out the window, face melancholic and heart empty. Facing the reality of what she had lost, the wishweaver turned away from the window and rolled to the other side of the bed, expecting it to be cold and vacant. 

“Ah, I see you’ve finally awoken.”

But…much to the God’s surprise…it wasn’t? “Sothalis.” She sat up, blanket languidly falling down her bare shoulder. 

Sotha Sil sat there in a pair of bedrobes (funny, she didn’t think he had bedrobes) with a cup of tea in his hand and a book with a title she didn’t recognize. The bronze mask that was on his face last night was now removed, only the metal arm remained permanently attached to him, seamlessly integrated into his dark skin. When the light caught the side of his face, the glow was almost too striking to witness. “I didn’t think you would take so long to wake up, considering you have no need of sleep in the first place.”

Still speechless, Lorkir opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Feeling terribly awkward, she blushed and covered herself with the blanket. “I…well…”

“My, to think I’d hear you speechless, I’m almost disappointed.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be next to me when I woke up.” Lorkir quickly replied. 

“I must leave some room in my countenance for surprises. At least, in cases like these where I am allowed.” Sotha Sil found amusement in his own statement, the corner of his mouth up turning into an almost smile. 

Lorkir had no idea where to go from here. For the first time in a while she was at a loss. The fluttering of her heart demanded that she cuddle up next to Sothalis, enjoy a quiet morning in peace while he continues to read his book and she reads along over his shoulder. However, knowledge of her predicament suggests that the wisest course of action would be that she carry on like before. She had done what she came to do, initially, and so she has no reason to stay. 

But how badly she wanted to stay. 

“Love is the greatest cloud over the mind. No matter how the sun shines how and how the seas rise, the clouds remain ever stagnant, until not even love itself can be seen…” Lorkir tilted her head at the quote. Sotha Sil lightly smirked and turned to face her. “Something Vivec told me once. Though what inspired the words was a situation far different from your own.”

“I can imagine… -~-;” Lorkir sighed. Making her decision she shifted over to Sotha Sil’s side of the bed. She towered over him, naturally. But despite the size difference she was able to get comfortable. Sotha Sil made no effort to stop her, nor relaxed in her embrace. He simply remained as he was, focused on what he was reading. The text on his lap were his own journal entries. He was looking over schematics, various concepts and dreams meant to be given reality through his machines. His passions. Some of his ideas were perfectly viable, others stretched into mad conjecture. But the witch God felt the intensity, the desperation with each stroke of ink on the paper. Her heart pounded for the soul that was so poisoned by its compassion. The very scent of the false God choking her lungs yet intoxicating her like wine. “Anything I can help with?” Lorkir, perhaps callously, offered. 

“There might still be some use for you yet.” How it hurt for him to say what she wanted to hear. 

When Sotha Sil finished his tea they rose from bed and got dressed, Lorkir taking in the beauty of his body before it was covered up by his attire. Sotha Sil knew she was staring, and gave a chance for her to act on her desires before he tied the sash around his waist. But, as he predicted, she fled from his gaze when he met her eyes. When he reached for his mask, however, something happened that he did not predict.  

“Wait.” A plea, not silent, but concise. Sotha Sil turned around and met her eyes once more. They were almost fragile, the emotion so perfect on her face because of the light that shined through her fractaled eyes. Lorkir came close to him and put her hand on the mask, slowly pushing it back down to the table. She knelt down on one knee so she could meet him and stroked his face with a gentle reverence that was too raw to verbally express. Despite the intensity of her passion, his expression remained the same. Lorkir studied his face, committing every detail to memory, as he had committed his clockwork city to his own memory. Finally, after a time, she leaned in and kissed the side of his face that was normally covered by his mask, now vacant of cold metal and instead soft and warm with living flesh. “...Sorry.” She took a step back, now returning to full height. 

“Does a gift giver apologize for giving gifts?” He replies. 

“If the gift is forced upon them is it still considered a gift?”

For that split second, Lorkir saw regret in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as he adorned his mask. “Will you be at my side today, as you have been? Or shall you depart?” 

Do you want me here? It was on the tip of her tongue, but Lorkir couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I’ll stay a while. Not so long that I’ll make your clockwork disciples nervous.” the God teased. 

Sotha Sil chuckled. “I believe you already make them a great deal nervous.” He opened the door to his bed chambers and they left for the day. 

Lorkir did say she would be at his side, but she had developed a routine of flying around the clockwork city during the morning. The beautiful gears shimmering in the light while petals from apple blossom trees were carried by the wind. It was a picture perfect sight, and the God enjoyed basking in it greatly. The sight of a dragon flying around the city brought great terror the first time it happened, but now there was only slight unease instead of fear. A positive progression, she supposes. 

Finding her favorite spot near the top of one of the towers, Lorkir landed and discarded her dragon avatar. She felt a chill as her feet touched the metal, before fully laying down and staring up at the turning sky. 

Absolutely beautiful. And how easily she was lulled by it. 

Sotha Sil worked in the heart of the city, locked away in his laboratory. What he was attempting was nothing short of extraordinary and required a delicate hand and quiet mind. To craft a new imperfect took immense concentration, building off of what he had learned previously. Yet despite his complete focus on the task, his desire separated itself from him. A separate entity that stood behind him, beckoning his mind to stray from the task at hand. 

His mind should not be consumed with her.

Lorkir, the God of Covetousness, the Wishweaver, the White Dragon and Bane of the Firstborn Son. She was the source of horrors written in stone yet untold by word of mouth. She represents all forms of temptation, of folly, her mere existence meant to unravel any heart. And Sotha Sil cannot allow his heart to be unraveled. From the moment he saw her approaching in the distance he knew a great doom would threaten the role he was now compelled to. Every stolen whisper, every freely given smile, every glance in desire is a crack in a carefully constructed mirror that he has built for himself. Lorkir knows this, in truth, he knows that she does. And yet she lurks like a shadow, mouth open and wanting, begging to be fed by him. And, though he cannot admit it, how badly he is tempted to allow himself to be consumed. “I have made the gravest mistake someone in my position can make, and I knowingly continue in it…” Seht rubbed his forehead, exasperated with his own lingering weakness. 

“Seht, I have prepared your tea, as you have asked.” One of the Clockwork disciples entered into his chambers bringing the camomile tea with honey per his request. A look of worry was etched onto the Dunmer’s face, since the great Sotha Sil rarely asks for refreshments.

“Thank you. It is much appreciated. Now, go and seek out Lorkir. I suspect she has fallen asleep somewhere in the city. Wake her up, and inform her that I request her presence.”

“Yes, Great Seht.” The disciple scurried away.

[mamawasatesttube]

experiencing the horrors . save me lil guy from comic book. lil guy from comic book PLEASE

[illumiera]

WIP Wednesday

thank you to @hircines-hunter and @miraakulous-cloud-district for the tags! 💖

even though I haven't been as productive as I'd have liked lately, progress is still progress! so, here's a snippet from the next chapter of i fear no fate (for you are my fate), ft. a little trip down memory lane:

Lucien loves Elentari, Miraak realises in wonder, like a brother. And Miraak… He doesn’t let himself think of Vahlok. He doesn’t let himself think of the weight a name carries when it is whispered under the veil of darkness (“My name was—is—Mímir.” Silence, heart-pounding silence for much too long to hold a breath, and then, “Ásmundr. Mine’s Ásmundr.”). Nor does he let himself think of stolen moments spent sharing stories of lives before, one always a son and the other always a slave (“Born for the gods, they call children like me, and of course, we all know which gods they mean.” “Let me tell you about my mother, then, if you don’t have one of your own. Her name is Eivor, and if you ever heard her sing…”). He especially doesn’t let himself think of the word brother itself, or of how it can be strung into the shape of both a promise to be broken and a plea to go unanswered— (“Vahlok! Nid, zeymahi, kir—” Afterwards, Miraak will struggle to remember exactly when he’d cried out to the golden-masked figure looming over him; he will not be able to recall whether it had been as the sword’s downward swing flashed silver-sharp in the dead of the moonless night, or whether it had been as the ink surged up beneath him, in his mouth, in his nose, over his head. And soon enough, history will struggle to remember him, too, and he will pass into legend as little more than a traitorous footnote in another’s story.) No, he doesn’t let himself think of any of it.

and, because I'm slowly but surely trying to gather some ✨art mojo✨, here's an updated WIP of Elentari and Miraak as "The Kiss", now with (almost) finished lineart for Ellie:

no-pressure tags: @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @bostoniangirl21 @sulphuricgrin @lathepoquerose @kiir-do-faal-rahhe

@firebastardextraordinaire @lilarus @madam-whim, and anyone who sees this and wants to join in!

[elvenbeard]

Just you and me and the city of dreams - part two!

A few more shots from this set ~

I loved these three as well, but I also wanted to keep the original post a bit smaller and more intimate, hence splitting this up in two!

Also using the opportunity to gush a little bit about the little things here ;__;

First of all, I love that CDPR gave all their male characters such nice, defined, long eyelashes, 'cause, hell yeah <3 I feel like, in some games I played in the past, eyelashes seemed to be for women only, and I know many find the CC lacking in comparison to what was teased and promised, but in this (and a few other regards) I like it a lot. Plus male NPCs with pretty eyelashes <3

Secondly, this was my first shoot I did with Kerry's updated 2.0 model and man ;__; This is super weird and random, but I'm so happy he has proper fingernails now XD Like, actual 3D nails that can be colored etc etc (and I know I couldve just added them manually in the past, but y'know....). With how huge PL turned out to be, with how much they improved and changed and added, it's the small things like this that really really do it for me cause... yeah. Dogtown is epic and amazing, the story is so good, but also, they didn't forget about lil old Kerry and gave him (and in return the people that love him) a lil love and care, too. That is so, so nice and makes me love the people behind all this even more.

[rimeswithpurple]

Thank you for the tag @bookish-bogwitch & @ic3-que3n!

Good news! I finally designed my Christmas card! Bad news is I now have to carve it 😩 I’ve been block printing my family’s Christmas card for the last 7 years because I’ve become more sentimental about the holidays since becoming a parent and I can’t stop myself from being so goddamn extra. I even go so far at to mark the edition of my print run. A few of my friends and family get really excited for them and I like the idea that my loved ones receive a piece of my art every year. Designing it in procreate instead of layers of tracing paper was such a game changer! So, this is the finalized design:

Snickerdoodles are the first cookie we make during the Christmas season since I have all of the ingredients already in my pantry and it's super quick and easy.

I’m only doing a 2 layer reduction print because I really don’t have time this year.

I just finished my first test print:

Hopefully, I can knock these out by the end of the week and I can get back to COC! 🤞🤞🤞

Tags under the cut!

@valeffelees @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @theimpossibledemon @theotherhufflepuff @thewholelemon @artsyunderstudy @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @fatalfangirl @facewithoutheart @stardustasincocaine @nightimedreamersworld @hushed-chorus @orange-peony @best--dress @leithillustration

[stardestroyer81]

Gee, Peppibot Factory sure looks different today.

With the one Pizza Tower title card meme making the rounds lately, I figured I'd join in on the fun with my own contribution starring none other than the super fighting robot, Mega Man! This might just be my biggest sprite piece yet this year, and I am BEYOND thrilled that I was able to pull this off! 💙✨

(I highly recommend opening this image in a new tab for closer viewing if you want a better look at the little details!)

[sgt-tombstone]

first day of grad school classes is tomorrow so if y’all don’t see me for a couple of days, assume I’ve melted into a puddle of anxiety and a truly overwhelming amount of assigned readings

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @wildlife4life for wip Wednesday! Last night I was thinking about this dinluke fic where Luke lives on a house bout I wrote awhile ago and remembered I had a sequel planned thats like a bunch of vignettes in their lives going forward. Since it’s a busy holiday week and I have nothing new, here’s two of the complete ones (second one under a cut because it involves a nightmare about a fatal boating accident asdfgh). Other people are also probably busy this week but @malewifediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @rewritetheending @shortsighted-owl @shitouttabuck @lover-of-mine @thewolvesof1998 if you have any wips you want to share this Wednesday

Luke listens to Din's breathing and the occasional rasp of a page turning. Lying at his side as he is, all he can see when he tries to look up at his face is a close up of an elbow, so instead Luke takes to studying the man's hip. The skin of Din's body is paler than his face and arms, hidden away from the sun's loving touch. There is a small scrape just above the crease of fat where torso meets leg, mostly healed. There's a tile on the front edge of the kitchen counter that's chipped from Grogu's forehead careening into it during an ill fated game of hide and seek, and the jagged edge keeps claiming victims to this day. Luke presses a kiss to the little red line before continuing his research. Din's skin was so warm against his lips that he decides sight alone is not enough to gather proper data, so he brings up his hand and presses his fingertips into flesh. Soft, giving, smooth. He moves his hand up and down, marveling in the divots left trailing behind. And here, a bone! The sturdy core of Din, the structure of him. Luke presses his forehead to it, his nose, his lips. He fumbles kisses along the crest of it, tasting salt, smelling sunscreen.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?"

Luke looks up to find that Din has stopped reading and has twisted to look down at him, fondly amused. Luke isn't sure how to explain his thought process, so settles on simplicity. "I love your hip."

It makes Din huff out a breath of a laugh, eyes crinkling."Why?"

Luke hums, wrapping his arms around Din's waist and burying his face back into the beloved body part. "Because it's your hip. Because it's attached to the rest of you and I love all that, too."

A hand combs through Luke's hair, once, twice, then rests cradling his skull for a moment before Din scoots down the bed, dislodging Luke's arms from their embrace. Din kisses Luke's jaw, and then his neck, and then lays half on top of him, cheek pressed above his heart.

"I'm sorry I'm an old man, I don't think I have the energy to go again."

Luke smiles up at the ceiling. "You're not an old man."

Din hums skeptically and rolls his shoulder so the joint pops and Luke laughs. Din turns his head so his face is pressed into Luke's chest, and he can feel him smile. Luke remembers how his face used to hurt after being around Din for a few hours because he couldn't stop smiling in his presence. The muscles that move his cheeks and pull his lips must have grown stronger over time, because he certainly doesn't smile less. Big grin, showing teeth to the popcorn plaster above him.

"All of it," Luke says, trusting completely in Din's ability to follow his meandering train of thought. "Every part."

A warm little exhale against his skin and then Din lifts his head and props it on his own hand to look down at Luke. He just looks, and Luke lets himself be observed. Luke loses himself in the way their chests press together when they contract and expand to let air in and out, and then Din leans forward to kiss him. Luke brings his hand up to rest against his face. Din pulls back just enough to speak.

"I don't think there are words," he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as Luke's thumb strokes his temple, "To tell you…" Din is quiet for a moment, then inhales. "How you live in my heart."

And Luke knows. Din's love is plainly written into every movement and word, his love for his son, for his friends and his family, his love for Luke. Luke touches his wonderful disheveled hair. They're fairly thoroughly pressed together but he can trail his hand down and just fit it against Din's chest. Taps a finger twice. "It's nice in here."

Din nods, as if in relief at being understood.

—

In the dream, Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did.

Two ships glide over water that looks like glass, no indents or peaks in its surface, and Luke is on one of the decks and observing from far above. Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did, and tosses Luke a rope, and Luke laughs bright and open in return. His stomach rolls and he says "You have to leave," and Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did. The light is the bright light of midday, and then it is dark and stars are blotted out above him by impenetrable clouds and he is Anakin slipping over the deck trying to secure every rope in place, shouting at Luke to help him take down the sail, and Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did. And Luke is the ship and sees the other boat practically falling towards them, both of them caught almost sideways on the biggest wave Luke has ever seen. He is on shore and Leia is saying the weather is all clear, conditions good for the race. Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did. Luke is on the ship, in the pounding rain that is indistinguishable from the salt water coming over the side of the boat, and Luke is the sound of splintering wood and screeching metal and Biggs, laughing, bright and open, like he always did.

He sees the moment he falls. He sees his head hit the cleat with enough force to crack him open. The moment happens, keeps happening, stretches on forever. And then he blinks and the other thing has happened, the mast has fallen, has crushed his hand, has knocked Biggs over. He looks at his hand and feels no pain, knowing that that is wrong, knowing that it was excruciating. He looks at Biggs and with so little light from the storm the deck looks black beneath him, and he knows before it happens that there will be a lightning strike and it will turn crimson. He doesn't want to be here. He looks at his hand and it is red and swollen. He is Anakin and Luke both and they frantically move around the boat, trying to stay on board, trying to keep it afloat. Anakin asks where the carabineers are and Luke begs him not to ask and Anakin asks where the carabineers are and Luke tries to pull away, tries to stop moving, tries to scream as he scrambles to Biggs and goes through his pockets and looks at his dead eyes and Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did. Luke looks at his hand and it is purple. Luke is standing and moving to help Anakin and Luke is also holding Biggs, cradling his ruined skull. He is freezing, he is colder than he has ever been, he looks at his hand and his fingers have turned black, his flesh is dying. He is on the boat and he is holding a dead man and when he looks at his face it is Din's face, it is Din's blood and brains and bone fragments that they will wash off him four hours later when they have, somehow, made it to shore. Biggs laughs, bright and open as he always did.

Luke is moaning when he wakes, a fearful, sick sound. The gentle motions of the water in the harbor are usually soothing, but now they just make Luke feel panicked, his heart pounds, he heaves in great breaths without seeming to get any oxygen. He clenches the side of his bunk and can't decide if opening his eyes is better or worse, can't decide if he wants to curl into a ball or get up, get out of here, flee. He feels nauseous. He sees Din's dead face in his mind and tears come, he wishes for an absurd moment he was still dreaming so he could hear Biggs laugh again.

He's not sure when he woke up but by the time he is breathing somewhat normally and has more or less stopped shaking the sun has started to come up, the nighttime hues in his boat giving way to the purples and oranges of dawn. He didn't flee, he didn't throw up. He feels exhausted and he's soaked in sweat, but he counts those small victories. He'd scared the hell out of Leia and Ben and whoever he'd been staying with in those first few months when they woke up and found him gone, had to go pick him up when he'd call from a payphone or cafe, barefoot and trembling. He flexes his hand and sits up slowly. The world is calm outside the little porthole window above his bed, and he watches a seagull preening itself on a post for a minute as he gathers himself to take a shower or look at his phone. Shower first, he decides, standing up and stretching, still feeling too unsteady to let the rest of the world back in just yet.

The shower is tiny and never very warm, but the cool water is bracing and familiar and Luke closes his eyes and lets it run over him and tries to not let it remind him of anything, tries to keep his mind blissfully blank. He mostly succeeds, only has to swallow bile once as his thoughts bump against the image of Din with dead eyes again. He brushes his teeth and spits hard.

His mostly busted charger managed to get his phone up to almost full power through the night, a small miracle. He has emails which he ignores, and a message from Leia and a message from Din. Leia’s is a blurry picture of the baby with something green on his face sent at 3 am with no caption. He replies baby!!! then takes a breath before opening Din’s message. It’s a few minutes old, probably came in while he was in the shower, and says pancakes with no punctuation or explanation, but Luke doesn’t need any to understand the man. Some clenched part of him unclenches a little. He gets dressed in a hurry, grabs keys and wallet, breathes cold salty morning air as he makes his way up the dock and to his car.

There’s no one really on the road this early so the only thing slowing him down on the way to Din’s apartment is traffic lights and speed laws, and he ignores the second thing just a little. There’s even a parking spot open out front of the place when he pulls up, big enough for his stupid old truck. He sits in his car. It’s a shady spot, even, his car won’t be an oven when he comes back out later. He looks towards the building. Din and Grogu are up there, right now, Grogu is probably performing the all important task of dumping the bag of chocolate chips into the batter. He could walk right up, should be opening the door and heading inside but the ice has locked around his heart again. This happens sometimes, has happened before, Luke sitting outside convincing himself that if he opens a door he’ll find something terrible inside. It’s not like it’s an unfounded fear, in his life. And he can’t quite dodge the nightmare image of Din, cold and lifeless. He digs his blunt nails into the cracked leather of the seat and tries not to get worked up into a real panic and just as it starts to really not work his phone buzzes. Din. You here?

Luke gulps air and presses dial. It rings only once before Din picks up and in his soft voice says “Hey, everything ok?”

Luke shakes his head and says “Yeah,” and clears his throat and says “Sorry, yeah. I’m outside.” He can hear Grogu say something in the background but can’t make out what it is. “Are you-“ He can’t say are you alive, thats a dumb question, even if it’s the one he wants the answer to. “Is everything- It’s all alright, up there?”

A fuzzy breath, then “Yeah, Luke.” Some indistinct noises, then “Hey, kid, say hi.”

“Hello,” in Grogu’s tiny voice, L’s a little blurry.

“Hi,” Luke smiles, “Hi, baby.”

Grogu doesn’t say anything else but he giggles, and then Din is back on the line. “We haven’t started cooking yet. There was an, uh- orange juice situation.”

“Sounds serious,” Luke says, unlocking the car like he’s trying to do so without himself noticing.

“Down a few clean dish towels,” Din agrees. There’s a clang and Grogu laughs again, muffled.

Luke plants one foot on the street, drags the other out of the car, stands up. “Any left for thirsty travelers?”

“It’s the pulpy kind.”

“Gross,” Luke makes a face as he locks the car and takes measured steps towards the building.

"There's coffee."

Luke stands about ten feet from the door. "Lightning fast redemption arc you got there."

"It's a talent."

The door to the apartment building opens, and Din and Grogu stand in the entrance. Grogu strikes a pose and throws his hands into the air and shouts "Surpise!" with a big grin on his face.

All the air in Luke's lungs leaves in a rush, a laugh that feels punched out of him. He barely remembers to put his phone in his pocket before moving forward to catch the little boy running full tilt towards him. He spins around and Grogu cackles, and Luke kisses all over his head as they come to a dizzy stop. And here is Din.

The man stands close, first smiling with the specific sort of fondness he saves for his son, and then with the specific sort of fondness he saves for Luke. His eyes are bright as they search Luke's, and Luke lets out a little breath and steps even closer, grabbing a clumsy fistfull of Din's shirt while keeping Grogu in his arms. Din's brows furrow a little, and he slides his arms around them both and kisses Luke's cheek.

"Hey."

"Hi." It's so warm here, with these two. Luke gets even closer, leaning his face against Din's, supporting Grogu between their bodies. His hand moves from wrinkling Din's shirt to rest on his shoulder for a moment, then creeps up to cradle the back of his head. Whole, complete, unbroken. "Just… checking," Luke says, though Din probably doesn't need an explanation. Their foreheads are pressed together and it's a little dizzying to look at someone this close up, but they stare at each other anyway.

"You wanna come in?" Din asks, eventually, nodding his head back towards the building and the apartment and the pancakes and the coffee.

"Yeah," Luke says. "I do."

[andorshitdaily]

FINAL RESULTS - NINJA WARRIOR

Well that was a thing that happened. An interesting change of pace with the heat style but ultimately I don't know if we'll do that again.

At any rate, quite a competition. And here's your podium. In third place....

🥉Birnok!

Second place goes to....

🥈Cassian Andor!!

And winning her THIRD first-place trophy, the people's undisputed queen...

🥇🏆Cinta Kaz!!!

She looks real happy to keep winning, huh?

Will she prevail in the next contest? Who can say? All I can say is that it will start soon and it will be an incredible test of our cast’s skill and will. An honorable contest in an age-old realm of battle.

That's right. It's MARIO KART TIME!!!