#or ill just stay in my corner and let the criticism come

[thesquidkid]

I just found out that my grandmother (and other family members, but finding that out hurt less) does not believe in climate change

Yesterday at dinner, my aunt was asking me about the different masters I was looking at (she's like one of the very few supportive ppl in my family, and one of the few who actually seems interested in my studies)

So I told her that I was looking at master programs regarding systems and control, and more precisely, at courses that were related to meteorology, climate, and environment. My aunt was asking me questions, it was a fun little conversation, and I got overexcited talking about weather patterns and the importance of research (I have been obsessed with weather since I was 6, and the first job I ever wanted to do was meteorologist)

And that point, my grandma turned to us and said something along the lines of "it's not real, you kids just invented it to annoy your elders"

This single sentence was like an arrow straight to the heart. Because she then went on about how ridiculous it was that climate would change, that we only had different cycles and that this was simply one of them.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but this is just the drip too much. Whenever I talk about my interests, I get shut down because "there are more important things in life than mathematics".

From the ages 6 to 12 I kept telling ppl I was going to be a meteorologist. My grandmother laughed at me every time, saying "it's cute to have dreams". Now I know she never believed that my interest were real.

Anyway, I'm off to another family meal, and I'll make sure to not mention climate, the weather, or mathematics.

[technicallycleverdetective]

For the kissy thing: Jance & 23? ☺️

Thank you very much for the prompt, my friend :) I hope you enjoy.

23…in relief.

Jan’s name appears on his phone and he sighs, more relieved than anything. Jan is always late to everything. It’s a well-known fact and not something to resent him over. Everyone else’s timekeeping just changes a little to accommodate him. Nevertheless, twenty minutes is a reasonable amount of time to wait. Forty-five minutes is starting to stretch the limits of patience and Nace was starting to get concerned.

“It’s Jan,” he announces to the room.

“Finally! Tell him he better have a good excuse this time,” Kris orders. Nace picks up the call.

“Hello,” he says cheerfully.

“Hi.”

He can tell at once that something isn’t right. “Are you okay, love?”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” Kris gives him a look to indicate his disagreement. “Are you on the way?”

“Don’t be worried,” Jan says, which instantly worries him. “But I’m in the hospital.”

“What? What’s happened? Are you okay?”

“I got hit by a car. It was only a bump,” Jan adds quickly. “They made me come and get checked though.”

“Of course they did. What hospital are you in? We’re on the way.”

“He’s in a hospital?” Bojan yelps.

“University Medical Center. And seriously, Nace, don’t worry. I’m fine.”

There’s no point in saying that of course he’s going to worry. “Alright, I’ll try not to.”

As soon as he hangs up, he’s swamped with questions. “He was hit by a car, he’s in the hospital, I don’t know if he’s hurt or not, but he’s awake and talking at least. Let’s go.”

Jan is clearly not in a critical condition and there’s no reason to be unduly fearful, but nevertheless Jure takes over driving duties, and the front desk staff look very alarmed at the sight of four men barging through their doors and trying to talk over each other in search of their missing friend. They are directed to the end of a long corridor, around a corner and a little further to find the room with four beds where Jan is sitting, apparently unharmed except for the sling on his left arm.

Nace reaches him first and hugs him carefully, mindful of the sling, and is swiftly followed by the other four.

“Are you okay?”

Jan shakes his head. “I broke my arm.”

“Shit,” Kris stares at the sling. “Anything else?”

“What else is worse? I can’t fucking do anything for six weeks? What am I meant to do?”

Kris and Bojan have a silent conversation.

“We’ll rally around,” Kris declares. “We can make a rota to make sure one of us is always staying over to help out, if you want us to. We’ve handled illness and injury before.”

“Not like this! I can’t hold a guitar.”

“We’ll find a session musician,” Bojan says calmly. This doesn’t please Jan, who lets out a disgusted groan and buries his face in Nace’s shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No,” Jan’s muffled voice replies. “That’s the thing, it doesn’t hurt at all, but the X-ray said there’s a fracture.”

“Mr Jan Peteh?”

They all look towards the door as a nurse walks in, stops short at the sight of them and then looks around. “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong room.”

She doubles back, looks at a chart outside the door and then comes back in. “Are you Mr Jan Peteh?”

“Yes.”

Her confusion does not vanish. “Were you brought in because you fell down the stairs?”

“I was hit by a car.”

“Hold on.” She walks out again. The guys look at each other and Kris tentatively takes a step back.

“Maybe I’ll go see what that’s about.”

He returns a minute later, just ahead of the nurse. “Hello again, I’m terribly sorry. I think your X-ray has been mixed up with someone else’s. You’re the Jan Peteh who was struck by a vehicle, correct?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, your X-ray came back totally fine. You should have been discharged an hour ago.”

“Really? What about the other guy?”

“We need to call him back immediately. I’ll go and find someone to cut that bandage off you and then you can go home.”

She marches out briskly.

“What kind of incompetence-?” Kris begins, but the rest of his sentence is cut off by Jan gripping Nace by the collar and pulling him in for an enthusiastic hug.

“I haven’t broken my arm,” he says excitedly.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I can still play!”

Nace smiles and wraps his arms around him, kissing his temple and lingering for a bit longer over the warm skin, just as a reminder that Jan is here and safe.

[jerzwriter]

Sunday Six 2.12.2023

I swore I wasn't doing Sunday Sixes anymore, but I have several Valentine's pieces that are coming out - they may not all be up by Valentine's Day, but they will be up by next weekend, so here I am! lol

Sneak peeks at Valentine's fics for the following can be found below:

OH - Tobias x F!MC (Casey) OH - Ethan x F!MC (Kaycee) OH - Raf x F!MC (Carrie) WTD - Eli x F!MC (Zoe)

I hope you enjoy them and have a good week ahead!

Simple Pleasures| Open Heart - Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey)

Ethan studied his friend from across the room. Obviously, he hadn't heard a word he said; there is no way he wouldn't have had a comeback. But he was going to try one more time.

"... and then I dropped my trousers and did the shake the skin snake dance in front of the entire conference... they were quite impressed."

"Hmmm... oh, that's good...." Tobias replied.

"Really? I thought my skin snake would have gotten you.

"WHAT?" Tobias startled.

"Finally.... a reply. Now, what has you in such a daze. I haven't seen you this quiet, well... ever."

"I just haven't been able to sleep... I don't want to screw this up."

(Yeah, I know, no Casey - but she's in it - I promise lol)

Unnamed Val Fic (Request) | Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey)

Tobias peeked over his menu, growing concerned. Casey had yet to open her own menu even though she was famished just moments before. Seconds later, her cheeks turned bright red when she caught him staring at her.

"What?" He asked.

"What? What ... what?" She replied. "You're the one looking at me."

"Because you're not looking at your menu. On the ride over, I thought you were considering eating my arm off. What gives."

"I was not going to eat your arm!"

"Casey... focus...."

"That guy, over there?"

"The waiter?"

"Yes! He keeps staring at us."

My Pleasure (Request) | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Kaycee)

"So you're not mad," she asked sadly, "I didn't want to ruin the day."

"Kaycee. First, you know my thoughts on Hallmark holidays... this was more for you than me."

"But you had all these plans..."

"Which we can do another day. You're a doctor; you stayed to care for a critically ill patient. We'll have a lot of this in our lives. It's not like you're blowing me off because you got a better offer."

"As if I could get a better offer," she grinned, and he felt as if he could see it through the phone. "Still, I am bummed about missing out on our Valentine's Day."

"You are still coming over, correct?"

"Try and stop me," she teased.

"Then let me see what I can do to make tonight special for you."

"I'm intrigued..."

"You should be."

Raf Aveiro x F!MC (Request) (Carrie)

"Raf!" Carrie yelled. Tossing her charts to the side, she ran down the hallway, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I tried calling you before, but I couldn't reach you."

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was on runs, and I...."

"Oh, I'm not mad," she reassured as if the big smile she sported had left any doubt. "I know you were working. But we're almost done, and I can't WAIT for tonight! What time are you picking me up? Seven?"

Raf attempted to speak, but nothing would come out. Carrie was so understanding. She was wonderful, which is why he wanted Valentine's Day to be perfect. But would she understand this.

His lack of response had the smile slowly fading on her face. It wasn't like him... usually, he'd be so enthused.

"Raf... we're still on, right?"

"Uh.. yeah... about that."

An Ordinary Day (Request) | Eli Sipes x F!MC (Zoe Rivera)

Zoe was growing concerned. The past few days at Olympus had left everyone on edge. She was so glad that she and Eli were getting some alone time tonight. It was just what she needed. But perhaps, he didn't feel the same way. After all, he hadn't moved, fidgeting in the chair in the corner of her room since he arrived. Taking a deep breath, she spoke up and offered him an out.

"Eli, we've all had a few difficult days. As much as I love spending time with you, if you need some time alone, I understand. We could..."

Eli reached out and grabbed her hand, and when he tugged at her wrist, she halted her words.

"I want to spend time with you tonight, Zoe. It's just...."

"Just?"

"I have something I wanted to ask you first."

Permatags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others in reblog.

[thisislottespeaking]

too soft for all of it

This is a way to hold myself accountable, I suppose. To put an end to something. Because the TS subreddit has ruined something that was so pure. I became a fan on my own, in 2012, and slowly became a bigger one with each album. And it stayed that way for many years, almost ten. None of my friends were into her music, which was fine, unless it was motivated by misogyny(which it sometimes was). When the I Bet You Think About Me video came out, I bought a red velvet cupcake, and for the first time, I thought: why not try to find some other swifties. All this joy this brings me, maybe it could be even greater if I shared it. That’s how fandoms are supposed to work, I was told.

So after watching the video, I went to reddit. I was surprised to see the official thread for the video was filled with comments about Miles Teller – and I mean, I couldn’t find a comment about anything else, I was scrolling for minutes. Seeing nothing but hatred for him, and for Taylor, because she chose to work with him. All because of some rumors. Anyone who spoke up and said ‘let’s not judge so quickly, those rumors appear to be coming from terrible gossip websites, so why not talk about the video instead’ was not only downvoted and ignored – they were told they were problematic, they were probably anti-vax, they didn’t have their priorities straight. Apparently, we all needed to be cancelled. 

I lost my appetite, I didn’t finish my cupcake, I remember it sitting on the table with a few bites out of it. The experience was ruined. I closed my laptop, a little bit in shock. I’d loved that video when I watched it. It had been pure. And suddenly, it was tainted. 

Life is just a classroom, because apparently, the mean girls never go away. They’re the ones who claim to be your best friend, your biggest fans. When you walk away they laugh and make fun of your outfit, thinking you can’t hear them. Or: just not caring that you can. That is all I see, this is not constructive, intelligent, level-headed criticism – and that’s actually how they praise themselves. They’re the older swifties with a nuanced opinion, they’ll say. Apparently, that’s what ‘girl, this is embarassing’ is. I just see boring old mean girl behaviour. 

They’re the people who hated Taylor for speaking up when her dating history was mentioned in a Netflix show(genuinely can’t remember which one). She was overreacting, she was triggered, and embarassed herself by tweeting about it. They said it was ridiculous for her to complain about people speculating about whether she was married or pregnant, because her songs were inviting those questions. These people said ‘I love her music, but she’s not a good person, I don’t care about her or think she’s affected by this at all’ when Ticketmaster did what they do best. Now they’re the people who hate her for having a conversation with a director about something she clearly has a passion for, something she wants to do more of, will do more of. The word I saw used the most: embarassing.

That’s a weird way of being a fan, man. And I’m tired. 

I don’t know if that they’re that obtuse that they don’t realize they’re the people Taylor sings about in Lavender Haze. She’s damned if she gives a damn what they say. All of us are. That 1950s bullshit is so boring. Talk about toxic. That negativity poisoning my life, destroying this perfect carefree joyful little corner where I could escape to when real life was too much to deal with. The illnesses, the grief, loneliness, the relentlessness of the bad news that has kept coming. I needed those purple pink skies, I still do. Desperately. And I refuse to let anyone ruin it any longer. I’m taking it back. I’m going to Paris. Coming home to alleys in Montmarte, feet up at the Tuileries, phone off, view of the tower. Heaven, when everything and everyone stops mattering because it’s so beautiful. And I think this is a lesson I’ve had to learn, one I will continue to learn – not just when it comes to Taylor. 

I’m terrible at goodbyes and I have trouble leaving places. As ridiculous as that seems when it comes to a subreddit, it’s true here too. I don’t even like reddit. But god, I don’t think I’ve ever been a bigger fan of anyone. And it seemed like such a wonderful idea to share it, and I became attached to that idea. But today it’s become painfully clear that I’d much rather be a lonely fan, with no one in my life really getting it. Well meaning but clueless, and probably a little scared, they give me thumbs up when I burst into tears and quickly say ‘it’s Taylor’. They don’t really know what any of it means, and right now, that’s kind of nice. Maybe I’ll find kinder swifties someday. But for the moment, I’m very content blaring Midnights all on my own, diving back into the folk albums during this gloomy winter, and eagerly anticipating the next video. And I’m excited to watch the Variety conversation, with some tea, candles, and a big smile on my face. 

[no-droids]

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT.  Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting.  “Turn around, let me see.”

“No.  I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says.  You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in.  “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it.  You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle.  Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him.  He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence.  “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing.  You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth.  Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl.  He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it.  You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?”  You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries.  The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace.  “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now.  “Way too big.”

“Too big?”  You blink at him.  “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no.  It’s fucking… rust.  It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character.  There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—”  You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens?  It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull.  “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh.  “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully.  “Are we on Corellia?”  You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron.  “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill.  Different setting, same kind of people.  Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them.  You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else.  It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs.  “Someone… nice.  It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you.  Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to.  Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy.  But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?”  You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace.  “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again.  “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore.  “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words.  “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second.  “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment.  “We can stay with your… friend.”  

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step.  You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle?  You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated.  You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again.  That’s what’s called a friend, right?  

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it.  After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit.  You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright.  Fuck, it’s so bright here.  You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it.  Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now.  But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance.  “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely.  You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him.  “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink.  What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!”  The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long.  “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second.  “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration.  Probably both.  “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!”  She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground.  “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot.  How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide.  He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his.  He talks to you.  He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without.  Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos.  “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders.  Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?”  She faces him and pokes his armor again.  “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase.  Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point.  He said she was nice?  And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks.  Fuck, there’s no way.  There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond.  Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation.  Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue.  Maker, five hundred credits.  You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it.  He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around.  Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side.  You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now.  Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does.  Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it.  You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him.  Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway.  You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing.  It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him.  That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.  

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right?  Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently.  Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you?  You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape.  He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk.  Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask.  “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her.  “Pre-Imperial or post?  Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it.  She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable.  You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night.  You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse.  You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck.  Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror.  Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though.  She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about.  She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being.  On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears.  It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement.  She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing.  Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later.  You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset.  You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life.  However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do.  After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself.  You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game.  There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare.  But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game.  The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point.  The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point.  You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void.  You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best.  Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it.  “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand.  “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair.  Peli sets the mug down and sighs.  “You’re a good mechanic.  I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile.  But it’s a hidden one.  A fond one.  One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him.  You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him.  Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace.  It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him.  Nothing can touch you.  You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it.  This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous.  You love the baby.  You love him.  You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?”  She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit.  “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer.  Of course you do.  If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without.  Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go.  You’ve never experienced anything like that before.  There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age.  So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them.  You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy.  You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family.  You don’t know of anything you could want more.  Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment.  Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence.  You know what it means to live for yourself.  You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different.  As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better.  Now you have other people to live for, too.  

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago.  He used to terrify you.  You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up.  Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition.  Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do.  You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea.  But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?”  She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal.  “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them.  Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface?  I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you.  “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it.  Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work.  This is what Din does, right?  Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet?  Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin.  “But only if you win this round.  What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand.  A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7.  They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave.  Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done.  After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape.  You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating.  You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before.  You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted.  It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired.  You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open.  Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you.  Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now.  Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is.  Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could.  Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that.  You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted.  He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.  

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level.  And fuck, nothing stops you from looking.  He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either.  He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs.  Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time.  Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now.  Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all.  “But… shit, but…”

“But…?”  You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides.  “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him.  All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside.  Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful.  “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long.  “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him.  Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you.  The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck.  “Shit.  I… I need to clean up.  Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss.  You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters.  “Uh.  Go tell…”  He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so.  “Her.  That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?”  You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused.  “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat.  “The mechanic, with the… droids.  Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?”  You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point.  “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that.  “Never asked.”

“But you—?”  You blink at him.  “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy.  It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it.  Yikes, you absolutely did say that.  You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response.  “Ha.  Oh.  Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom.  Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?”  He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far.  You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw.  “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered.  So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would.  Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help.  His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you…  Mind blank, no thoughts.  Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try.  “There’s no reason.  I was jealous.  It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid.  I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off.  Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?”  He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it.  You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about.  It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar.  He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you.  “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar.  “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore.  “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again.  “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point.  Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly.  You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here.  She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him.  “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops.  Holy shit, is she serious?  You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly.  Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him?  Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so.  You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important?  You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again.  If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough.  Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough.  It’s an elementary school version of what this is.  And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend?  Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.”  He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point.  Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder?  Lover?  No, not good enough.  Partner?  No.  No, not wife, definitely fucking not—  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder.  “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness.  The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing.  You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here.  Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.  

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food.  A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps?  Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things.  While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well.  Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful.  The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you.  You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically.  So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one.  He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch.  It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye.  Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life.  You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it.  Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.  

No, you think in frustration.  You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time.  You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times.  Miss, miss, wild miss, miss.  Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you.  Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise.  He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit.  “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was.  Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing.  He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast?  That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?”  You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch.  “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again.  “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon.  “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature.  Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking.  “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando?  I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips.  They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again.  “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin.  “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off.  “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards.  “Of course not.  Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you.  Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus.  Focus, you can do this.  You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life.  The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours.  His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows.  He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on.  Maker, chill out.  Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot.  This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong.  You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center.  You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target.  Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more.  You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit.  Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh.  “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down.  “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong.   Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are.  So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind.  He’s your biggest distraction, all the time.  He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.  

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?”  You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf.  “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him.  He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused.  You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically.  You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out.  You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot.  You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right.  You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop.  Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable.  Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago.  No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere.  The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit.  They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands.  But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there.  He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either.  He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.  It’s not fun because he’s too good at it.  This is life.  This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element.  You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you.  Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder?  Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think.  No.  You have seen him relax.  You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.  

But… only with you.  A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck.  Why does that turn you on so fucking much?  It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit.  The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it.  You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it.  You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders.  He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back.  Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason.  There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator.  He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime.  Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf.  The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots.  Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.  

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this.  His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too.  You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him.  Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more.  So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point.  And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue.  He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it.  Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already.  You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out.  You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public.  Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else.  Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response.  He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it.  This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else.  This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue.  His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue.  While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth.  Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with.  You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it.  He endures.  Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando!  Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing.  The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.  

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming.  Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at.  Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.  

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance.  The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever.  Handling it is all on him.  He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun.  It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss.  Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs.  But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length.  Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him.  His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want.  His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache.  You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise.  “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth.  You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner.  The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean.  His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going.  Is that fucked up, you wonder?  What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving?  Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that.  The coast must not be clear, you have to assume.  Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t.  You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants.  He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows.  What would he think?  That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent?  Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself.  You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit.  Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss.  He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on.  You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair.  Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand.  And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this.  You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again.  Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified.  Debased.  And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum.  You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins.  By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants.  You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest.  You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble.  Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that.  He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake.  He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense.  Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet.  “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck…  Fuck, is he serious?  You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard.  How does this work again?  What does this do?

“Wh-What?”  You croak—fuck, your voice is gone.  “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it.  Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield.  “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath.  “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way.  “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace.  A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady.  The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained.  “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again.  Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot.  Nope.  So you shoot again.  And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again.  “Expensive.  Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no.  Just, no.  There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap.  You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place.  “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What?  N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right?  Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be.  You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding.  If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away.  Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something.  Is he messing with you again?  Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate.  Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready.  You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is.  You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint.  Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened?  “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him.  “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all.  Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No.  Shut up.  Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything.  Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh.  Oh, no.

“Uh?!”  Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic.  What the fuck?  No fucking way.  Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot.  “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you.  You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.  

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb.  There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.  

It fucking bends.  Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away.  Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it.  You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him.  “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door.  You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance.  The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

[akirakurusuimagines]

had the idea of reader getting marin karin'd and it not wearing off after leaving the metaverse so our dear boy helps her out by gently overstimulating her in front of a mirror 👉👈

I'm sorry for how long it's been taking to get this out! Hopefully the others won't take as long. Please enjoy! (minors DNI)

It only takes one mistake for everything to fall apart.

Akira believed they were sufficiently prepared to waltz right into Mementos and explore the depths that opened after the public’s response to their latest and greatest heist. He disregarded Morgana’s incessant warning that he was running low on ailment-curing items and revival items, reminding the cat that he was already planning on putting him and Makoto on the front lines this time so there was nothing to worry about.

So really, this mess was his fault. As leader, he knows he shoulders the responsibility of anything and everything that happens, even if his teammates don’t blame him.

It began to storm back in the real world as they reached the end of the current depths⁠; a painstakingly slow thirteen floors⁠ to comb through in search of treasure and experience. Everyone was nearing their physical and mental limits for the day, but at the sight of a rare challenger on their way back, they let their youthful recklessness seep through. One more, they all thought, one more to end the trip on a high note.

The high note they sought after quickly⁠ and almost comically⁠ became shrill.

The battle turned for the worst: unable to find a weakness, you and Mona were left with minimal SP, Queen had suffered an ill-timed critical attack and was knocked out cold, and Joker himself was running on fumes. Mind scattered in desperation, Joker attempted to regain some footing by attacking the particularly strong enemy with Marin Karin, hoping to charm it.

He didn’t expect that the enemy would end up reflecting it back at him.

Nor that you would take the brunt of the attack by jumping in front of him last-minute.

Joker and Mona finished the battle through sheer dumb luck, and all of the thieves expected things to return to normal. Queen stood up on shaky legs and thanked Panther for medicine, but when they turned to look at you, their hearts dropped.

Your face was flushed and eyes glassy, no different than how you were in battle. The unspoken rules of Mementos was broken⁠—somehow you didn’t come to once the fight finished.

Joker took to your side immediately, helping you up but freezing at the garbled moan that slipped past your lips the moment his hands landed on you. The others looked on with concern and fear, not understanding why this was happening, but it was obvious to everyone that they needed to leave immediately. He apologized to them and announced that he’ll be taking you home to make sure you’re safe and resting while the others research the strange divergence.

His arm wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you steady as you mindlessly clung to him, and ushered you out of Mementos and towards the trains.

Akira felt like he was suffocating. If this is how he was feeling, he could only start to imagine what you’re suffering through right now.

He kept you hidden from view as best as he could, squished in the corner between the door, the seats, and him. Akira put you in a spare face mask he had and slid his glasses over your nose, hoping to protect your identity in case any snooping individual lingered on you two a little too long.

“Hold on just a little longer for me, okay? We’re almost there.”

He watched your knees buckle and your thighs clench together at his words and felt his mouth run dry. Akira willed himself to stay calm, to steady his heartbeat, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do when you were in a state like this. Especially considering he harbored feelings for you.

“Please,” you begged. He almost didn’t hear it with how quietly you murmured it. “Akira, I… I need…”

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

“Yeah?” he leaned in closer, hoping to catch the rest of what you’re saying.

Your hand grabbed his thigh, tugging his leg closer to you and causing him to stumble forward, balancing with his forearm next to your head. He stared at you with wide eyes as you shifted his leg with no resistance between your thighs and sat on it, slowly and carefully grinding against it.

Akira’s head whipped around, making sure no one was watching as you shamelessly used his leg to relieve some of the pressure that Marin Karin’s charm had on you. He nearly stopped breathing when you whined right next to his ear, a sound too soft for anyone else to notice as the train screeched to another halt.

Your stop was next, but there was no way he was making it out of this without a boner. He looked back at you and swallowed hard, only able to see the way your eyes were screwed shut and eyebrows knitted with frustration and concentration, pressing yourself a little harder against the meat of his thigh.

“Need more, ‘s too hot,” you blabbered softly, hands gripping the lapel of his blazer. “want you, want you so bad⁠—”

“We⁠—we’re almost home,” Akira choked out, each passing moment more difficult than the last. He wanted to pinch himself, wondering if this was actually some wild porno dream he was having back in Leblanc, but the way you felt rutting against his thigh like this was far too real for him to deny this was reality.

“Akiraaaa...”

He nearly lost himself when he saw your teary-eyed expression, suddenly grateful for the crowded train dissuading him from bending you over the train seats and giving into temptation. Akira wanted to know every part of you: every touch that makes you keen, every kiss that makes your head spin, every position that makes you cream.

Akira almost praised the gods aloud when the announcer comments on your stop, pulling himself off of you despite your whines and taking your hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he nearly runs out of the train the second the doors behind you open.

It was quite the ordeal dragging you back home. Every moment he stopped, your hands would wander, gripping his shirt or his belt loops, sliding your hand underneath to feel the warmth of his skin. You pressed closer and closer against him, your inhibitions far-gone, leaving only your charmed mind.

He grabbed your wrist firmly when you reached for his crotch at the door to your house, sucking in a large breath and hoping you’d be able to contain yourself enough for him to open the door with your keys and lead you inside.

Akira pushed open the door and dragged you inside, kicking it closed and locking it quickly. He couldn’t help the whole-body sigh that passed through him with the relief of privacy.

You, however, took it as your cue to tackle him to the ground and relieve yourself.

“Shit, wait, hold on⁠—” Akira staggered back, gripping your hip and arm and barley catching himself. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t want to try to get… uh… get off on your own?”

“No no no no no⁠—!” you shook your head adamantly despite your slurred voice, the sheer panic in your voice and face surprising him. “Want you, only you, please.”

Akira pressed his lips together in a tight line and hoisted you up in his arms, silently thanking the rough training he’s been enduring with Ryuji. The way your eyes lit up as he carried you to your bedroom made his heart palpitate, the rational side of him quickly losing to the promise of passion.

He really was weak to you.

He grunted as his legs hit the bed, falling down with you on his lap. Akira barely had time to speak before your lips were all over him, kissing all over his face and jaw as you roughly grinded against him. He choked down his moans and tangled a hand in your hair, hoping to slow you down with a sharp tug to your scalp.

Akira felt you seize up the moment he did, nails digging into his shoulders despite the layers of clothing, pressing your hips harder against his, and with a loud cry, he felt dampness against his crotch. It took a moment to process that you came untouched, just from him having you in his lap and tugging your hair.

“Did you just…?” his hand wandered towards your pants, slipping inside your underwear and feeling the sticky substance coat his fingers as he reached your thighs. He pulled them out, observing the strands between his fingers and licking them clean with a low groan. “That’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

Akira palmed your crotch and felt you shudder as you rolled your hips against his again. “But… it isn’t enough, right?”

“Nnno…”

He looked around the room briefly and caught his own eyes in the floor-length mirror in your room.

“Stand up for me and strip, sweetheart,” Akira instructed with a gentle slap to your thigh.

He loved the way you scrambled off of him, shedding your clothes and looking at him with the same hazy doe-eyes that made him spend countless private hours fantasizing about. You looked at him with so much lust, being so obedient for him in hopes of getting another orgasm.

He shrugged off his blazer and tossed it aside, shifting closer to the mirror until it stood in front of him. “Turn around and sit back on my lap.”

Akira steadied you with gentle hands on your hips as you sat on his lap and pressed your sticky thighs together to feel some kind of friction against the torturous heat. He pried them open, spreading your legs to straddle him and spreading you open for the mirror.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he gently chided, “keep these pretty thighs open for me, okay?”

Akira refused to touch you until you nodded.

“Perfect,” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you’re absolutely perfect.” Akira guided his hands up from your thighs to your chest, brushing against your nipples and continuing his path up until he reached your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your face up, forcing you to look at the shameful display you created with him. “I want you to look at yourself as I touch you,” Akira explained, “I want you to see everything.”

You nodded dumbly, anything to get his hands back to pleasuring you. “Please,” you continued to repeat with breathless whines, “I want more, I want you in me.” You pushed your ass harder against his hard cock, hoping he would take the bait. You wanted to be fucked silly and at this point you really didn’t care how you got there.

Akira sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling for a few seconds as you continued to grind yourself on his dick. “Later, okay?” his voice wavered and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his own word with how enthusiastic you seemed about riding him.

He let go of your face and skimmed your inner thighs, catching the cum from your first orgasm on his fingers and finally touching you properly. You keened, head falling back as he slowly pressed two fingers into your hole. “Yes⁠!” you groaned, spreading your thighs a little further and bucking your hips into his hand, “More, please, oh god it feels so good⁠— hnn!”

Akira’s hand steadied your head, once again pushing you to look at yourself as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. “Come on, baby. Don’t stop watching,” he purred as he scissored his fingers inside of you. “Oh, you liked that?”

You grasped his hair and his wrist, incoherent noises fumbling from your lips as Akira brought you to another orgasm within minutes. Marin Karin had quite the effect on you: keeping your stamina high and your libido higher, giving you more orgasms than you’ve had in your life, emptying your head and leaving nothing but pleasant buzzing.

He stared at you in the mirror, catching your unfocused gaze as your eyes shifted from his face to his hand and back again. “You’re doing so good,” Akira mumbled strings of words he barely paid attention to as you squirmed in his hold. He added another finger, stretching you out further and curling his fingers inside of you. He felt your legs shake and watched your jaw go slack as pleasure only continued to build.

“Again?” he asked, groaning at how you clench around his fingers, barely giving him room to move them. Even still, you continue to thrust your hips into his hands⁠, unsatisfied. “I’ll give you as many orgasms as you need,” Akira promised, kissing your cheek and resting his temple against yours, “I won’t stop until you’re begging.”

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E123 (Feb. 2, 2021)

After last week’s thoroughly relaxing and brief episode, tonight’s guests are Sam Riegel and Liam O’Brien!

Brian, to Sam: “You look like Tim Curry moved to Nantucket to become a sommelier.”

How did Caleb and Veth approach the ally-ship with the Tombtakers? Sam: “I mean, we got some information, and I think we got a little closer to Lucien and knowing whether he has any of Mollymauk inside of him, which is I think the most important knowledge that we’re seeking right now. Is there someone to be saved inside there? We got glimpses, and we got a little hint that Mollymauk is maybe still in there? Maybe? And we got a little more insight into their plans, so that was useful.” Liam: “We know why we were having that fucking dream.” Sam: “But other than that, it was just a road trip with assholes.” Liam: “All our plans have been ripped in a new direction, and it’s just been improvisation.” Sam notes that it feels like we’re always about to rip into Caleb’s backstory, but haven’t yet followed that thread all the way through. Liam: “It’s partially frustrating, to be sure, but also I like the idea that-- his whole shit has been selfish, it’s been dealing with the trauma that he’s been through and not the greater world, and that’s been shifting somewhat.”

Does Caleb think the book was worth it, and is he still interested in reading more? Sam: “How do you ask Caleb not to read a book?” Liam: “Caleb has spent enough time with the Nein to know you shouldn’t put a hand on a hot stove. After what happened with the book, he knows it’s a terrible idea. But maybe. But it’s a really bad idea. But reserve judgment, but it’s a really terrible idea. I think that Caleb is very aware that mages and people like him very easily fall prey to their curiosity and it can lead to bad places. But there is still that amount of scientific endeavor where you think there is value in knowing and learning, and maybe we can ride that line. He was True Neutral at the start of the campaign, and maybe he’s Chaotic Good now, but part of him is hubris, even if it’s a little bit, still.”

What about Otis has drawn Veth’s focus? Sam: “I mean, he’s a little shit. She was curious about Otis because he’s a small like she is, and in talking to him, he seemed to be real creepy, but he was just creepy and distant and didn’t value his past or family or anything like that. She sees someone who’s like her, but so not like her, and maybe that scares her a little bit more.”

How does Caleb feel about Beau being on this ride with him? Liam: “The dream is another example of how Caleb had very narrow vision of the things he wanted to do. It used to seem so massive to him, but now... To have Beauregard involved feels right. If anyone in the group is going to stop him from grabbing something he shouldn’t, it is probably Beauregard. She’ll punch him in the fucking face to stop him, which I think he needs, to a certain extent. They’re two different kinds of nerds, and I kind of like that, that this group of nine philosophers, they’ve reached out and somehow grabbed the two nerds in the party.”

How do Caleb and Veth see the Somnovum? Sam: “I mean, they seem real bad. Anything that’s a quorum of powerful entities heading towards your planet to unleash an energy of any kind, typically bad? I assume they’re bad, or at least the Tombtakers wish them to do ill.” Liam: “I think they want the kind of peace that comes from snapping your fingers and turning people to dust. Caleb sees them as a cautionary tale; they’re the worst-case scenario for arcane inquisitiveness.” He sees Allura Vysoren as the antidote to that.

Why the staunch refusal to use Halfling Luck? Sam: “I don’t like Luck! I just don’t like Luck. I think it’s cheap, I think it’s a cheat, I think it’s stupid. It just feels like a do-over.” Liam: “I am your antithesis! If I ever voice a halfling, I am going to hammer that feature!” Sam: “What I love about D&D is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. If you roll bad, okay, that’s it. If you roll well, it makes the success more enjoyable to know that it’s a pure success and don’t one where you’re like well actually... it’s so stupid. If someone was about to die, I would probably use the fuckin’ Luck feature. Well. It depends who. If it was Travis, yeah, no, he’s fucked, sorry.”

Liam drops that he’s picked Sam’s character class and race again for a hypothetical campaign three. Sam: “It’s not what I was thinking for future characters, but I’m excited to explore.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Mollymauk by KatofValkyrie!

What was it like to bring the Tombtakers into the tower? Liam: “It is complicated, because he does not like him. Lucien’s just a fucking dick. But Caleb also knows that Molly’s in there somewhere. That tower’s only for the M9, and Lucien’s not in the M9. Their situation with these people is shitty, it’s terrible. Caleb doesn’t feel like they have the upper hand. He doesn’t like that they’re even going on this journey per se, because life is bigger than his bullshit. He feels like they’ve been losing over and over again, so it was a gamble to try to get on equal footing.

What spurred Veth into making sure she and Yasha have some one-on-one time? Sam: “Yasha hasn’t been getting a lot of moments to shine. Now that she’s back, I just got the impression that Yasha feels out of place sometimes, or timid, or unsure of herself. When Veth was Nott, Nott certainly had her share of those moments. I think she sees a kindred spirit and wants to make sure that she’s been giving all the opportunity she can to flourish and thrive. Dani, you’re just laughing at my mustache, aren’t you?” Dani: “Yes, that’s the only thing I’m laughing at through this whole bullshit.” Sam denies all knowledge of trolling, but eventually admits, on the topic of Yasha and Beau getting together: “They’ve made me wait this long... I’m going to make them wait a little bit longer!”

What was it like to show his friends the upper floors? Liam: “I kinda expected somebody to sneak up there before that. That being part of the tower is not even a conscious choice of his, it just is. The reason Caduceus has creeped Caleb out for a long time is because he talks about how-- Caduceus is a really kind person and wants Caleb to let go of the past. And in a really simplistic way, turn that frown upside-down. And that’s just not who Caleb is, and it’s not who everybody is. There is something to be said for trying to stay open and positivity, but thinking you can shut out the past, especially a traumatic one, is just not true. When things happen to us, we carry them. But to candy-coat it and say, ah, I’m free, or everything is good, or I’ve turned the corner... life is way messier than that. It’s not flipping a switch, it’s not bad-to-good, it is such a work in progress. Even when you make strides and start to get to a better place, you can backslide a lot. So the tower is who he is, and the tower is 7/9ths love for his friends, and 1/9th hope, but there’s still a percentage of him that carries everything from the past, and knows that he should, and knows that he should not go back to where he was. And the way to do that is not to say everything is rainbows, but to remember it. The tower is just like an extension of who he is. He’s never going to forget the past, and he’s never going to be like, I’m good, or I’ve turned a corner. He should remember the past, and he should do better, always.”

Does Veth still believe it’s possible to get Molly back? Sam: “Well, she was a person trapped in another body for many years, so has some experience there, and definitely believes that the spirit and soul of Molly is in there and just needs to be unlocked somehow.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot by HarpySN!

How are Caleb and Veth dealing with their guilt and fear about being in the middle of this? Sam: “It definitely was a deep conversation that might have repercussions going forward. The problem with all of what we’re doing now is that we don’t have time to deal with our petty problems anymore. It’s all high tension all the time!” Liam: “It’s true; they’re not in control of their situation at all anymore.” Sam: “It’s good to have these check-ins, but it’s not like we can do anything about them. We’re reactive right now.” Liam: “He’s not happy with where they are, but they wouldn’t even be this far if the goblin hadn’t pulled him out of the mud. So part of it is, you saved me from where I was and got me on my feet again, and now it’s disconcerting to see it all just get knocked sideways by something he never could’ve predicted. I think Caleb felt nostalgic for when things were simpler, in a way, for them, when we’re both troubled drifters.”

What was it like to see Gelidon’s return? Liam: “I am the least superstitious person at the table. Ashley’s dice suck.” Sam: “It was fun fighting a dragon!” Liam: “Two massive battles in one episode, neither of which came away with a victory. I guess surviving is a victory.” Sam: “I’d forgotten about the dragon, honestly.” Liam: “I loved it. I was so upset at the idea that we were going to stealth and not get into it.”Sam: “Mercer doesn’t keep a live dragon around and not do something with it. That dragon’s coming back.”

How do Caleb and Veth feel about going to see Essek? Sam: “He can be very helpful, I believe, but as Sam Riegel, a player of D&D, I’m super suspicious. What the fuck is Essek doing up there, so close, now? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And I can throw him pretty far because he floats.” Liam: “I 100% agree with you. I do not understand what Essek could bring to what we are going through. I know the audience loves him, I love him too. He’s a really cool character. But he’s fucking toxic. He out of curiosity caused a war between two nations. And Caleb has been changed for the good by the M9 from months of travel with them. Essek has had none of that. Caleb has changed for the good, but not because of people like Essek. Essek is where Caleb came from. We kept the lid on the pot during the whole treaty at sea and it almost all went fucking sideways, and only because we pressed him into a corner. I hope that guy finds some sort of balance and peace for himself, but I do not see how his input here would be helpful. There’s other heavy hitters that I would try to pull in.”

Liam notes that the Cloven Crystal is in the Bag of Holding. Sam: “Do I have Fluffernutter, or is Fluffernutter gone?” Liam: “Nope. 300 pounds of fireworks? Gone. A dead mage, a threshold crest, and fireworks.” Dani: “Your basic essentials.”

[the-wayside]

i just wanted to say i completely agree with your recent kp tag post. with a growing frequency i've found scrolling the tag more often tiring than enjoyable. and honestly this is one of the first times within a fandom i've felt this way strongly enough to want to stay out of it completely. sad. BUT i wanted to let you know that i have this blog on notif and i appreciate all of your posts. it really is about curating your own fandom experience and i want to say thank you for being someone i can trust and rely upon, and your takes and thoughts really do help to enhance the show. thank you for being a part of my very small and very specific fandom experience :)

Omigosh. Me? On notification? You're too kind and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

I try to be fair and not police other opinions because we are who we are and we like what we like but for me, the fandom has been a volatile experience for a lot of reasons. I felt pretty excluded towards the beginning because of reasons and I worked really hard to get to a place where I could get involved (with lots of help from the fandom) so it feels like I shouldn't give that up and go back to what feels like sitting in silence because I can't go into the tag.

But honestly, I just can't do it anymore. With popularity comes criticism and the volleying back and forth and I don't want to see it. I want to steal my faves and sit in a corner and hiss any time someone comes near.

Fandom is supposed to be fun. I've been on this tumble weed of a site for too long and we just never had this before. The only thing people were interested in was squeeing. People only wanted to talk about what they loved and the criticism was held under lock and key and was utterly filterable. Which I'm pretty sure isn't a word. But ya feel me. You literally have to experience everything at this point and that kind of barrage isn't good at the best of times.

I'm allowed to like that Porsche is a goddamn mess who doesn't know how to be a boyfriend since he's never been one. Let that sink in. He has never been a boyfriend. What is his point of reference for anything relationship related. His parents? Oh wait.

Something I didn't really say anything about but the fact that people believed Porsche to be too moral to commit murder. Maybe I'm projecting but I lost my parents before I should have and close together (to illnesses). But if they were killed by some asshole, despite being a moral person, I would have shot that bastard. The anger I feel/felt towards their illnesses, them, I can't describe it. Porsche is completely valid to act in either way. I'm not saying don't believe in his morality but don't think for one second that he isn't capable of that because that pain and grief hurts so bad. When they died he lost his safety net. No one can ever replace what a loving parent gives their child. None. His whole identity shifted in that moment and he lost not only who he was but who he should have been if life had been kinder.

And having those types of feelings about a show isn't good or healthy. As much as I love the show, it's just a show and it shouldn't affect this much. So I'm going to just stop for this week and next because I want to be happy for the last two weeks of my favorite show in a long time.

[namjoonswifey99]

Stop Playing Pt.6

Erik Killmonger X Reader 

Warnings : Jealous Friends, Fighting, Fluff, Cussing, Erik being Erik, use of the B word.

Authors Note : I sincerely apologize for the long wait I've had writers block for a long time that i was able to overcome to give you guys the story. I also want to thank @ceniorina for helping me through this writers block and also for the people that continue to read my story it’s greatly appreciated

Erik was waiting for Y/N inside the car. He agreed to go with her to meet her friends for brunch regardless if Jasmine is there he’ll suck it up for his girl.

“ Babe come on we're gonna be late” Erik says yelling from the car window.

“ Okay babe I'm coming” Y/N says fixing her sundress while locking his apartment door.

Erik then’s gets out of the car to open the passenger door for her. “ Damn babe you sure you want to go to the brunch we can stay here and have brunch ourselfs”. Erik says while grabbing her hand, spinning her around. Y/N noticed that look in eye and knew if she agreed they wasn't going nowhere.

“ Babe i already promised the girls we will come,” Y/N says, looking up at him trying to fight the temptation. Erik leans down and captures Y/N lips in a slow tender kiss.

Y/N felt herself get hot and bothered but she had to pull away before things got heavier. “ Babe come on please i promise you can have me all you want when we come back” Y/n says pulling away from the kiss.

“ Alright Bet lets go” Erik says while looking down at Y/N. Erik really couldn't believe he really got the girl of dreams and he wasn't letting her go.

----- 30 minutes later-----

Erik and Y/N pulled up to Roscoes and saw their friends plus Jasmine.

“ Heyyyy yall i see yall finally made it”. Mo’nique says wrapping Y/N in a hug and turning to give Erik a hug also.

“ Y'all come on they finally got out table”. Corey says walking towards the group.

Once they all got to the table they noticed how Erik is tending to Y/N more than normal they can't help but think something definitely happened. Mo’nique already had feelings that they went deeper than friendship and is happy for them they've had feelings for each other and neither acted on it.

Erik sat down after helping Y/N get situated, he noticed out the corner of his eye Jasmine glaring at them he chose not to say anything he’ll ignore it for NOW.

“ Soooooo is it something yall wanna tell us yall looking mighty cozy” Kareem says while wiggling his eyebrows.

Y/N and Erik looked at each other and smiled might as well tell them now since Kareem brought it up.

“ Well me and Y/N are together officially”. Erik says putting his arm around Y/N and giving her a kiss on her cheek causing Y/N to hide her head into his neck.

Everyone at the table erupted with cheers and I knew it’s and congrats. Y/N felt so happy she have friends that's happy for her and her relationship she couldn't help but noticed Jasmine Glaring and muttering something under her breathe.

“ What's wrong jasmine you okay” Y/N asks looking at Jasmine with full concern in her eyes. 

Everybody at the table paused to look at what's about to happen. They could feel the tension roll off of Jasmine.

Jasmine looked up and just stared at Y/N before saying.

“ I just find it funny how all of sudden your with him” Jasmine says with attitude laced in her voice.

“ What's so funny about me being with Erik” Y/N says with full fire and confusion in her eyes. Everybody can feel how left this about to turn.

“ It's funny because you knew i like him and still went after him like the hoe you are”.Jasmine says slamming down her spoon. 

Everybody got quiet and looked at Erik, Y/N and Mo’Nique. Y/N stood up and immediately the rest did too. “ Bitch I didn’t know shit we are just roommates you don't talk to me unless we are at home at the same time you barely know Erik because of me and the rumors that surround him” Y/n said so eerily calm while walking up to her. 

Jasmine also stood up ready to fight Y/N if she had to. Y/N looked at her like she was crazy. “ Don't call me no bitch and you did know i told you in your face” Jasmine said getting in Y/N face.

“ Bitch you was talking about Kareem big head ass you don’t want Erik you want to fuck him bitch its a difference and if you didn’t notice he don’t like you don’t want shit to do with you”. Y/N says pushing Jasmine out her face. Jasmine took that chance to swing at Y/N but she missed. Y/N saw the punch coming and pivoted to the right and it hit Jasmine with two punches to the face making her fall. 

Erik then ran up behind Y/N to hold her back from going after Jasmine again he knew she didn't stand a chance against Y/N. Y/N didn't like to fight but she would especially if she needed to defend herself. 

Kareem was standing there looking shocked but disgusted at the same time Jasmine was known to get around and the campus is huge. Corey was holding Mo’Nique back so she wouldn't jump in the fight.

“ Nah bae she ain't worth it don't let her get you”. Erik says holding Y/N back whispering in her ear.

Y/N wasn’t tryna listen to anything Erik was saying. Y/N was pissed how dare this bitch come at her like this when she gave her nothing but kindness and then comes for her character. Y/N was seeing red.

“ Wassup now huh thought you were tough” Y/n yells then continues. “ If you also didn't notice he's always been mine you never stood a chance boo”  now get up and fight since you wanna run that mouth run them hands.

Erik literally picked Y/N up and carried them outside so they wouldn't cause a bigger scene. 

“ Babe calm the fuck down listen to me dont let that bitch get to you man focus baby” Erik says grabbing Y/N head so they can look eye to eye. 

Mo’nique being the sneak that she is, was able to run up on Jasmine and start fighting with her. Kareem and Corey hurried and tried to pull them apart but they weren't letting go. Jasmine had a grip on Mo’Nique hair and Mo’nique was just punching her in the face. 

Erik turned around, saw what was going on and was glad that jasmine was finally getting what she deserved but it was time to go before the cops got called. 

“ Ayye yall come on lets go before the cops come” Erik yells while trying to get Y/N in the car. 

Corey was finally able to pull Mo’Nique away from the fight and get her to the car. 

“ Watch yall back bitches i got something for y'all” Jasmine yells walking away. 

When Erik heard that it made a switch go off in his head he don't take threats lightly especially when it involve Y/N.

“ Yea Bitch try it if you want to ill fuck all yall up without remorse” Erik says with this evil look in his eye finally getting Y/N in car and turning around to look at Jasmine. 

---- 1 Hour Later----

Erik pulls up to his California beach house he had for peace and to relax he then see’s Corey car pull up in the driveway behind him he wanted to take them all to this place to calm down. 

Erik looked at Y/N and pulled her into a hug. He knew what had happened to her; he knew she was eating herself up on the inside.

Y/n immediately balled into tears she couldn't believe she let Jasmine get the best of her but she had to put her in her place. Y/N was so lost in her mind that's she didn't notice Erik carry her into the house.

“ Hey babe look at me please don't let this get to you okay you still the same Y/N everybody knows and loves baby”. Erik says while kissing her forehead he hates when she gets like this.

“ ………..  Thank you baby i really appreciate i'm good now promise” Y/N says kissing Erik on his lips. 

Everybody moved to the living room and sat down on the couches. Erik grabbed the remote to turn on the tv and the game system. Y/N then gets up and tells Mo’Nique to follow her to the kitchen so they can decide what's gonna happen now

Taglist:

@ladymac82

@msreshel

Feedback like always please i'm open to respectful criticism.

[bakugohoex]

congratulations on 1k oh my goodness!! may i please request jean with “it’s you, it’s always been you”? congrats again and keep up the good work💞

“it’s you, it’s always been you”

pairing: jean kirchstein x female reader

cw: mentions of blood, fluff

word count: ​1500+

a/n: thank you so much my lovely, and i hope you enjoyed this little oneshot

summary: in which after your own near death experience, jean realises that he needs you to know just how much he loves you

1k event masterlist

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

His fingers stayed firm in your blood coated hair, the way you were going in and out of consciousness. Waiting for death to arrive and take you away from the hell hole of the walls, “Y/n, come on, stay with me.” Jean’s voice felt like a distant memory as you finally dozed off in the back of the cart.

Jean eyed your frail body, you had been hit by a titan, plummeting you into the ground, just as it was about to eat you. Jean had killed it but the way it had held your nimble body, the way it squeezed you its hands ready to devour you made Jean sick. If he had been a couple seconds late you’d be fine, his love, his crush, his friend would disappear without a trace. Jean held you in his arms, feeling how you were still breathing on top of him. Blood from your head spilled out, and he knew you’d need stitches to help you out.

If it wasn’t such a public space with Eren and Mikasa sitting on the other side and Armin and Levi on horses. He would have cried, sobbed even into you, he wanted to but the feeling you’d see him vulnerable at the sight of your limp state would make you worry even more. “Jean is she doing okay?” Armin questioned from his horse, holding the light up to get a better view of you across Jean’s legs.

“She’s still breathing, just o…out.” He choked up at the last word, Armin gave a soft smile knowing not to ask anymore questions. Levi looked sternly at how Jean held you, how you had moved your horse to get the titan to follow you instead of your captain. You were a stupid brat for doing that, knowing he was going to have give you some sort of punishment for your ill actions.

Jean kept you firm, your head nestled between his arms as he whispered stuff into your ear, “If…if this is the only time I get to say this Y/n, then I love you and if…if I ever lost you I don’t know what I’d do.” He continued on with his confession of love, glad you were unaware of it all. Glad that once you got the proper help you needed within the walls you’d never remember this conversation.

Jean watched the doors open to Trost, in a matter of seconds a medic came and took your limp body, if Jean hadn’t known you were breathing he'd assume you were just another corpse ready to be buried. He went to follow the medic, needing to make sure you were safe, but Levi stopped him in a matter of seconds. “She’ll be fine, and we need to re-group.”

“But…yes sir.” Jean easily saw the glare Levi had given as he followed the group, he turned back to just see the glimpse of your scathed leg before you were taken away to a bed.

How could he attend a meeting to regroup and talk about the latest expedition when all he could think about was you. Were you being treated okay? Was there any damage? How long would you be immobilised for? He had stopped paying attention to the meeting, instead staring at the door, as soon as Hanje gave the signal he was going. He was going to find you, okay, with nothing wrong except a little bruising.

He’d see that sweet smile you’d give him with a coy remark, and he’d fall even more head over heels for you. Jean looked at the door with such intensity, Armin had noticed nudging him softly after Hanje had asked a question directed to him. “Sorry, what did you say?” He tried to be apologetic, but his mind was somewhere else.

“Jean we know you want to see her.” Hanje tried to give him a reassuring look as they looked at him with pleading eyes to explain what happened. He tried to do so but his mind couldn’t let him speak, Hanje gave a nod before dismissing him, “go and check on her.”

It was all Jean needed to hear as he ran out of the room, he needed to see you. Needed you to be okay, he rounded the corner meeting the eyes of the civilians of Trost who surrounded the dead. Jean hadn’t realised just how many men had died on this expedition; how many had risked their lives to rid the area of titans for good. It may have been a success after years of trying to gain land back, but the ability to now see the sea freely was evident.

He ignored the passer-bys, tears staining their cheeks as he saw the medic who had handled you with a mother. “Excuse me.” Jean may have been in a rush, but the medic clearly wasn’t, ignoring him, which made Jean even more annoyed. “Hello.” He tapped the man's shoulder which made him turn around to meet the tall boy.

“That girl you took, where is she?” The medic gave a confused look before nodding and bringing some papers out.

“She’s in the next room over.” Jean nodded and before the medic could even ask who he was, Jean was gone. He had seen the tortures of death around him, the families that cried for the fallen soldiers. He finally met the door that held you, he needed to see you, needed you to be alright. Needed to confess, he needed to make sure you were loved and protected.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead brashly entering. He saw you face away looking out at the blue sky of Trost. With land regained and the lack of titans, Jean thought of the security you both could have here. “Y/n.” He spoke hesitantly.

You didn’t turn around still looking outside, he saw the bandage around your head. He didn’t know what to say, your back was facing him, and you might have been asleep for all he knew. Jean moved closer to you, before moving in front of your body. He took the seat that sat in front of your sleeping body, he could hear your breathing and knew you hadn’t had any critical damage. It was now the minor damage that worried him more.

“J..Jean.” You softly whispered, his hand had moved instinctively towards your hair, moving the strands away from your face as he looked at you with love.

“I’m here.” He cupped your face gently looking down at you as he moved away from the chair and on his knees. His face close enough to feel your breathing against him, “Y/n.”

“I’m sorry…I should’ve been looking whe…” Tears welled your eyes at how Jean looked at you, the way he had never expected an apology.

He caressed your face soothingly, “there’s nothing to apologise for, you tried to protect us all, I should be the one apologising…I only just made it to you.”

You moved your face further into Jean’s hands, he tilted his head to see you properly leaning against the small bed. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m always going to protect you.” He knew you had no minor problems, the bleeding stopped as you looked fresh and rejuvenated. “I was so worried about you.

“You were?”

“I was, I have to protect you because I’m in love with you.” He whispered the last part out, you had heard it all, even after he had promised himself to hide the confession. Here he was confessing to you of his love.

“I always thought you liked Mika…” He interrupts you with such ease.

Looking up into your eyes, the pools of warmth cascading from them, “It’s you, it’s always been you.” It was heaven to your ears, the sound of his love finally reaching your own. The way he always protectively stood by you, how his hand lingered against yours whenever you both stood together. The way that the love of your life, loved you back.

“I love you too Jean.” You whispered softly, meeting his lips that had been lingering against your own, it was passionate and sweet. Everything you had wanted from a first kiss; emotions ran through you as his hand caressed your cheek lovingly. His lips softly against your own as if they meshed together perfectly. It was a necessity more than a want now, the fact that the boy who had been your first love was now kissing you sent a bolt of electricity throughout you. You saw him give one final haste kiss before his mouth let go of your own still lingering close by as he knew you needed rest.

He stayed near you, his body leaning against the bed as his head was on the bed, his hand in one of your own as he looked up at you with such love. “I’ll always be here.”

“Pinkie promise.” You whispered through your tired state.

He looked down, shaking his head in amusement before nodding, “pinkie promise my love.”

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[ikeromantic]

Piano Lessons

An ObeyMe! Lucifer fic, approx. 1800 words. G/N MC, Fluff.

The infernal grand piano squatted in one shadowed corner of the music room. To any human, at first glance it looked no different from the version in the human world. A dangerous assumption, you knew. If an easy one to make. This instrument was capable of compositions that would drive a mortal listener mad, or even cause death.

You thought that would be reason enough to be given a pass on your Devilish Music I, but Lucifer didn’t agree. In fact, he considered your ignorance of the instrument and its compositions an opportunity. And that was how you found yourself in the House of Lamentation’s music room every afternoon when RAD let out.

Lucifer was already waiting on the bench. He looked up as you came in, lips compressed in an expression of near-constant disapproval. “You’re late.”

“I’m on time!” You glanced at the clock on the wall.

“If you aren’t five minutes early, that counts as late. Now come here and sit next to me.”

Arguing with Lucifer was futile. Besides, you did want to sit next to him. During your time in the Devildom, you’d developed a bit of a crush on the eldest brother. One that had you working hard to be on the receiving end of his rare smiles and sparse compliments.

Today you were hoping to impress Luci with your rendition from Certovski, Faust’s Mistake. It was one of the mortal-safe pieces you could attempt without risking your mind or your soul.

“Fingers on the keys.” Lucifer’s red eyes followed your hands as you tried for the appropriate position. “Elbows out. Move your left hand in.”

You did as instructed, but apparently you were still off. He reached for your hands, positioning them. Part of you wanted to fight him on it. The rest of you just enjoyed the feel of his hands on yours. His skin was always so warm and smooth.

He frowned. “Focus.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. With your hands in place, you ran through the demonic scale. Some of the tones were too low or too high to hear. You could feel them though, shivering your bones and raising the hairs at the back of your neck.

Your warm-up didn’t get any objection from the Prince of Pride, which meant you were doing well. A quick glance showed he wasn’t frowning any more. Good.

Lucifer stood and began to pace behind you. “What are you going to play for me?”

“I’ve been practicing Faust’s Mistake.” As if he didn’t know.

“Then begin.”

You take a breath. This is it. You try to psych yourself up. All that practice will pay off. All those evenings you gave up gaming with Levi and Mammon, the weekends you stayed in instead of going out with Satan or Asmo. You could play this in your sleep.

Your hands float across the keys, the melody pouring from the hidden strings, describing the terrible bargain Faust made. The fast, tripping notes gave way to the long, slow sounds of regret, and finally, to the clashing finish.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you lowered your hands to your lap. The tension in your chest stopped your breath as you waited for Lucifer’s judgement.

“That was . . . not bad.”

From anyone else, you’d take this as a criticism but from Luci? It was a gold star. You smiled over your shoulder at him.

The left corner of his lip turned up in a slight half smile. “I’m impressed you memorized the whole piece in such a short time. I can tell you’ve worked hard.”

You felt like if he gave you one more compliment, you might completely melt.

“But -”

Your heart sank.

“I didn’t feel the tension, the passion of the moment in your rendition. You were too focused on technical mastery.” Lucifer sat down beside you, his hip brushing yours. “The Faustian epic is classic. It must evoke the emotion of the moment, the story, that birthed it. Let me show you what I mean.”

His hands went to the keys. “This is from earlier in the story. The Fall.” He began playing in a low octave, a heavy, slow rhythm that made your heart pound. Or perhaps that was just from sitting so close to him.

Lucifer kept that going as he began to layer higher, lighter notes atop it. These sounded almost playful, innocent. If not for the ominous beat beneath it. “Here we have naivete. The mortal at play, unaware of the trap laid for him.”

You nod.

“The music is the story, the story lives in the music. Now -” The lighter notes began to slow, creeping closer to the lower octave. “The mortal becomes aware of the nearness of death. The lingering, slow demise that comes to all men.”

Your breath slows in time to the music, and you can almost feel the weight of your years, few though they are. It is as if you lived a century and now your bones are heavy and your body is weary. Your eyelids drift half closed.

Lucifer continues to play, the ominous chords grow louder and the higher tones fade until both melodies close in on each other.

There is a subaudible component now, and though you can’t hear it, you can feel it move with the pulse of your blood. An arrhythmia that pulls you into the moment. The music surges beneath your eyelids, a spiral of red across a dark abyss. A false light.

“Here Faust decides his soul is worth less than his earthly pleasures, and denies Death its due. You can hear the strains of rage from Death’s denial beside the demon’s triumph. And there, Faust’s -”

The music stops but you can still feel it inside you. Something slick and warm slides down your cheek.

Lucifer’s voice, demanding. Trembling. “Wake up. Open your eyes this instant.”

You wish you could obey. You’d like to but the music holds you where you are. Limbo. A space bereft of everything but the music. Death and the demon, Faust’s lust and greed.

“Please.” Lucifer’s voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.

You feel the pad of his thumb against your cheek. A sudden burst of magic like static on a distant radio. Then silence. Your mind slips under a dark, quiet ocean.

The water is warm. Peaceful. You can feel it cradling you. Stroking your hair, your cheeks. The touches become more insistent. Pushing you toward the surface. Toward wakefulness.

“I am sorry. Please. If you open your eyes, I will do . . . I will do anything, anything you want. I won’t make you practice anymore. I’ll give you a - a bigger room.”

The voice belongs to Lucifer, you’re sure of it. But it doesn’t sound like him. When has he ever pleaded, begged, for anything? You realize it is his hands on your skin, stroking your arms, your face. Then it hits you. The music. It wasn’t safe for your mind and now . . . was this real?

You open your eyes.

Lucifer’s face is the first thing you see. He is so close, you can feel his breath on your cheek. His eyes are wide and damp, and full of concern. You are held tight against him, like a child.

“Can you hear me? See me?” His fingertip slides along your jawline, a delicate touch.

“Yes.” Your voice comes out throaty and low. Rough as if you’d been screaming.

His relief is palpable. He squeezes you tighter, pressing your face to his chest. “I . . . I apologize. I got carried away with the music. And you’ve taken injury because of it - because of me.”

The words are halting, stiff. Hard for the proud eldest to say, and yet, for you, he does. “It’s okay,” you croak. “It was beautiful.” And it’s true. Some remnant of the cursed melodies still echo in the chambers of your heart. Haunting you with a promise that has no words.

“I will see you are fully recovered.” The briskness returns to Lucifer’s voice.

You try to push yourself up, off his chest. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you.

“Stop struggling. Are you uncomfortable?” Lucifer adjusts his grip, sliding your head to the crook of his arm. “Is that better?”

It isn’t, really. But at least you can see you aren’t in the music room anymore. Lucifer must have carried you to his chambers. He must have been worried, but you don’t know why. You feel alright. You try to sit up again.

With an exasperated look, Lucifer partially lifts you. He doesn’t release you. “Didn’t I say to stop struggling? You need to relax until you are . . . repaired.”

“I feel fine,” you tell him.

He frowns. “You are still bleeding from your ears.”

You lift a hand to the side of your head. It comes away red and wet. “Oh.”

“It will take a few days for the effects to wear off.” The concern in his scarlet gaze frightens you more than the blood.

“Will I be ok?”

“Mostly.” He looks away. “Until then, I will keep you here and see to your needs. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Does anything hurt?”

You shake your head. This, you discovered, was a mistake. The shadows of the room move with your vision, growing one direction and then the other. Wide swaths of darkness that catch your eye.

“Are you seeing things?” Lucifer looks back at you. His thumb caresses your cheek.

“N-no.”

“Rather, tell me what you are seeing. And don’t lie about it a second time.”

There is a flicker of warning in the crimson depths of his gaze. You tell him about the shadows, and the way the music still sings in you.

He frowns. “If the effects do not fade, I may have to keep you in my rooms forever.”

You note that he doesn’t sound annoyed at this prospect. But he didn’t ask you, and his assumptions don’t sit well. “You can’t lock me up, Lucifer.”

“I can.”

Wrong tactic to take. You amend. “It probably isn’t a good idea to burden yourself with caring for me. You have a lot to do. Diavolo needs you.”

Lucifer knows what you’re up to. He has millenniums on you, after all. He smiles and brushes the hair back from your forehead. “I have informed my brothers, and the Prince, that you fell ill yesterday afternoon. I’ve taken time off to care for you.”

Your mind takes a moment to catch up. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. I cast a spell to knock you unconscious when I realized what I’d done. It helped, briefly. But you started screaming some time in the night and . . .”

You realize he’s been sitting here, holding you, for hours. Warmth blossoms in your chest. A happiness completely out of place, all things considered. But despite the blood loss and possibly permanent madness, you feel loved. Cared for.

Lucifer seems to read your mind. He says nothing, just places a light kiss on your forehead.

Neither of you need to speak. He knows and you know and words just complicate things anyway.

He stands, still holding you, and carries you to bed. When you drift back to sleep, it’s with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders to pull you close.

[cdroloisms]

Sooo... how about that reveal that c!Sam wasn’t feeding c!Dream? I mean, we all knew it was coming, but still. The auto food dispenser probably broke or smtg bc when c!Sam came down, c!Dream asked if he was there to give them potatoes. (Also with him being shaken up by learning c!Tommy is alive, c!Sam might not remember or care to feed c!Dream, who has none of his stores of potatoes left.) So, assuming the dispenser is broken and he doesn’t know, why would he come down in the first place? 🟩⛏?

hello anon !! yeah that reveal ,, dang, we already knew that c!sam had presumably been starving c!dream, but to see not only c!dream but c!sam confirm it as well as it having lasted AT LEAST a week ,, d a n g . they are Not pulling any punches in this arc (which, i mean, judging on the q stream, isnt exactly surprising anymore,, but still)

in the prison guard stream, we see how the dispenser works - it’s not automatic as much as it’s remote, as c!sam or the prison guards still need to press a button in order to dispense food. he also says “i havent even been around to feed the prisoner” or something along those lines in tommy’s stream, so we can conclude that the decision to deprive c!dream of food after c!tommy’s death is INTENTIONAL,, which i mean. again. yikes. 

anyway, here’s a snippet of c!dream finding out that the “automatic” feeder isnt as automatic as he might’ve thought - here, the dispenser + crying obsidian are installed at around the same time, so it’s between bad and sapnap’s visit

tw: starvation, disordered eating, abuse, mental illness, self-hatred, toxic relationship, gaslighting, disturbing imagery, dark content, c!sam/warden!sam critical (again, be careful with the content warnings)

Dream stares up at the hole in the obsidian, barely able to make out a glint of metal in the dark chute. The dispenser, just as expected, doesn’t respond to his glare, refuses to whir and click in the way that indicates food, and Dream bites his tongue, mumbles curses under his breath.

“Prick,” he blows a breath through his gritted teeth, only more irrationally angry when the dispenser, as expected, ignores him. “Some automatic dispenser, Warden.”

The walls don’t respond. Nothing responds, here, besides the dark dark thoughts swirling in his brain, and he thinks he’d prefer it if those didn’t - or maybe he doesn’t, because company is company, even if said company is the same litany of blood anger revenge pain you deserve this you deserve all of this you have destroyed the world now lie in the bed you have made pounding at the base of his skull. He drags his hand down his face; every minute is an hour, and every hour is a minute. Time has no meaning when your only frame of reference is eternity.

Even so, even he can tell that it’s been a long time since he’s had food, even by his usual standards - several days, at least, because the ever-present ache of hunger in his gut had swelled into something angrier, demanding, no longer as easy to ignore. Another stabbing round of pain nearly sends him to his knees, and just as he always he does, he clings to the feeling, gathers it into his hands, grabs it by the edges and directs the sharp edges into the words he spits at the indifferent walls. Let the Warden hear him - what can he possibly do?

Just as it always does, the fury in him peters out, drains, leaves him alone in the middle of his cell. He sinks the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach; a part of him wants to laugh at the irony. Some people think of silence as emptiness, void; he knows now that it’s anything but. Silence is suffocating, thick, so present that anything he says seems to get lost within it seconds after leaving his mouth. It grows and pushes into his limbs, becomes a weight tied around his throat, expands into the air in his lungs like a slowly inflating balloon until it’s pressed into every corner and space of the cell, every corner and space of him, taking up so much room that he can hardly breathe around it.

The hunger hollows him out, and the silence fills the space that’s left; Dream wonders how much more there is for him to lose before he’s completely empty, just a husk filled with the same liquid misery that drips down the walls. He wonders if anyone would care- laughs. As if.

“Dream.” The intercom crackles; Dream perks up at the voice, spine straightening against his will, and his hands tighten into fists as he realizes - prime, how pathetic is he, now? The voice deepens, becomes more insistent. “Prisoner.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Or maybe I’m not; you better come and check, yeah?” A humorless smile tugs at his lips, and a static-filled sigh comes through the speaker.

“This isn’t the time for games, Dream.”

Dream rolls his eyes. It’s not exactly the time to be a dick, either, but you don’t see me complaining. A flutter of something warm, joyful, rises in his chest at the sound of something- someone, other than his own voice, and he strangles it with a hand wrapped around his own throat - he won’t let them break him, won’t let himself become desperate enough to crave the attention of a man that hates him - he won’t- he can’t-

“Do you need something? Or were you yelling at the wall for no reason again?” Sam’s voice is steely, indifferent, on a knife’s edge between apathy and anger. “Don’t waste my time, prisoner.”

Dream bites down the snarky reply sitting on his tongue, breathes in, out through his nose until the fury is no longer blinding.

“Your fancy automatic jig is broken. The potato one. It’s not- working.” The hunger fogs his mind, makes it hard to think. He feels caged and weak and pathetic and he hates it.

“That’s because it’s not automatic.” Footsteps echo on the speakers, Dream tapping along to the rhythm before he realizes and stops himself, and a moment later the familiar whirring and clicking of the metal box comes from behind him and a small pile of potatoes fall down and splash into the water. “There. Is that all?”

Dream feels the fury rise, again, but doesn’t quite to keep the words back, this time.

“So what was the point of the whole automatic feeder, asshole? You’ve changed nothing! What’s the difference between that thing and you coming over to my cell besides that you’ve wasted a couple stacks of redstone? Congratu-fucking-lations, you’re a goddamn genius-”

“It’s remote now, so I don’t have to come into your cell.”

“Oh, so it’s just the good ol’ Warden looking for more ways to make the prisoner suffer, huh? Should’ve figured, you fucking self-righteous prick-”

“Dream.”

His mouth shuts with a click, a flash of fear searing through his muscles, white-hot, and by the time he’s blinked back the ringing in his ears the silence has stolen all the words from him, once again. Pathetic, he screams in his head, but his jaw remains firmly locked in place - the Warden’s won, per usual, and they both know it.

“Is that all?” He sounds impatient. Part of Dream wants nothing more than to never hear his voice again, and the other half of him rails at the idea of being alone with his thoughts once more. All of him hates himself, and all of him hates the silence; they’re the only two constants in this place. “You’ll have to speak up if you want anything.”

“How- long was it, since you last gave food?”

Static for a moment, then another. “It’s only been about a day.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’d know if you took care of your clock instead of destroying it, prisoner.”

“I’d know if you were less of a fucking prick.”

“Behave, and you might get it replaced.” The Warden’s breathing is harsh, almost labored - he must be angrier than Dream thought, then. “Speaking of which, you won’t be getting any for a day after this stunt.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared. It’s not like you don’t do this - what, every other day?”

“Do you want food or not?”

Dream’s teeth grind against each other; he breathes in, out. He hates this, hates the potatoes, hates the Warden, hates himself. Hates the way that a part of him recoils at the thought of making the Warden angry at him, reaches desperately for a chance to earn his clock- his approval. Attachments are weakness, he tells his traitorous heart, knowing that it, as always, will fail to stay away.

“Yes. Thank you.” The pleasantry burns on his tongue, tastes worse than the bitterness of raw potatoes that seems to be the only thing it knows, anymore.

“Good-bye, prisoner. Don’t make me come into the cell.”

The intercom cuts off with a click, the space that the static made immediately filled by silence. Dream watches it blankly, jaw sore from how tight it had been clenched, and begins to work his way through the first potato, nibbling at the pale flesh just enough to tide over the worst of the pain.

This is fine, he tells himself, and the walls stare at him impassively. He’s not sure they believe him.

He’s not sure how much longer he can believe himself.

[levis-hazelnut]

Levi x Reader Smile For Me

Summary: you were found curled up outside HQ, basically on the brink of death. However, Levi finds you and takes you to the infirmary. To his surprise, Erwin enlists you as a scout.

Levi's POV "Levi, where's your squad?" Commander Eyebro-- I mean, Erwin asked. "I don't know. Probably picking each other's noses or some sh*t like that." "Go get them. We need to go get supplies." I sighed, walking away to look for my squad of idiots, who I didn't want to bring along since they would just mess around. I went into the castle, hearing loud chatter and laughter so I went towards the source. Opening the door to the mess hall, I find them sitting around a table. "What the hell are you guys doing? I told you to be at the stables after breakfast." "We were playing truth or dare." "Get your a*ses outside." They all followed me in silence; I'm guessing it was because they didn't want to irritate me any further. All of us got on our horses, me and Erwin at the front, and we were about to leave until we saw something the size of a human scrunched up in a ball. I jumped off of my horse and crouched down as I frowned. I scrunched my nose up in disgust, brushing the unruly hair from their face and I saw (E/C) eyes half-open, staring up at me. I was able to see the bones under her skin on her face, arms and legs, while the rest of her body was covered by a scruffy dress. She looked as if she was on the brink of death, pale and weak, and she seemed to have trouble to breathe. I didn't think she would be able to walk in this state, or maybe even stay alive for a few more days. 

When I stood up and looked at Erwin, he had just leapt off from his horse and neared me.

"What's wrong?" "This girl looks like she's going to die anytime soon." "Let's take her to the infirmary." I nodded and went back to the girl, crouching down again and scooping her up to carry her to the infirmary, which wasn't far. I asked them to take my horse back to the stables before they left to get supplies without me. Normal POV You laid on the most comfortable bed you've ever been on. Out of a window, you could see the bright, azure blanket illuminated by the radiant sun.

Before you had slept, for however long, you weren't able to breathe properly but now you were able to with ease. Though you felt a lot better than before, your stomach was still growling for some food. You brushed your hand over your stomach, feeling the soft and clean clothes you had on your body. The door opened, making your eyes to flit there and you gripped the pristine sheets, terrified to find someone walking in. He had blonde hair, blue orbs that radiated a warmth that made you feel comfortable. He gave you a smile and approached you. You've never seen him before, but he's acting so casually around you. "Do you feel better?" You stayed silent, not wanting to talk to this mysterious man even though he seems benign. "I'm guessing you're hungry after sleeping for two days." He passed you a tray of food, your eyes beaming at the amount there was. Almost immediately, you picked up the spoon and popped a bit of food into your mouth. "Do you like it?" he asked to which you shyly nodded. "One of my men made it. And I don't think he'll make it again, so you're lucky." "Thank you..." you trailed off, wanting to know his name. "Erwin." "Thank you, Erwin," you said quietly. "If you can move, there's a room for you. I'm going to let you stay here and enlist you as a scout." As you listened to what he was saying, you scoffed the food down. You had a bit of food on the corner of your mouth which Erwin wiped with a tissue as he subconsciously smiled. "What's your name?" "...I don't have one..." You stopped eating and kept your eyes on the plate. "Where's your family?" "I don't know..." The blonde had a slight crease in between his eyebrows before he asked another question. "Do you have a home?" "No." "Well, you can call this place home now," he grinned, trying to get a smile on your face, but it didn't work. "If you have any questions or uncertainties about anything, come to me." You gave a mere nod as he got up to leave, taking the tray from your lap since it appeared as if you weren't that hungry anymore.

No place has felt like a home to you, but this place does, you felt so comfortable. After a while of staring into space, a knock on the door snapped you out of your trance. A man you recognised came in, but you couldn't remember where you've seen him. "How are you feeling?" Silence. "So, you're just going to ignore the person that rescued you from death?" His tone had a bite to it, however, you seemed unfazed by his sharp character. That's where you saw him; he was the one who picked you up and brought you here before you would slowly die away. His grey orbs before were pooled with concern then, but now, they hold no emotion whatsoever. He took slow steps towards your bed. "Thank you for saving me. I'm in your debt." "Tch. I didn't save you so I could have something in return." He crossed his arms. "Anyway, Erwin asked me to take you to your room." Slowly getting up, you noticed that you weren't feeling weak anymore and you were able to stand properly without feeling dizzy. Your bare feet padded against the floor, following the raven whose name you have yet to learn. Catching up to him, you walked beside him as you fiddled with your fingers. "Why are you nervous?" he suddenly questioned. You slightly shrugged as a small blush crawled onto your cheeks. "You aren't much of a talker, are you? Well, that's a good thing because I don't want another brat giving me a headache." Brat? He's being harsh with the person he saved and someone he barely knows, and he thinks he can call you a brat? Whatever, it's not like you're going to stand up for yourself. And it’s not the worst treatment that you’ve been given. "When we get to your room, have a shower. You smell like sh*t." You understand that you would stink and you aren't in the cleanest state, but does he have to be so critical? Upon reaching your room, he fished a key out of his pocket to unlock the door, allowing you to step inside as he passed you the key, which you took from his hand, your fingers skimming his which he clicked his tongue to. "Be ready in eight minutes. I'm taking you to Erwin's office." And with that, he left. Why was he so specific about the time? ~/~ "Do you have any experience with fighting?" You shook your head meekly as you sat on a chair on the other side of Erwin's desk, fidgeting with your hands which were slightly damp with sweat. You've never seen these people until two days ago, or even an hour ago, so you were afraid of these new people. Can you trust them? "What were you doing before you stumbled across this place?" "I-I was homeless. I w-would eat the leftovers of what people threw out and people b-beat me up for no reason. I wasn't able to make any friends and I n-never knew my family. I d-d-don't even know my name." Erwin stood up with an expression of sympathy and went towards you, crouching by your chair and whispered, "You don't need to be frightened here. None of us will beat you up and you will have your own room. You won't need to eat leftovers. Don't worry. You're safe here." Not able to hold back anymore, he hugged you, leaving you and the other male in the room in surprise. "And I'll give you a name." After being in thought, he spoke, "... How about (Y/N)? Do you like it?" "Yes," you replied, almost as if you mouthed the word. "(Y/N) it is. And I don't know if you already know or not, but this is Levi. You can trust us if you don't trust anyone else." He stood back up. You nodded, getting up to leave. "And whenever you're ready to start training, let me know." "Can I start tomorrow?" "... Sure. But don't you think it's a bit too soon. You just recovered from a severe illness." "It's fine." "If that's what you want." You left his office, gently closing the door behind you as you made your way back to your room. "Erwin?" Levi uttered. "Yes?" "Why are you being so gentle with that girl? This isn't a f*cking fairytale where she gets pampered by you. This is a military base, Erwin. She's a freeloader with you treating her like that. No one here takes it easy." "That's enough, Levi. I'm not going to let her take it easy, all my soldiers are treated the same way." "Explain the way you hugged her then." "I was simply comforting her. And I don't why you're complaining, you're the one who brought her here." "It was just so she could be brought back to health. I didn't think you would enlist her as a scout. She has no experience with fighting. What potential does she have?" "A lot. You are dismissed, Levi." Levi clicked his tongue and exited the office. He didn't want another brat to look out for. He just hoped that Erwin would be in command of you instead of him. You better not cause any trouble for him. ~/~ You thrust your fist forward, attempting to punch Erwin but you never liked hurting people so it was a light blow. He let out a light chuckle, shaking his head. "(Y/N), don't be scared to punch me. This is part of your training." You went into an awkward fighting stance which he fixed for you, telling you what to do. You got ready to punch him again and this time, it was stronger but he could tell you weren't putting all your strength into it. "Again." You took a moment to fix your posture before throwing a surprise punch to his stomach. But unfortunately, he saw it coming and made a cross with his arms, nearly stumbling back but he kept his balance. You lifted your leg, kicking it into his side where he wasn't able to block it. He smirked, seeing how you were able to get a hit on him. "Okay. I'm going to attack you and you need to defend yourself now." You nodded, getting ready for any attacks that would be coming your way. He threw his fist at your jaw, knocking your head back. Straight after, he punched you a couple of times at your stomach, causing you to cough up some spit as you bent down, too weak to stand. "Get up." You got up unsteadily, complying to his order. "Defend yourself." For another hour, you trained with Erwin until you were too exhausted to carry on. By the time you stopped, the sun was setting as a wind blew over you, cooling you down after your training. Your skin was drenched in sweat and stained by mud and dirt which you were going to go wash off. "Same time tomorrow." "Okay." You reached your room, stripping your clothes off your body and stepping into the raining water, steam dispersing from the shower. You scrubbed all the grime from your body and washed out the sweat in your hair before grabbing a towel to dry all the water that remained on your flesh before slipping on a fresh uniform.

After, you went to the mess hall for dinner, getting some food and sitting down on an empty table, silently eating your meal, desiring the food that was specially made for you a few days ago. "Why don't you sit with the others?" You looked up, seeing Erwin holding a plate and a smile on his face. You faced the table again, shaking your head. The blonde sighed and sat down opposite you, joining you for dinner.

Levi looked over at you two, thinking, Why is she so special to Eyebrows? He's acting as if he's her dad or some sh*t like that. Erwin tried to get you to speak but you would only say a few words since you were shy and there wasn't really anything you could talk about - he basically already knows everything about you for your life feels like it didn't even start until you came here.

Apart from Erwin, Levi, and someone else called Hanji, you haven’t spoken to anyone else. She's a bit too energetic for your taste, but she has a friendly nature. And even though you speak to them, it's only a few words like 'yes', 'okay', 'thank you'. You don't speak to them as they would speak to each other. You try to avoid interacting with anyone but Erwin always seems to get you to talk, even if it's one word. ~/~ Pinning Erwin’s arms over his head, you straddled his legs, breathing heavily as you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. He smiled, glad to see that you have improved significantly over the past month. You were one of the best scouts he's seen develop and you could maybe even be one of the best scouts in the regiment after you train some more. Now, he can show Levi the potential he saw in you. "Well done, (Y/N)." "Is this what you call training?" a voice inquired to which you looked up to. Blushing, you abruptly got off of Erwin, allowing him to stand up as he dusted off his clothes. You gazed at the ground as the blonde cleared his throat, facing Levi who had his arms crossed over his chest. "I never knew you were the submissive type, Eyebrows." "We were training and I can tell you that (Y/N) is better than you think." "Better at what exactly?" He arched an eyebrow. "Fighting. Stop thinking like that." "Whatever." The raven walked away with the roll of his eyes. "Have a shower and go to the mess hall." "Okay." "And you're training with me is over. I'm going to put you in a squad." You were just getting comfortable with Erwin and now, you're going to have to join a squad of new people you've never even spoken to. Oh, well, it's better than living on the streets. You gave him a nod and strolled back to your room, getting stopped by two young boys, whose names were Eren and Jean. "You've been here for nearly a month weeks, but you haven't spoken to me or anyone else." "Jean, leave her alone." "Why's she so quiet?" "It's a miracle she is," a monotone voice stated from behind you, and you knew who it was. "Both of you, go. Let her go to her room because she needs a shower." Again, he came with the usual criticism. At least, it got those boys to leave you alone as you carried on your journey to your room. ~/~ Over the year, you have become one of the best scouts, joining Levi's squad who had no objection because you still don't talk much and you won't give him a headache like the others. And maybe there's another reason... "Oh, come on, (Y/N)! Take it easy on me!" Eren complained after you had knocked him to the ground with two punches and a kick. You shook your head, putting your jacket on, which you took off to spar with Eren who thought he could beat you after he made a bet with Jean. You went off into the building, getting stopped as soon as you entered. "Cadet Smith," Levi, who was watching you spar, called. (A/N: btw I chose Smith since Erwin took you in as his daughter and you never had a surname before). You turned around and shyly saluted, avoiding eye contact. It could be true that you may have developed feelings for the Corporal over time. He might have been cruel to you at the start, but then he started to be nice to you, well, it's his version of being nice and you think he's only kind to you because Erwin told him to. "I told you that you don't need to salute. Put your arm down." You let your arm hang by your side, still standing there timidly as you could feel his gaze burn into you. When you felt an arm rest around your shoulders, you averted your eyes from the floor, soon realising who it was, relaxing your tensed shoulders. "Is Levi being rude to you again?" Erwin asked. "I was never rude to her," Levi scowled. "You always seemed to frown whenever she was around." "Tch. Why are you here?" "I need to speak to (Y/N)." "I was going to talk to her." "You can in five minutes." Levi clicked his tongue with a roll of his eyes. Why did Erwin have to ruin the opportunity for him to talk to you? All Levi wants to do is hear you say full sentences, see a smile on your face and make you happy because frankly, you aren't/don't do anything of those things and you deserve to be happy, in Levi's opinion. But that blonde man comes in and lets the chance for that to happen slip. Yeah, Erwin may be trying to get you positive as well, but Levi wants to do that before anyone else does. Somehow, it makes him upset to see you gloomy and he wants to fix that. "I'll talk to Erwin first," you softly spoke. Damn, he just wants to hear more of that delicate voice you own. "You like him, don't you?" the Commander whispered once you were out of hearing distance of Levi. "What?" "You like Levi." "W-w-why would I?" "I don't know. I'm not the one who likes him." He ruffled your hair with a smile. "You can tell me anything, I'll keep it between us. "... Yes, I do," you admitted. "Okay. You can go to him now." With a pink hue stained on your face, you made your way to Levi’s office, accidentally stepping sinde without knocking. But he didn't seem to mind when he saw it was you. "Bring me tea," was the only thing he said before dismissing you. You merely nodded, heading for the kitchen as Levi continued with the paperwork. You boiled the water and reached for a mug before pouring it inside the porcelain that had a teabag. You stirred it and let the flavours of the tea infuse the water before picking it up from the surface and went towards his office, meekly knocking on the wooden door. Upon hearing a 'come in', you opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind you. You placed the cup on his desk, where there was a space free, and stood there silently. "Why are you just standing there? Sit down." Hesitantly, you sat down in the chair opposite him as he took a sip of the tea and you noticed the slight surprise on his visage. "This tea is really good." "Thank you." You blushed and looked down at your hands. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small jar. He took the lid off, showing some cookies that looked appealing to you. "Help yourself. I made them." You were confused; why was he complimenting you? Why was he giving you his homemade cookies? Why was he making small talk which he hates so much? Why is he being so casual? What did he want to talk to you about? What's going on? "Sir?" "Levi," he corrected you. "I already told you that you don't have to address me formally when you're speaking to me alone." "Why are you doing this?" "Tch. Just appreciate that I'm treating you like this." "But why are you?" "..." Silence settled in the room. You didn't want to ask him any more questions since it may infuriate him and he'll probably kick you out, which you don't want to happen. He continued with his work, acting as if he was ignoring your presence. Tch. Why can't I just say it? It's not like she's one of those people who will shun me out of their life. Why do I hesitate? Do I fear rejection? No, of course not. What is it? I just want to see her smile. See a smile enhance her beauty. See her happy. But how the hell is that possible in this world? "(Y/N)Ilikeyou," he confessed quickly and quietly, making it difficult for you to apprehend what he said.     "Sorry?" "Damn it! I like--!" "Shorty!!!" His door slammed open. "What the f*ck do you want?" "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your date," the brunette grinned as he rolled his eyes. "It isn't a date," he growled. "What do you want?" "I have some more paperwork for you." This is what you barged in here for, you idiot? "Okay. Get out." "Have fun~!" she creepily smirked and closed the door, leaving you two alone again. "You were saying something...?" you inquired. Levi huffed, running a hand through his charcoal locks. "I've been wanting to tell you that I like you," he muttered. Did you hear him right? "Pardon?" "You heard what I f*cking said." "You... like me?" "Tch. Just get out if you have nothing to say." He never even glanced at you. "... I like you, too," you barely murmured. Slightly surprised, his orbs immediately shot to meet yours. He stood up and tipped your head up with his fingers, placing a kiss on your lips, causing you to become a blushing mess. You could taste the tea he previously had and you had to admit, it did taste pretty good. Levi pulled away and gave you the first smile you've seen. "Can you please smile for me?" he whispered, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb on your skin. Your eyes fluttered away from his steel ones, now pooling with affection and warmth. He tilted your head so you could look at him again. "A woman like you shouldn't be so downhearted." He pressed his lips against yours again for a more passionate kiss. You lidded your eyes, moulding your lips with his as you felt a smile tug at your lips. Once your lips tore away from his, you were still smiling with gleaming orbs gazing up at him. "Thank you." He leaned his forehead against yours, feeling content to see a smile grace your beautiful features.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Reiji Maniac [09]

ー The scene starts in Banmaden’s entrance hall

Familiar A: ーー Carla-sama.

Carla: So you have returned. Tell me about your findings.

Familiar A: Let me inform you. Sakamaki Reiji isーー

*TIMESKIP*

Familiar A: ーー This concludes my report.

Carla: ...I see.

Like they say in Chess, ‘the blunders are all there on the board, waiting to be made’. (1)

Shin: Oh? You’re Nii-san’s Familiar. You got back?

You’ve been researching Reiji’s personal relationships, haven’t you?

Carla: We discovered his weakness.

Shin: Eh?

Carla: While Ayato was one of his siblings as well, he kept his composure even when the former was taken hostage.

I will not go as far as to claim that he holds no special feelings towards his family at all, but they are definitely feeble.

Therefore, I figured it would be difficult to try and corner him that way, however...Hmph, I see how it is now.

Shin: Sorry. I don’t have the faintest clue what you’re talking about.

Carla: They are currently staying at Karlheinz’ castle. It will be difficult to steal that woman while she is hidden away in the innermost part of their territory.

Which means...I have no other choice but to rely on this plan.

Shin. Follow these instructions pronto.

I want to see him ー to see Reiji lose his cool.

Shin: Haah...

ー The scene shifts to the hallway in Eden

Yui: Dinner was amazing just now!

I was wondering what the Demon World’s cuisine would be like.

So I was surprised to find out it wasn’t all that different from our usual meals.

Reiji: Father has been rather persistent about importing human culture after all.

I assume they took some inspiration from human cuisine when seasoning the dishes.

Yui: I see.

( But I wonder why Karlheinz-san would do such a thing? )

( I wonder if that also has a deeper meaning? )

Reiji: Is something the matter?

Yui: Ah, no...

Right. Can I visit the kitchen later today?

I’d love to get the recipe for the food we were served for dinner tonight.

Reiji: Oh dear? You seem rather eager to learn.

Yui: Yes! I meanーー

Selection

→ I want to serve it to you (♡)

Yui: I want to make it for you.

Reiji: You should know how critical I am when it comes to food...

You are proposing to cook for me regardless, so I have high expectations.

Yui: ( Uu, when he says that, I get a little worried... )

→ I want to serve it to Ayato-kun

Yui: I want to make it for Ayato-kun once he’s all better.

Reiji: Haah...You are a natural at making others jealous.

I doubt you have any ill will, but this only makes it sound even more wicked.

Yui: Reiji-san, is something...?

Reiji: ...No, it is nothing.

Reiji: Speaking of which, I received word from a Familiar earlier...

It appears that Ayato’s recovery is going smoothly.

Yui: Really? That’s great news!

( I’m glad we decided to have him examined here after all... )

( I was fearing for the worst for a second, but this is a big relief. )

???: ーー Oh dear. So this is where you have been.

Reiji: Father...! Long time no see.

Yui: ( Eh? Which means, this man is Karlheinz-san...? )

( Right. I wanted to introduce myself once I got to meet him! )

E-Excuse me! It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Komori Yui. I’ve been staying at the Sakamaki manor.

Karlheinz: I am well aware.

Yui: Eh...?

( I-I see...I wonder if Reiji-san or one of the others told him? )

Reiji: By the way, Father.

I am well aware that this is a selfish request of mine. But may I please observe the pharmaceutical department?

Karlheinz: Why?

Reiji: Our origins (2) ーー That is what I want to know.

Yui: ( What does he mean with that...? )

Karlheinz: ...Very well.

ー Karlheinz leaves

Yui: Ah...

Reiji: I got permission surprisingly easily. It almost feels a little anticlimactic...But I suppose it is fine.

Yui: Say, Reiji-san? What did you mean just now?

Reiji: It would be difficult to grasp for you. Well then, I shall head to the facility right away.

Yui: Ah, wait, please. In that case, I’ll go as we...

Reiji: You should go and have a look at the kitchen.

Monologue

In the end, Reiji-san headed to the pharmaceutical department by himself.

Our origins ーー

For some reason, I can’t help but be bothered by those words (言葉).

I wonder if the pharmaceutical department holds some sort of information?

I wonder what kind of face Reiji-san will make,

once he returns?

For now, all I can do is wait (待つしかない).

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Carla quotes the words of Savielly Tartakow, a famous Polish-French chess player. 

(2) Literally he says ‘where we came from’.

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<- [ Maniac 08 ] [ Maniac 10 ] ->

[butteraway]

when time runs out | i

⋆ summary: A young girl has fallen deeply ill with an unknown disease in her, so with all her free time spent in an empty hospital room, she spends it online playing video games. That's until she meets her cousins friends, one spiking her interest with his extremely vulgare language.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: nothing much really, mentions of blood

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: Hey guys!! I just wanna let you know I made a few changes here and there in this chapter, nothing too big. Ah but seriously, I’m tired, but I’m having a lot of fun rewriting these huehuehue

No one saw it coming.

Who would have thought this could happen?

Of all the people who it could’ve been, why her?

L/N Y/N wasn't your average girl. Being related to a clutz like Kaminari Denki was no easy task. Despite them only being cousins, they had a relationship almost as tough as iron. No one would believe that the two were related, both being on different sides of the spectrum.

Quite popular at school, no one really cared much for her quirk, surprisingly, since she never had one to begin with. What made her so cool though, was her bright personality. Though she was quirkless, she had a big heart and was a strong girl. Y/N was ambitious for someone her age and had excellent grades that could rival a high school student's knowledge. In store for a very promising future, for a thirteen year old, she basically had it all. 

Well. 

Almost had it all.

It was until that unfaithful day, everything came crumbling and crashing down around her. 

Family had only assumed that her light coughing that would come out every now and then was caused by an itchy throat. But when the light coughs turned to violent gasps for air, they were more than concerned. Especially when Y/N began coughing up blood. They took her to every doctor in town only to have the same answer thrown at them. 

"I'm sorry Mrs. L/N, but we can't find any causes for her condition."

"Mr. L/N, test results show that nothing is wrong with your daughter’s health."

Of course, despite all the long trips and visits to hospitals and well known doctors, Denki and Y/N's relationship never once wavered. Having every opportunity when she was forced to stay indoors, she would spend her time playing video games with Denki. 

Of course, when she did have the chance to go outside, she'd most likely be playing with Denki or picking flowers. As they both sat on the swing set in a park near Y/N's home, they cracked jokes trying to make the other laugh. 

"Y'know what's a real good joke?"

"What? Your grades?"

"Pshhh, noooo. Me becoming a hero!" 

Y/N smiled as she let out a loud laugh, sending her to the dirt on her knees as she tried to regain her breath. Her laughing soon turned to her clutching her chest, ragged breaths escaping from her mouth.

"H-hey Y/N, it wasn't that funny."

The harsh breaths turned into coughing as her face turned paler at the second. Soon she was gasping for air to enter her lungs, clawing at her throat, hoping for all the pain to stop. Denki was long on the floor, kneeling with a horror stricken face and shaky hands hovering over Y/N’s body.

"Y-Y/N, what's happening?!"

Of course Y/N never answered, Denki wanted to kick himself for even asking such a dumb question at the moment. He quickly scooped her up from the ground only to struggle with keeping her in his arms. His arms were far too weak to be holding all her body weight, but Denki only prayed he'd make it back home. He ran as fast as he could, yelling for his aunt and uncle to help him. By the time they came out, Y/N’s mother shrieked in terror as she took the poor girl from Denki's arms. Y/N was only gasping for what little air entered her body, blood slowly dripping from the corner of her mouth. Quickly getting inside their car, her father drove at an alarming rate to the hospital. The cries of his aunt only scared Denki even more when Y/N had stopped her struggling. Doctors whisked her away as fast as possible, stabilizing her and drawing out the blood from her lungs. The married couple could only pace in anticipation while they waited for a doctor. Denki, on the other hand, stared blankly at the white wall in front of him. 

Was she going to die? Was it his fault that she was in such a devastating state? Seeing the color quickly drain from her face was the only thing Denki could really think about. It was his fault. Those thoughts plagued his mind, even after his parents raced into the waiting room, hugging his aunt. His mother bent in front of him, staring directly into his sunken eyes. Tears formed and fell down as he looked down to his hands.

"I'm s-sorry, it's m-my fault she's like t-this."

His mother embraced him, reassuring him that none of this was blamed on him. A couple hours passed and a doctor had arrived to inform the family of devastating news. 

"Though your daughter is in critical condition, we have stabilized her enough to where she will be able to survive on what medication we have given her. Even with what tests had shown us, we aren't receiving any type of diseases coming from her. This could mean that she possibly has a newly formed disease in her. There isn't any information on how it could have formed in her, but we could only guess she had formed some germ of a sort and it grew from there. And with the condition she's in now and the lack of information of what we know about this, we won't be able to determine when she will get better, or even if she will get better. So as of now, it is highly recommended that she will have to stay in the hospital for her recovery and to prevent any more events like the one that happened today."

And despite the devastating news happening inside the bleak hospital, the outside world seemed to only flourish with life.

Y/N's parents were devastated and Denki could only stare at the doctor with sadness. As weeks passed, Y/N only got worse, it was a miracle that she was still alive. While doing research, doctors and some scientists had found out that the bacteria in her room worsened her body. They were confused on how this disease worked, but they couldn't complain. They moved the weak, thin girl to a secluded part of the hospital. Spotless, almost dust free, and clean her room was, it barely looked like a normal room to be put in. (Y/N) had little consciousness during the whole situation, not being able to lift her own pinkie, even if she tried. Months passed, and Y/N's body began to strengthen itself back slowly. Though, the only thing that could possibly kill her was having other people around her. So family members would have to look through a window and talk through a microphone in order to communicate with her. 

Y/N honestly felt like a caged bird.

Denki would visit (Y/N) regularly, talking to her as she smiled and laughed. Every now and then, a doctor with a protective suit on would enter her room and quickly shut the door to check up on her. (Y/N) was silent during those times, looking at the doctor, examining the suit with an unreadable look on her face. Two years she had spent in the confined room, and during that time she had gotten her own computer, console, and tv as her form of entertainment. Playing online with strangers and getting to know them brought a smile to the girl's face. She knew she wouldn't be able to go outside anymore, not with how she was now.

Doctors have found out that overtime, her body had been slowly eating away at the medication, but it wasn't too severe at the time.

"Y/N's body has been rejecting the medication we have been giving to her. Unfortunately, we cannot do anything to prevent this and we have estimated she will have a year or so until her body doesn't take any of the medicine. We will need to ask permission to add higher doses of medication to her medicine. We will try our best to find a solution to this, but we can only apologize."

And this was how Y/N was in her position now. Despite the short time allowed for her, she didn't know how many things will happen in just one year. And who she will meet at that fact.

[loki-darkprince-odinson]

King Loki, I apologize for the rant but I would like some advice.

My father always makes me feel like complete garbage. He is always putting me down, never appreciates me, and makes my depression so much worse. I'm fixing up a house to move in with my friends but I'm still stuck at the house since my parents won't help me get my license or a car, much less a job. I cook, do dishes, take care of the pets, take out the trash, get the mail, do my laundry, wash towels, and help with their laundry. I also take care of my sick mother and while I'm currently on summer break, I'm going to college to become a clinical psychologist. Even then, my father will point out other things that I don't do, and expects me to clean the entire house every day. He always talks about how he needs to do everything around the house yet all he does is sleep, play video games, and watch television. He also says he works hard yet on many occasions he says he sits on his ass all day on his tablet. He also yells so much. I get scared every day when he starts yelling because I worry he may leave us, which he has threatened before, or he may actually hit us. He never has hit either my mother or I yet, and says he never would but he slams and throws things when angry at us so it's his way of showing us how much he wants to hit us, even if he doesn't realize it. However, not only do I have many responsibilities, My depression makes it difficult for me to do much, and he makes it worse. Even when I do try to clean the house he always makes comments such as: "About time." or "How long until it gets cleaned next time?" or "This was half assed, you didn't do it right." I have tried so hard to have a connection with him but I'm so tired of fighting for a relationship that he doesn't care about. I can't address my concerns with him because he will threaten to not take me to college and pay the bills. Do you have any advice to help me deal with my father until I can escape?

Best regards, Catrina.

“Catrina,” Loki drawls, in his smooth resonate voice. “I firstly must commend your good work. For caring for your ill mother, minding the household needs, and that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest; that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore. Secondly, you have my deepest sympathies for your grievances. I am all too familiar with what it is like to seek the approval of a parent; only for there to be none in return.” His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration as memories flowed unbidden.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a sad smile.

“Those whom I knew and called my mother and father are dead. That much is beyond dispute. They were not my real parents, but they raised me as their own. I daresay they loved me. That had been in dispute, at least in my own mind for awhile. I found out very late that my identity was a lie. Not Asgardian, not a son of Odin, I was completely unmade. That was how I felt when I learned of my true parentage. I was a fraud, a monster; it explained so much. It explained why I never felt like I fit in, why I would never be my brother's equal, why I would never get what I'd been promised my whole life.” His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Loki raises his left hand and rests his forefinger against his lips as a line forms between his own eyebrows in thought.

“I have lingered around Midgard long enough to come to an understanding of how your minds tick. I shall do my best to give advice where I can.

Try, if you will, to put things into perspective. The most loving parents commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force one to destroy the person they really are: a subtle kind of murder. Even the most loving parents damage their children with the best intentions—to protect them, to guide them, to better them. In most cases, it would appear they do it by imprinting their own fears and prejudices on them.

The point is, parents are mere, imperfect people.

They have flaws, struggles and impaired judgement. They have both emotional and intellectual handicaps. Regardless of their parental role, they are afflicted by personal blockages and limitations.

But most of all, they are people who make mistakes, and who are terrified of being judged by their children.

Learn to see your difficult parent as just that; human. Learn to see their emotional immaturity as a type of disability.

With that in mind, you would do well to keep your expectations of them low.

In many ways the effect a difficult parent has on ones self is fueled by their feelings of injustice and the belief that things could be different, or ought to be different.

In other words, your expectations dictate how you feel.

You need to let go of your expectations and accept your parent for who they are.

You cannot expect someone with, say, a narcissistic personality, to act with empathy and kindness. No more than you can expect a scorpion not to sting.

Difficult parents are much easier to deal with when you accept that they will not change. So do not expect of them more than they are capable of, and you will not be disappointed or hurt.

Do not fall into the illusion of guilt, Catrina.” He warns. “A difficult parent loves nothing more than to make you feel like you’ve hurt them. Or, in a different scenario, like you’re a bad person if you do not do something they ask.

Do not fall for it. If they’re setting a guilt trap, calmly tell them that you do not appreciate being emotionally manipulated, and you will not tolerate it anymore.

Manipulators, and I should know, detest being called out on their dirty tricks.

If they continue to harass you, reiterate that you cannot do what they’re asking you to do this time, and you need them to respect that.

The trick is agreeing with everything they’re saying (how can they argue when you agree with them?) and re-stating your decision over and over again.

Now this part I find to be… far more easier said than done. You must let go of the need for your father's approval, Catrina. It goes without saying that every child needs and wants their parents’ approval. It is normal to want it, and it is normal to receive it.

Yet so many have to accept the fact that this is not going to happen. For whatever reason, their parent has chosen to withhold their approval. Some difficult parents do it as a form of punishment. While others hope to influence their child in the “right” direction.

Most likely, your father loves you, but they have a very warped idea of what parental love is.

In their misguided quest to make you into a version of themselves, they missed the chance to get to know you. And so they cannot appreciate you for the wonderful being that you are.”

He shrugs elegantly. “It is their loss. When you realize this and let go of the need for their approval, you will be able to start living your life in a whole new way.

When confronting your father, be direct and calm without expecting a specific response. That is the part you cannot control. The part that is within your control is letting your thoughts and feelings known, which is empowering.

Stick to the facts and use “I” statements such as, “I feel like my words do not matter to you when you constantly interrupt me” or “I feel scared and misunderstood when you yell at me”

Remember that manipulative parents are not known for their empathy. They will try to confuse you, go on the offensive, or assume the role of a victim.

Do not allow them to bully you into submission by invoking guilt or pity. State your case in a calm and polite manner, and stay cool regardless of their response.

Your goal is to be honest about your feelings, and to make it clear that you will not tolerate certain behaviors.” He softly clears his throat.

“Last but not least, an unhappy alternative is forgoing the relationship that is too harmful. I know, a parent is not someone you can so easily cut out of your life. But if all else fails and your father continues to cause you psychological harm, then this may very well need to be taken into considerable consideration; at least for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it is the only logical recourse.

A parent that is fundamentally incapable of showing love and support, unable to see the error of their ways after numerous attempts to communicate how their behavior or words affect you, consistently dismissive, demeaning or critical, manipulative in a habitual manner, punishing and cruel whenever you disobey, are disrespectful of your boundaries and using threats and intimidation to get what they want is a destructive force that will continue to tear you down until you put a stop to it.

It is not an easy feat, my dear. The parent-child bond is hardwired into the brain, which means children get attached to even the most awful of parents.

But consider the cost of having that toxic relationship in your life—stress breeds anxiety, depression, internalized feelings of inadequacy, and failed personal relationships.

I wish you all the best, Catrina. I truly do.”