#so that was like a good chunk of my childhood spent trying to watch a scratchy dvd

[writebackatya]

Watching peak cinema tonight

[cherie-doll]

Cod men reaction .

He and reader were on a mall date and reader suddenly stopped to look at a kids toy/a book/a book series. The thing is, reader grown up as the oldest grandchild, they used to have that toy/book(s), but it was ruined by their younger siblings/cousins.

Based on my real situation. Sorry for the broken grammar, I was typing this with one hand while eating pizza.

this reminds me of how i used to collect the archie comics as a kid and i loved reading them until my younger sibling ruined it bc they slobbered all over the pages like a dog, also, i hope that pizza was good i'm lowkey hungry

༢ུ· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price would turn right away when he noticed you've stopped walking. He's watching you, the skin creasing around his eyes as he smiles and his eyes soften. There's just something to seeing you in awe, recognizing that thing you've wanted for a long time, the nostalgia that must've bubbled up inside of you seeing it again. He'll come up beside you and say "why don't we buy it?".

Simon stared, confused at what could be so interesting, and when he saw it was only a silly stuffed animal. At first he thinks it only caught your attention because it was cute, but it was quite plain, a little ugly looking plush too. But you remember hugging it when you slept as a child, it had a certain smell to it too, until it got ripped apart by your sibling's puppy. You had cried but never got a new one. Without prompting from his part you start telling him the story of how much you loved that thing, and how you still sort of do. Silently nodding and already pulling out his wallet.

Johnny actually pointed out the game you mentioned playing when you were younger, the game you described to him because you couldn't remember the name of it. "Isn't that the game you've been talking about?". You excitedly reply that it is as he picks up the box, your eyes going straight to the price tag but he's already going to checkout to buy it. You ask him what he's doing, "you've been wanting to try it out again, right?" he replies with a smile.

Kyle remembers the time he helped you go through boxes when you moved in with him and how he opened a box filled with old stuff from your childhood. He had found a set of beat up books, some with pages missing, chunks ripped out or with crayon scrawled on them. You tell him it was a series you loved reading as a kid but was messed up by your siblings who played a mean prank on you. He later goes on out and purchases the same set of books and surprised you with them when he arrives home.

Roach once noticed a keychain made of seashells hanging on your bag, some of the shells were broken but it still looked like it had been a pretty little trinket. He played with it, fidgeting with it until he asked you why you still carried the old broken keychain. You tell him it was a gift from your late grandfather that he had made, kids had pulled at it and it had fallen to the floor, breaking in pieces. You had tried fixing it before but were missing pieces. He didn't buy you a new one, instead he spent an evening gathering seashells that looked close to the broken ones and rearranging them in the same order. It was difficult but was worth seeing you happy.

Alejandro could probably late to having to give up your toys to younger siblings or cousins because he had to do the same. So, it feels as if he heals something within himself when you both stop and look at the toys in a secondhand store that bring you a sort of nostalgia. He remembers summers spent playing outside and having to share the toy plane with his siblings. He notices you staring at a toy too and decides to give into making the little kid still in both of you happy.

Rudy has seen how you still keep the little dolls aligned neatly on your shelf. He's noticed how you put up a new one every time you find one when going through your old stuff. He's listened as you tell him how there is one specific doll you remember owning that was your favorite to play with, until it was either taken by some other kid who thrown away accidentally. He spots it at an antique shop and recognizes it because he's always thinking of you. Knowing this will make you feel complete he buys it and excitedly goes home to show you.

Phillip would have been walking along just like any other day he takes you shopping at the mall for you to let some stress out by swiping a credit card. He felt the absence of your hand on his arm and when he turned around he saw you in the toy shop through the glass display. When you held it in your hands, you felt your old emotional attachment to the toy reignite, it was smaller than you remembered but still as secure and comforting as ever. You turn to find Phillip beside you, he only nods, giving you the green light to just go ahead and buy it.

Makarov would hardly deny you from buying anything you wanted. It just strikes him as odd for there to be a change in the pattern you keep of buying clothes, jewelry and other luxurious items for a stuffed animal. But he knew that soft look in your eye, the reminiscing of a memory from long ago still etched in your mind that bloomed in your heart again. His eyes went from plush to you and back to the plush again. He told you to buy it and anymore you might have wanted.

Keegan found it slightly amusing that you had gotten so excited over seeing a children's series you thought had become lost media. He had taken you to the bookstore and instead of finding some cute romcom or some classical piece of literature you ended up in the corner of the kid's book section immersed in rereading the series that had become your escapism when you were a kid. You were going to leave it back where you found it when leaving but Keegan just chuckled and told you to buy the entire series.

König stared curiously at how entranced you were by the plush the kid held in front of you while at the food court. At first, he thought you were having baby fever or something, but really you were more interested in kid's backpack plush. You remember having one as a kid, you used to take it everywhere with you until you lost it, not knowing if one of your parents gave it away. You passed by a store that sold them, and König guided you inside the store to buy one for you. It was funny when the lady at the register asked if it was a gift for your kid.

Horangi knew you always had a thing for collecting adorable figurines, toys, anything that reminded you of when you were a kid. You took care of them so well too, placing them on shelves which he built btw, and dusting them off frequently. When asked why you were so particular about caring for them, you said it was because your old toys were always being broken from your siblings playing too rough with them. It must've broke your little kid heart to see them on the ground, all dirty and chipped off pieces. Now, he is always surprising you with one when he comes back from the store.

Nikto's first thought was that you had picked up the figurine as a gift for one of the kids in your family. At first, he couldn't understand that you were getting it for you, you were staring at the toy so fondly. What memory could have arisen in your mind at the moment? But he recognized the feeling of finding serenity in the little mundane things in life; in your case a toy. He offered to pay for it and as he drove home, he kept glancing over to you and seeing how you had the little thing in your hands, holding it instead of leaving it in the bag. He couldn't even tease you for it.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Have not posted about mine and @queenjunothegreat’s next gen kids in way too long so: Pipeyna kiddie

-Her name is Emilia McLean. Her go-to nickname is Em. When she’s in trouble, Piper calls her Lea. Yes, she‘s named after Leo. He would not stop wailing when he was told about this.

-Em is Sofía’s best friend. She’s three years older than Sofía and they grow up considering each other sisters. (Good luck trying to tell Sofía they’re not sisters because they’re not related, she’s not related to her dads either and they’re still her dads, so checkmate)

-When they were small, Sofía followed Em around like a little duckling, insisting to play whatever Em was playing and do whatever Em was doing. There’s nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other. (Also yes I gave them matching earrings in different colors because they’re dorks and they would.)

-Em loves skirts and dresses and putting her hair up in fancy braids. Reyna’s got the braiding covered due to her time on Circe’s island, but when Em asked her moms to show her how to do her makeup, they were both sweating profusely because Piper hasn’t let anyone put makeup on her since she was twelve and Reyna’s just never really bothered with it? They spent like an hour trying to watch a makeup tutorial before giving up and admitting they need help. Hylla never lets Reyna live it down, but Emilia is thrilled because “the queen of the Amazons taught me how to do my makeup” is a pretty cool thing to brag about. (There was a discussion on whether or not to call Drew instead but in the end they settled on Hylla because they knew Hylla would be annoying but not as overly smug about it.)

-Drew absolutely takes Em clothes shopping sometimes because she’s decided Reyna and Piper are both useless. Piper lets it happen because it makes Em happy but is also fuming about it. Reyna is honestly just grateful to be getting out of clothes shopping lmao her closet is almost entirely made up of work outfits.

-Piper and Reyna have a rescue dog named Kitty (Em named her when she was three, in honor of that the name is spelled in all caps in all official documents) and Em loves that dog so much. It’s entirely mutual. Kitty is wildly protective of Em and will bite people if they so much as look at her weird.

-Leo is Em’s chaotic fun uncle and they get into so many shenanigans together. Jason is a significantly less chaotic uncle than his husband but somehow always ends up caught in the crossfire of their uncle-niece shenanigans.

-Leo being the chaotic fun uncle inevitably comes back to bite him when Em takes a page out of his book and starts getting into shenanigans with Sofía. Piper is absolutely cackling in the background.

Some more lore stuff under the cut since this is getting kind of long

-Em is actually the only next gen child named specifically after another demigod. This is both because Leo is close friends with her moms and because in a universe where names have power, choosing the name of the guy who beat the odds and quite literally rewrote fate—who defied death not once but twice so he could have his happy ending—is the greatest blessing Piper can think to give her daughter.

-Leo has thought of himself as a curse for a large chunk of his life. The concept of having his name used as a blessing is something he never fully recovers from.

-Speaking of names: Reyna’s bloodline and family legacy was meant to be intricately tied to New Rome’s survival. It ruined her life and took away almost her entire childhood. She happily laid her family name to rest and took Piper’s when they married. They mostly live in the mortal world and her ties with New Rome aren’t nearly as strong as they used to be when she was growing up, but there’s a part of her is terrified that this will come back to haunt her daughter one day. She never tells her daughter about Bellona’s prophecy. She won’t allow for her to grow up with the future of New Rome on her shoulders.

-Emilia is a natural leader. Aside from her general proficiency with various weapons, her main power is a sort of motivational charmspeak—not quite Piper’s ability to control others, and not quite Reyna’s ability to project her own emotions outward, but a milder combination of both that allows her to demand the attention of other demigods, instill confidence in those listening to her and rally her troops. Everyone knows she’d be a praetor at Camp Jupiter in no time, and it terrifies Reyna.

-But Em is a legacy of Aphrodite and Bellona both. She has a place at Camp Half-Blood as well as Camp Jupiter. And when the time comes for her to choose, she chooses Camp Half-Blood and goes back to live with her moms once the summer is over. Reyna nearly cries with relief.

-Maybe Leo’s name worked. Maybe the prophecy won’t be of any relevance until they’ve all long passed, many generations down the line. But Em strays from the path that seemed so set for her. She’s free, in a way Reyna never was.

[iguessitsjustme]

The On1y One Ep 1 Thoughts

This show won my liveblog poll so here I am. I am dead tired and brain fried from work and procrastinating cleaning my apartment (I have until Friday when my mom is visiting…well kind of visiting? She’s here on business. Sort of. That business is a charity walk. I’m getting off topic). I’ve heard nothing but good things about this show so my expectations are high. I don’t actually know anything about this show except that it’s good. As always, under the cut:

Wait, wait. I can’t start yet. I need my song to finish. God the FMA Brotherhood soundtrack goes so hard. God bless.

Y’all will not believe how many people at once have just walked into my building to be LOUD in a row. I am TRYING to start this show god damn.

Okay already obsessed with this soundtrack.

I already love Jiang Tian. Took 2 seconds. This surprises no one.

Even this tiny little height difference makes me very happy. More of this.

The fact that Wang stopped Jiang Tian from leaving just so he could leave first? Comedy gold. I love him.

How often has this poor baby’s dad actually talked to him about his late mother? How often has he talked to him about his new wife(?)...significant other? How often does this poor baby’s father tell him anything at all? Or does he just move him around and expect him to behave and get good grades and be silent don’t cause trouble? As someone who spent a good chunk of my childhood moving a lot, that affects a person in unexpected ways. I had a good support system and loving family and I’m still a little messed up from it. What does this poor baby have? Does he have any adult he can talk to about anything?

Well, obviously I’m obsessed.

I want this boy to beat Jiang Tian in the test so bad. Just for fun. Plus I like that they’re showing he is smart but he still needs to study and he works hard.

Okay so he didn’t do better than Jiang Tian but I’ll settle for this. His hard work wasn’t for nothing. That cram session really came in clutch.

GLASSES SPOTTED *makes note*

Holy shit look at this little guy. I need to pet this cat. I need to pet this cat RIGHT NOW.

Okay yeah I’m obsessed with this show now. Unfortunately, I do have to work tomorrow and also probably can’t watch tomorrow but I am excited to keep watching this. It’s everything I want and need.

[lubotomies]

How did you learn to draw with shapes?

its a healthy mix of a lot of things! i used to watch a lot of cartoon network and my favourite shows from childhood are things like robotboy, invader zim, flapjack, chowder, dexters lab, pucca and time squad. aside from that i spent a good chunk of my childhood in poverty and at that point we could only afford boomerang.. because it was free. and boomerang just does reruns of old hannabarbera and looney tunes shows which if youve ever watched those shows youll know the movement is typically very fluid and nice which inspires me to try to add a line of action in my cartoonier pieces (not the silly doodled comics i do a lot of course). im also just not one of those artists with a good grasp on anatomy so exaggeration and shapes help me work around that struggle i have

theres some other eddsworld artists who utilise shapes far more consistently than i do like stinkcoke, cunttom, aluc-art, mxttellion and plenty others i just cant list from the top of my head whos art i all thoroughly enjoy and inspire me and i recommend lots and lots and lots

[treksickfic]

A little story about my mom: she was not a Star Trek TOS fan although she was a young woman when it aired. She was much too busy with an infant and a 3-year old to watch much television when the show was originally on. So my mom never had a frame of reference for Star Trek or any of its characters and never expressed any interest.

Two years ago, my dad fell and broke his femur and spent a month recovering in a nursing home. I moved in with my mom temporarily because she needed a caretaker around the clock. My mom and I always had a difficult relationship and a month in my childhood home, sleeping on the floor of my old bedroom, was grueling for me, emotionally and physically. I was missing a big chunk of my son's senior year of high school, missing time with my husband and also trying to find long-term placement for two very stubborn and independent parents. Stressed doesn't even begin to cover my frame of mind.

I was leaning heavily on Star Trek during that time for some escapism and comfort and little bits of joy where I could grab them. After we'd finish her care around 1 am, I'd watch Enterprise or DS9 or a favorite old TOS episode. I was tired all the time, and heartsick, but I had good friends who kept me going. One of them sent me the Swear Trek gif of Spock saying, "I gotta get my shit together." I watched it any time I needed a laugh.

One day when I was preparing our lunch, my mom rollated herself into the kitchen and noticed my phone on the counter where the gif was repeating on a loop. "Who is that?" she asked me with great interest. So I explained Star Trek briefly and told her it was Spock, the first officer. Then she wanted to know what was happening to him. I summarized The Naked Time as best I could and thought nothing more of it until the next day when she asked to see the Star Trek person again. And after that, she asked to watch the gif every day, sometimes two or three times a day. She just wanted to see Spock start to crumble and then pull himself together with the caption, "I gotta get my shit together." But she didn't laugh, she would nod her head decisively every time.

The last week we were together, we were doing our best but our nerves and tempers were starting to fray. She was preparing to move into the same nursing home as my dad and I was trying to coordinate work schedules and school schedules and handle two households and arrange everything with the facility.

I heard her in the kitchen, shuffling around and trying to pack some of her things. She dropped a cup, it hit the floor and then after a pause she said quietly, not meaning for anyone to hear it, "I gotta get my shit together! Hee hee hee!" And then again, almost a whisper, "I gotta get my shit together." She was very brave about everything that happened in the next two years, despite being so sick, and would often repeat the sentiment like a mantra. I'd like to think Star Trek and Spock brought her a little joy and strength during her last few years.

My mom has been gone for nearly two months now. Her death is a moment that replays itself in my mind but in the end it was peaceful and she is free from all the many physical troubles she had her whole life. So this gif is for you, mom. Rest easy.

[gaytwirights]

So like. Thoughts on the yyh live action (spoilers but like. That's obvious)

Tbh. The pacing was kinda rushed and I didn't like the wigs. But aside from that, it was a very enjoyable experience

Would I recommend it to someone who hasn't seen the original? Lmao absolutely not. I feel like this was an adaptation made for the people who were already fans. Certain characters (one of whom was simultaneously my bisexual awakening and my transgender awakening) were less focused on, which would make their impactful moments less,,,, impactful for a new viewer

I feel the biggest issue is that there are so few episodes that they couldn't get a whole series' worth of familiarity with the characters. Kurama's and hiei's big powerups happened in season two, and that's what made those moments so cool. By that point, we were already familiar with the characters (and thousands of filipino youth, myself included, had become bisexual because of dennis), so we got excited when these characters we already loved got cool powerups

All that said, the way they chose to compress the story was very cool. I really don't have much to say, aside from that. It was just really fun to watch all these familiar elements get put together in a new and exciting way. Even as someone who's been a fan since I was young, I was still caught off-guard by the changes and still found myself on the edge of my seat

And on that topic, the emotional moments really hit hard, and are really good at showing the depth of the characters, even within 5 episodes. When yusuke bad to fight his schoolmate, he was trying to get the demon insects out of him until the very end. When kuwabara finally broke the rock, it was because he wanted to be able to defend the people he cares about. The way yusuke and kurama had that common theme of dying and leaving their mothers to grieve (and it never gets brought up again!!! But we appreciate it nevertheless 😌). Parallel of yusuke and toguro had me tearing up tbh

And let me just say, I SCREAMED when hiei showed yukina his necklace. I've been waiting for this moment since I was GRADE THREE GODDAMNIT

And also, as much as I hated the wigs, I really liked what they did with yusuke's and kurama's costumes. The change to yusuke's costume was small -- they really just had him wear his uniform top open, rather than closed -- but it gave him a more 'casual' appearance. He really did look the part of a highschool delinquent, someone who doesn't care about rules or customs (like wearing your uniform properly). And as for kurama's costume, I loved that they used a fabric with a flower brocade for (what seems to be) his designated outfit for demon business. They really went for the flower motif, and I 100% support. However I would have appreciated if they spent a little bit more of the costuming budget on getting my boy a good wig

I also liked what they did with keiko's character. In the original she was just kinda a love interest, which. I mean. Fuck me for expecting a personality from a woman in a 90s anime. But here, there's some rough edges to her that made me think, right, she's yusuke's childhood friend

Another thing I liked is how they did the fight scenes. Here's the thing, a good chunk of the cast are teenagers. And they have to face off against various yokai. Yokai who happen to be much stronger than them. Even considering their shooty slashy boom boom magic, they have to really strategize how they're gonna attack. I really love how they had the characters really make use of their surroundings. Vehicles!! Metal doors!! It was so cool!!

Finally. Effects pretty 💛 there were some gay moments which I super appreciated 💛 but they should've brought a child in to play koenma

[zorilleerrant]

I know most people are generally more likely to be invested in movies and TV and all that and so my Batfandom experience may be different than everyone else's, but I'm enough of a traditional comics nerd to be like what do you mean you don't read the comics and, yeah, I instinctively consider them more canon than other media most of the time (except when I don't). but here's a breakdown of my familiarity with the Batfandom:

at any given time I'm reading a significant chunk of current Batfamily comics (and also other comics, but some of those feature Batfamily members, too)

I'm also reading or rereading older Batfamily content, going back as far as I can find them (I'm currently reading pre-crisis Jason, but I'm desperately trying to find a digital copy of Van's issue)

I saw Battinson but I disliked it immensely and will not be seeing a sequel if one comes out

between that and the real movies (Batman 89) I haven't seen any of the movies. or, like, I think I saw more than one but I don't remember them at all, and I know I hated whichever one I saw. this is a feat because I will watch anything with Cillian Murphy in it and usually love it even when it's a trash fire. I saw (only) one of the Harley Quinn movies and it was okay.

Batman 89 are The Movies Of All Time and I rewatch them constantly, especially Batnipples. they are responsible for both my love of fandom in its entirety and my gay awakening. and obviously it's where I started with Batman

I mean I saw Superpets, which was excellent except for the monologue at the end which still pisses me off

I've read novelizations based on them, and spent my childhood rereading them over and over. I've also read other print novels but don't ask me which ones because I can't remember. yeah there are a bunch of Batman print novels actually! I don't know either!

I watched BtAS, Batman Beyond, and Teen Titans on the air. I rewatch them regularly. I recently watched through at least one JLA show (didn't care for it/them) and am trying to make it through Brave and the Bold but I don't really like it. I managed to get all the way through YJ on the promise of Virg but he's only in like three episodes??? season 1 was great but the rest of the show increasingly sucks. the vast majority of the cartoons I've never seen, especially all the movies

obsessively watching Harley Quinn show. it's the best thing I've ever seen. oddly, the comics based on it are one of the few comics I've ever returned because I feel bad returning comics usually

I saw all of HBO Titans, most of it as it was released, and I love it so so much. I wish it hadn't ended. I wish the Red Hood spinoff had actually gotten traction because I would watch the hell out of it. I hoped the CW show would have similar vibes but it's not very good really. I'm still watching it.

my absolute favorite DC shows are Birds of Prey (2002-2003) and Powerless. both cancelled immediately, which is a travesty. they are the best shows that have ever been made ever.

I'm not listening to the radio plays or podcasts or whatever. I can't really deal with that type of media mostly unfortunately

I have seen The LEGO Movie and all related LEGO Batman content. I love most of it but Damian??? that is clearly Tim wtf are you guys even talking about, you wrote Tim

I've seen the Adam West movie repeatedly. I've seen several episodes of the show but not in order and not the whole thing. I do plan a watchthrough soon.

I've never played a single Batman related game in my life, not even Batman branded Monopoly and stuff like that. I don't know what's in any of them and I don't understand references to them

anyway, so, I get that for normal people the movies are most likely, then the cartoons, then the live action shows, then the comics, but for me it's very much backwards of that. and it's weird to me when people assume that everyone's engaging with the same pieces of media in the same way

[frogtanii]

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[generallybarzy]

If You'll Have Me Forever.

an: this is the little fic i decided to write based on a dream i had. I wrote it all in one day while I was at my grandparent's house with no internet or computer, so i wrote it all in my notebook and then typed it up on here haha.

warnings: unedited, mentions of past emotional trauma and unhealthy families

word count: 1.7k

You always loved spending time with Mat's family. Whenever there was a break in the season, you two quickly found yourselves on a plane out to Vancouver, holding hands in the airplane and in the car on the way to his parent's house.

It had been like this since your first summer with them. Mat had invited you home with him for part of the offseason, and although you'd only been dating almost a year and were still nervous to meet his family, you couldn't say no. His family had welcomed you warmly, in fact, warm may not even be good enough to describe it. His parents smiled as soon as they saw you- saw you holding their son's hand, saw him smile proudly as he finally introduced you to them as his girlfriend.

Then, they hugged you.

You hadn't come from a loving family, not one where you openly told each other "I love you" or "I'm proud of you", and certainly not one that hugged and had family game nights. After much discussion with Mat and with your therapist, you came to the conclusion that your family had been borderline emotionally neglectful, and you saw how your childhood had scarred you. Mat's family was so openly affectionate and loving towards you right off the bat that it overwhelmed you, to the point of you going upstairs and refusing to come down until Mat had a talk with you. He was understanding, gently told them to be a little more reserved, and helped to slowly ease you into their love. And that just made you love him even more.

Now, it was your first holiday season with them. After spending a good chunk of last summer in Vancouver, you were certainly excited to spend a few days of your winter here with them rather than in your empty little apartment. You and Mat had flown out the night before, and arrived early in the morning, grateful that the team had managed a few extra days off this season- just enough days to make a trip worth it. The whole day had been spent talking and laughing and just catching up with his family about the past year- how things were going with your studies, with your job, how Mat’s season was going, and how your relationship was going. Later in the evening, after a long round of some board game they’d pulled from the closet, the jet lag and overwhelming, unfamiliar feeling of familial love caught up to you. So, in the middle of preparing some snacks to munch on during the next round of the game, you faked a phone call and quickly excused yourself to the snowy back patio, slipping into your coat and snow boots on the way and disappearing out the door.

Mat had been keeping a close eye on you all night.

He knew how you got about affection, you were even still a little shy receiving love from him, and the last thing he wanted to do was let him or his family overwhelm you again. He had gone to talk with his dad for five minutes- about a topic that had him immediately searching for you to go hide away and get some much needed alone time- and when he came back to the living room, you weren’t where he left you with his mom and sister.

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

“Oh,” his mom looked up from preparing the food. “She stepped out back to take a phone call.”

“Yeah?” Mat snuck over to the backdoor, squinting out into the snow and spotting your figure, no phone in sight. He slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed his jacket from next to the door. “I think the jetlag might be stting in. I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out onto the back patio, the snow crunching beneath his fluffy slippers. You didn’t even turn when you heard the door close behind him, and that’s how he knew something was wrong.

“Baby… what are you doing out in the cold?” He came up next to you, curling an arm over your shoulders. “Were they too much? Should I tell them to back off a bit?” Finally, you turned to face him. Your eyes were wet and red, but you had a soft little smile on your face. “Aw, baby.”

“I love them so much, Mat.”

“C’mere.” He pulled you against his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your cold arms. You curled your arms around his waist, snuggling in under his winter jacket. “Babe, you should be wearing something heavier out here. I don’t want you getting sick.” Still, you stayed where you were, tucked into his jacket with him and hiding away from the snow and the world. “I’m glad you love my family so much. I hope you can tell they love you too. And if they’re too much, I’ll tell them, okay?”

“I know.”

“Just let me know. I know how you get uncomfortable when you receive this much love, but I hope you know you deserve it, okay? You’re absolutely amazing.” At his words, you lifted your face from the comfort of his chest, eyes red and face hot, streaked with tears. Snowflakes melted on impact, and Mat’s thumb brushed away the wetness. “Please don’t cry, baby.”

“I’m just… so overwhelmed. In the best way possible, I promise.”

“That’s good.”

“And I’m getting sleepy.”

“Jetlag finally catching up to you?” You nodded, burrowing back into the warmth of his jacket. He smiled, squeezing you against him. “Let’s go to bed, yeah, sweetheart?”

“Nooooo, I just wanna stay like this.”

“Okay, okay.” He smiled and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll stay out here for a little, but we gotta go in when you get cold.” Mat knew the reason you didn’t want to go back inside yet. One, because you didn’t want to cry in front of his family, but also because after spending the whole day with them, you were starved of sweet, gentle moments like this, alone with Mat. He knew you loved his family, but God, how you loved him. You’d been holding back all your hugs and kisses today, keeping low on the PDA in front of his family, and you’d gotten needy. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his parents, saying the two of you were gonna be done for the night and wanted a little alone time, and he knew they’d understand and head to bed. The snow was picking up now, so Mat put his phone back in his pocket and pulled you with him against the wall of the house, your arms tucked under his fuzzy coat and holding tight around his waist, watching the snow fall and enjoying the comforting silence of the world.

“Do you know how much people love you?”

“Mat…” You smiled and hid your face shyly.

“No, do you know? Everyone who meets you falls a little bit in love with you. Everyone. You just have this… this loveable nature to you/ You’re the sweetest, kindest, most amazing person I know.” You didn’t respond, but Mat saw the smile on your face and felt the way your arms squeezed around his torso. “Remember how earlier, I was talking to my dad? You know what he was saying? He said ‘the way you look at (Y/N), that’s how I looked at your mom’. And how he still does.” That got your attention, and you lifted your face to look at him, at the pretty, genuine love in his dark eyes. “Hey, there’s that pretty face!” Your hands slid further up his back, and you perched up on your tiptoes, reaching up for a soft kiss that Mat gladly met you halfway for. “I’m serious when I say I love you, okay?”

“I know.”

“I get that you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, and they weren’t the healthiest, especially when it came to showing these types of emotions, but I’m gonna make sure you get used to it. Cause you’re gonna be in my life for a long, long time.”

“Forever?”

“If you’ll have me forever.”

Everything went silent, save for the soft falling of snow, at that whispered promise. The tears filled your eyes again, just so, so happy that you had someone like Mat in your life, and that he was so understanding and patient with you.

“If you’ll have me forever, my family would be more than happy to call you one of us. You could spend all your birthdays, holidays, and celebrations here, and they’d love you. I’d love you. I do. You’d never feel unloved again, if you’ll have me forever.”

“Mat are... Are you proposing?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. Not yet, not officially. Just take this as a… warning.”

You laughed a little bit. “A warning, Mat?”

“No, ugh… um, how about a promise. Yeah, a promise. A promise that if you’ll have me forever, I’ll do nothing but show you how damn loveable you are. I know I can’t erase the years of pain… God, or the trauma that your family put you through, but I promise you I’m gonna try my hardest. You deserve so much better than what they’d given to you, and I’ll give that to you.” Mat saw the tears in your eyes and swooped down to kiss your cheeks repeatedly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you cry, baby.” He could say so, so much more, but he wanted to take care of you first. “Enough of my sappy rambling, yeah? My toes are freezing. Can we go in?” He saw you glance down at his feet and immediately started giggling.

“Nice slippers, grandpa.”

“They’re cozy.” He grinned, happy to see you smiling again. He had grabbed his dad’s shoes to come out, knowing you found his silly dad-fashion funny. “Now, let’s get to bed, sleepyhead.” He pulled you back into the warm, quiet house and led the way up to his bedroom, happy to finally have some time to just cuddle up under the blankets along with you. But as you fell asleep, tucked safely in his arms with a content, peaceful smile, he could fall asleep along with you. Instead, he lay there, watching you for hours, his thoughts filled with his dad’s words from earlier and quietly, secretly, he was writing long lines of phrases he wanted to say to you, phrases that would one day become part of his proposal.

I promise I’ll keep you safe, I promise I’ll keep you smiling and loved... if you’ll have me forever.

[nochiquinn]

four-sided dive episode 2: #good #professional

I have a keyboard! go fuck yourself, ipad keyboard

sdhfsk I just saw the name of the drink special

sam what

"what's a sad dad dance?" "it's just how you dance, man?"

mala: "I'm wearing flip flops today" Liam: comtemplates divorce

laura's hair looks so good

gofundme so I can get purple hair again

laura stop making fun of me

taliesin cornering momlan and demanding embarrassing stories about sam's childhood

laura: STOP TALKING ABOUT FEET

I also did not see lost boys until I was an adult

Moon Is Haunted

"as I tell you what happened on your show"

taliesin don't you bring the summerses into this

you were THERE SAMUEL

"the show is to catch sam up to speed"

"I don't even know what they're not talking about"

sam doesn't watch the product

"the moons could be chunks of god"

the souls are stored in the poop

"I have already exhausted laura, fifteen minutes into the show"

mala: "for most of us will get stale" Travis is big enough to count as a majority

"shopping is like the character creator, I want to try every hair color" I may or may not have spent two solid hours in the elden ring cc

mala: this is Laura's world and everyone else has the privilege of being an NPC in it me: this is also true for imogen

I ctrl-z'd and it erased a whole chunk of notes, thanks notepad

"JUST KEEP READING THE PROMPTER"

they absolutely stacked the tower before whatever they painted them with was dry

orym's little rp tricycle

l a u r a

mala: Orym coming out as bi but from the opposite direction

taliesin finding a machine to rage against

[ducks debris from the exploding southerngothic fandom]

"they're a flat earther" liam: [heavy sigh]

the subs just said "tallison"

the subs are now half the show for me

I can't believe dani is going to kill sam in the parking lot

I can't believe the producers are gonna kill sam in the parking lot

okay that's really fucking cool tho

can't believe they showed animal death right on the show smh

we'll find out when laura finds out

"ashton doesn't care but percy is in the back screaming"

my psych major comparisons are validated

my accent suffers from laura and fcg's accents

"it's worse when you need people and you're bad at it" can we not call me out like this

shadow imogen

chaos gremlins (affectionate)

whiskey slap

"you won't get that when MARISHA hosts!" "I mean…"

imogen temult, moon pony princess

"somewhere around here laura slapped me and it all changed"

I desire to see a consequence

muppets!

….fearne WOULD be janet

"HAMMER! :D"

kermit 🤝 orym only sane man

"they should just let us run the country" honestly tho

lore nuggets, new name of the show

I know even less about street fighter than I did about mario kart, so

"now I'm gonna button mash to see if I can make him to fancy stuff" me

"why is that person firing a gun into the air"

imogen hears everybody's intrusive thoughts

"I want the TOTS" "fair"

"he hates characters that have nothing good going on, because he's a good boy"

"we want more dani!" true

there is so much hair in this fight

"do you have a question for me?" "no. …other than WHY"

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 17

Request: Yes or No

For anyone curious and if I did my math correctly y/ns dad had him when he was 35. This one feels short and I hate ittt but I tried making it feel longer. The chunks are just thicc

~

"So, why are we going to Belgium?" Natasha asked, setting the course. You looked at her, taking a seat beside her.

"Cause.. I have family there.. She might be family, I don't now." You answered, feeling the jet move forward before it took off into the sky.

"Family? Like, blood related? Who?" Natasha asked, glancing at you. You licked your lips, staring forward.

"My aunt." Natasha's brows raised, looking over at you. You sighed, nodding.

"What if she turns me away?" You asked softly.

"Well.. You're probably her only remaining family. I wouldn't want to turn away a family member." Natasha licked her lips, looking forward at the passing clouds.

"What do I even say? Hey, I'm (Y/N) and I have superpowers?"

"Well, you can introduce yourself and ask about her brother." Natasha gave a small smile. You nodded.

"How's Clint?" Natasha asked, rested her head on her fist. Her hair was long and her natural red locks were returning. It made her hair look a little weird but she was going through a lot of things.

"Who fucking knows." You frowned, arms crossing. Clint had fucked off to god knows where, leaving you to deal with your grief alone. Natashas' brows furrowed.

"Clint has decided not to return home in what feels like weeks. Maybe even months, I haven't been paying attention." You shrugged lightly. Natasha frowned, leaning back in the seat. Definitely didn't sound like Clint but grief could make people do crazy things.

"I've been trying to keep up with the house but I'm just one guy handling everything Clint decided to build and add on." You licked your lips, shaking your head and letting out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Natasha said softly, giving your arm a squeeze. "I'll talk to him if you want."

"Let him do whatever the hell he wants to do. He's a grown man." You replied, feeling bitter and resentful. Natasha silently nodded. The rest of the ride was silent until the jet reached Belgium.

"We're here." You stepped out of the jet, feeling a small breeze go by. You felt your stomach doing flips, heartbeat quickening. You took in a deep breath, glancing at Natasha. She placed a gentle hand on your back, offering a small smile.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get in touch with Clint?" She asked, head tilting. You shook your head.

"It could make things more complicated." You said, looking around. The house across the street matched with the address Tony had given you. It was more on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees. You could hear some horses behind the house. You took in a deep breath, trying to ease your nerves as you walked towards the house, crossing the road. Natasha followed, studying the area.

"Seems like gardening might run in the family." Natasha said, motioning to the flower garden.

"Yeah.." You chuckled softly. You stepped onto the porch, noticing some plotted flowers on the windowsill. You raised your hand, pressing the doorbell. You waited a few minutes about to press it again before the door opened. A scowl appeared on Florines' face. She was shorter than you had imagined. Her hair was a bit messy and tied back into a low ponytail.

"Wat wil je?" She asked, gaze flickering over to Natasha. You swallowed, fiddling with your fingers.

"Are you Florine De Meyers?" You asked, watching her narrow her eyes.

"Who's asking?"

"(Y/N).. I think I might be the son of your brother." You said quietly. Florine stared at you, lips parting. Her features softened for a second before the frown returned. She opened the door wider, letting you and Natasha inside. The inside of the house smelled like black tea, earthy and floral. It felt straight out of a country movie.

"I've got some tea and speculoos." Florine called as she entered the kitchen. You looked at the pictures she had up. Most were pictures of horses or her at events with friends. You didn't see any pictures that seemed family related. You took a seat on the floral patterned couch, gazing dropping onto the unbothered elderly sheepdog. It made no attempt to move and simply rolled onto its side to face away from you.

"That's Gerdie. Old girl used to be a good guard dog but now she's more of a house cat." Florine said, sitting down and placing a tray on the coffee table. Natasha reached forward, taking one of the biscuits. Florine reached under the table, looking through the books she had before pulling out what looked like a photo book.

"The reason I didn't slam the door in your face is because Michael had told me he was gonna have a kid named (Y/N)." Florine said, hand wiping away the dust in the book. She scooted forward, placing the book on the table.

"Michael?" You repeated, looking at her. She nodded, opening the book. She flipped to the second page, pointing to a picture of a young boy by a fireplace opening presents.

"Michael, my half brother and your father." Your brows raised, leaning in to take a better look. The photo was old but you could see his face clearly. Natasha leaned in as well, smiling gently.

"You have his smile." She pointed out.

"Michael and his father moved here from America when he was about five. He met my mother and they got married. They had me when Michael was nine. He was a good brother. He held no resentment towards me or my mom. Michael was as stubborn as a mule and he could never keep his mouth shut. He'd let you know if he didn't agree with you." Florine chuckled, shaking her head. You watched the nostalgic look pass over her eyes.

"What happened to him?" You asked softly. Florine let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. She reached down, giving Gerdie some pats on the head.

"He disappeared for some time." She answered, gaze becoming distant.

"He wrote letters occasionally. Said he was working for a government in another country.. He might've been some sort of spy, my memory's a little fuzzy on the subject. He spent a long time working but.. He came back eventually. He never talked about it but he was good ole Michael." Florine leaned forward again, flipping to another page of a more grown up Michael. You did notice some similar features between him and you.

"By then, our father had passed from cancer and my mother needed all the help she could get. Michael built this house with some friends of his and gave it to my mother. Oh, my mother was so happy. She got the farm she had always wanted and got to garden whenever she could." Florine pointed to a a couple in the photobook.

"This is your grandmother, Sylvie. You would've loved her. She made the best cakes in town. This is your grandfather, Jonathan. He was always up to no good. He loved pulled helping the kids in town with pranks." Florine spoke of them fondly. Her childhood seemed to have been good with Jonathon and Sylvie.

"You have powers, right?" Florine asked, looking at you. You nodded, reaching out to the plant on the coffee table and watching it grow taller.

"She passed on her powers to you." Florine leaned back, clearing her throat. You glanced at Natasha, noticing her eating another biscuit.

"She? Who's she?" You asked, looking back at Florine.

"Your witch of a mother." She answered bitterly. You raised your brows at the hate and disgust in her tone.

"I shouldn't speak ill of her. Even if she deserves it." Florine muttered, standing up with a heavy sigh.

"C'mon." She motioned for you to follow. You turned towards Natasha. Natasha picked up another biscuit, making eye contact with you. You raised your brows.

"What? These are delicious!" Natasha huffed. You chuckled, standing up and following her out the backdoor. You noticed the stables with the horses walking around their fenced area. Florine had a vegetable garden and a greenhouse out back as well.

"Those pretty babies are Ernie, Kuma, and Goldie." Florine said, motioning to the horses. They approached the fence when she walked over to them. You smiled softly as she petted them, cooing in Dutch.

"They won't bite. Well, Ernie might but he's just a playful old man." Florine chuckled, turning back in the original direction. You followed her down a dirt path and into a wooded area. You blinked, seeing what looked like a moss covered statue of a woman. Her eyes were closed though her head was pointed downwards, looking at anyone who walked down the path.

"She was a charming little witch, I'll give her that." Florine crossed her arms, staring up at the statue. You tilted your head, licking your lips.

"Did he make this for her?" You asked, turning to look at her. Florine shook her head, looking down at the ground.

"Gaia, or better known as Mother Nature, is your mother. She took a human form in an attempt to convince humans to cherish what she had given them. When that proved useless, she spread plagues as punishment. What Gaia truly wanted.. Was a child. Animals, humans, and all those things were creations.. Projects she could ignore if she got bored. She met your father and he fell for her." Florine told you, another breeze blowing by. You reached your hand forward, gently touching a flower that rested by the statue. It felt full of life.

"Your mother fell pregnant with you and Michael was thrilled. Gaia had started realizing that human life wasn't for her. She was slowly becoming human herself. She disappeared with Michael and returned without him or you. She explained she couldn't stay and left her human body here."

"She abandonded me for no reason?" You stared up at the statue, features hardening.

"In some sense, she didn't. She's all around us so.. Your mother never truly left you." Florine said, turning to look at you. You scoffed.

"I have a mother. Her name is Laura Barton and she's not here anymore because of Thanos." You looked at Florine, blinking away tears.

"I don't blame you for being angry. I never found out where she took you or if you were even alive. If you want to keep in touch, I don't mind. Lord knows I could use the company." Florine looked forward again. You let out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping.

"And.. And dad? What happened to him?" You asked hesitantly, almost afraid of finding out he had done the same as Gaia. Florine stayed silent for a moment.

"He.. They never told me how it happened but.. He was murdered." Florine revealed, staring at the ground with a small frown. You stared at him, brows furrowing.

"What? By- By who?"

"You might've heard of him. People around town were talking about him a two or three years back. The infamous Winter Soldier."

~

Tags: @geek-and-proud @wolfelocksley @babyvisionisamenace

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

I posted 7,523 times in 2022

That's 947 more posts than 2021!

297 posts created (4%)

7,226 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@azraeldoesnotdispute

@minimoefoe

@toshisato

@expelliarmus

@langernameohnebedeutung

I tagged 7,523 of my posts in 2022

#our flag means death - 602 posts

#thirteenth doctor - 547 posts

#stranger things - 478 posts

#tenth doctor - 465 posts

#torchwood - 448 posts

#clara oswald - 359 posts

#twelfth doctor - 352 posts

#art - 331 posts

#yasmin khan - 322 posts

#eleventh doctor - 303 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#so it's ok for you to be totally ignorant of mine but when i ask a question about a very very specific part of yours i'm an idiot? ok

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Oh my god oh my god Ianto and Owen playing Mortal Kombat and Owen getting steamed that Ianto is beating him

“How are you doing this?” Owen demanded to know, throwing down his controller and scowling at Ianto with overt suspicion as the screen displayed the final score. “There’s no way you’re this good at Mortal Kombat. It’s not normal.”

“Admit it, Owen,” Ianto told him smugly, setting his own controller down and taking a swig of his beer. “You’ve finally found something that you’re not excellent at, and it stings, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve got to be cheating. There is no way that move is even… how did you… I don’t understand. I’ve been playing this…”

“Since dinosaurs roamed the earth. I know.”

“Fuck off. You’ve got to be cheating. Did you get Jack to modify the console with some futuristic bullshit?”

“Nope.”

“Did you get him to give you cheat codes?”

“Nope.”

“Did you get Tosh to hack the system so you always win?”

“Nope. But I did spend a large amount of my youth in arcades.”

Owen looked over at him with considerable surprise; Ianto didn’t feel the need to elaborate further. It was, after all, none of Owen’s business that he had spent sizeable chunks of his childhood trying to avoid going home, and thus the arcade, the cinema and the local shopping centre had all been regular haunts.

“How much did you play this?” Owen asked with interest. “Just so I know what I’m up against.”

“About four hours a day, every Saturday and Sunday, for about six years.”

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Utterly.”

46 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

#4

Jack finally inveigles Martha and Ianto into a Jones-sandwich (interpret how you will).

"Well," Jack beamed, looking from Ianto to Martha and back again. "This is cosy."

"No," Ianto shot back, his gaze still fixed on the menu, although Jack knew he would've already viewed it online prior to tonight, and that he'd already have chosen what he wanted to order - drinks, starters, mains, and dessert. "This is a mid-range Italian restaurant in Cardiff city centre on a Friday night. It's about the furthest from cosy that you could get."

"It's a figure of speech," Jack protested, shooting an apologetic glance at Martha, who was sipping her glass of red wine with an expression that was somewhere between serene and suspicious; she arched an eyebrow in response. "It's cosy having the three of us back together. I feel like I'm in a Jones Sandwich."

"Is that the only reason you arranged this meeting?" Ianto asked with incredulity. "Because if so, I want you to pay for my dinner as an apology for the terrible joke. And you can bet your arse that I will be ordering the lobster pasta, and four starters."

"I was going to pay anyway," Jack lied with magnanimity. Surely he could charge it as a work expense? "So go nuts. Although you don't even like lobster."

"I do when you're paying."

"Boys, not that this flirting isn't great fun to watch, but I'm presuming you invited me here for a reason other than to either third-wheel, referee any rows about the bill, or to make jokes about Jones Squared," Martha interjected, putting her wine glass down and propping her elbows on the table in a businesslike manner. "So, cut to the chase, Jack. What do you need? Or what do you want, whichever. How do you want to play this?"

"What makes you think I want something?" Jack said with an air of woundedness that he hoped very much sounded sincere.

"Because since the funerals, I haven't heard a damn thing from you, and suddenly you're in my inbox with a dinner invite. So, what do you want? Guns? Intel? State secrets?"

"I just wanted to say hi!" Jack protested, to which Martha and Ianto both raised their eyebrows. "And yeah, alright, maybe some intel..."

Martha sighed, but to his surprise she didn't stalk out of the restaurant, which he considered a definite victory. "Alright, fine. But can we pretend to be normal over antipasti first? Warm me up a bit?"

Jack grinned. "With pleasure."

46 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

#3

It's movie night at the hub, something cute and fluffy with all of our happy pairings, post exit wounds but everyone's alive - they're just trying to recoup after Gray and all the damage to the city

“Right,” Ianto said pragmatically, closing the Blu-ray player’s drawer and retreating to the beanbags that Jack had dragged out of storage and arranged artfully around the conference room. Jack himself was sat on an adjacent beanbag, and Ianto realised for the first time quite how difficult it was to snuggle while sliding about on something with the approximate texture of water. Wrinkling his nose, he shifted his a bit closer to Jack and took his hand, reassured as Jack gave it a squeeze. “Everyone ready?”

“What are we watching?” Owen asked, cracking open a beer; Ianto was amazed that he and Tosh had managed to cuddle up together on their own beanbag, but he supposed Tosh was slightly smaller than Jack, and Owen slightly less preoccupied with being uncomfortable. As he watched, Ianto handed the can to Tosh, who accepted it with a quiet murmur of thanks and took a sip with a somewhat guilty expression.

“Casino Royale. Latest Bond.”

“You and your bloody James Bond,” Owen shot back, but there was warmth in his tone, and he grinned as he spoke. “Are we just watching this because you fancy Daniel Craig?”

“No,” Ianto said, at the exact same instant that Jack answered: “Yes.” The two of them eyed each other with their eyebrows raised.

“Everyone fancies Daniel Craig,” Ianto argued, as Jack smirked. “Don’t they?”

“I don’t,” Owen pointed out magnanimously.

“You haven’t seen the film,” Tosh reminded him, then admitted: “I do.”

“I don’t,” Rhys piped up from where he was ensconced on his own beanbag with Gwen’s feet slung across his lap from her perch beside him. “But I’ll watch it for the Bond Girl.”

“Perv,” she chided, kicking him playfully in the thigh and narrowly missing his crotch. “I do. And I’ll watch it for the Bond Girl as well.”

“Now who’s the perv?”

“I think Gwen makes a great point,” Jack reasoned with a grin. “Beautiful people and guns… sort of our MO, isn’t it?”

“Rubbish guns,” Owen noted, raising his eyebrows and jerking his head towards the armoury. “Compared to ours.”

“Oh, boys, don’t start the whole ‘mine is bigger than yours’ talk,” Gwen implored them, as the Blu-ray menu finally loaded. “Let’s just perv over the beautiful people, please and thank you.”

50 notes - Posted March 9, 2022

#2

Jodie for the BAFTA edition of the Radio Times!

108 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Jodie supporting World Down Syndrome Day 2022!

195 notes - Posted March 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[beskarberry]

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.” 

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator.  “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile. 

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair. 

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past. 

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son. 

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

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