#sorry ive been gone ive been having a time yall

[gornackeaterofworlds]

gasp!!!! i’m so jealous!!! that’s so cool that you got to see it though!!!! thank you for the pictures gornack!!

i’m sorry that you went through an ordeal. ☹️ is there anything i can do to help?

ACK HI!!!

The pictures in question:

Ur so sweet!!!! No the ordeal was irl, I already detailed it in the discord so I'll use screenshots(back means back to the hotel btw, and I'd been on a journey to get pics of bay filming locations!):

I think this is also one, but I'm going off street names. This is the first one I'd seen:

[green-tea-lemonade]

draw roxy ❤️ jade plz :3

Sorry this literally took so long to get to I've been SLAMMED with life stuff BUUUUT this gave me the perfect opportunity to test out my new tablet I got >:3

These two are downright adorbs together and you can't tell me they wouldn't cling together all the time. Always holding hands. Always with one another. These two girlbosses are cuddly af with one another and you gotta pry them apart with a crowbar. Bold to assume a person could even try though.

10/10 they deserve smooches from one another

[toutallyahoe]

sorry, still alive here but having a heimdall, hermes and helios brainrot. dont mind me

[foreverxdaydreaming]

if you know any of these, i respect you and your taste dearly... but also, how hard is that nostalgia hitting you rn? pretty bittersweet, eh?

[wlntrsldler]

another fratboy! luke installment. percy comes to visit!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 (final)

tagged poseidonsfavchild and lukecastell4n.

yn_yln: baby bro came to visit so we showed him around 🏙️

poseidonsfavchild: you did not buy a single book in that bookstore stop cappin for the gram

yn_yln: 😐 go home

poseidonsfavchild: yw for the last picture

poseidonsfavchild: i couldve lived the rest of my life without seeing yall like that tho

bethchase: dont listen to him. he talks about how cute u guys are when ur gone

liked by yn_yln and lukecastell4n.

lukecastell4n: HA I KNEW YOU LIKED US TOGETHER

poseidonsfavchild: i shouldve pushed u in the water and let u drown when i had the chance

gr0verunderwood: me and bethchase gotta go with him next time!!!

yn_yln: yes!! i miss my kiddos 🥹🩵

liked by bethchase.

clarisselarue: u and luke are sickeningly cute bye

silenabeauregard: RIGHT

poseidonsfavchild posted a story!

y’all lukecastell4n and chrisr0driguez live like rats wtf is this?

location: kappa sigma house at umm.

lukecastell4n replied to this story:

lukecastell4n: PERCY DELETE THIS

lukecastell4n: we haven’t cleaned yet :(

lukecastell4n: it doesn’t always look like this trust

lukecastell4n: we haven’t had chapter yet and we usually clean then

poseidonsfavchild: “it doesn’t always look like this trust” ive been here for three days and it’s looked like this the whole time

read.

bethchase replied to this story:

bethchase: oh ew 😭😭😭

bethchase: boys are so dirty

poseidonsfavchild: don’t group me with them

bethchase: i once saw a week old pizza in your cabin that had mushrooms growing on top of the mushrooms

poseidonsfavchild: sorry i didnt have time to clean my room i was too busy SAVING OLYMPUS?!

read.

yn_yln replied to this story:

yn_yln: this is why i dont sleep over the ksig house

poseidonsfavchild: I'm gonna stop u right there

poseidonsfavchild: i dont need to know any more about ur sleepovers

read.

tagged yn_yln.

lukecastell4n: recharging on a brunch date with my fav tridelt after the weekend we just had

yn_yln: hot

yn_yln: love you 🩵 spending time with u is a blessing

lukecastell4n: you’re the biggest blessing 🤍

silenabeauregard: AWWWW SHITTTTT

bethchase: CUTE

clarisselarue: KSIG PRES IS A SOFTIE

lukecastell4n: only for my girl 🤷🏻‍♂️

liked by yn_yln.

poseidonsfavchild: im having a hard time believing that hanging out with me for ONE WEEKEND warrants a “recharge” when ur partying every weekend

lukecastell4n: percy you almost fought the chipotle staff TWICE

poseidonsfavchild: I PAID FOR GUAC SO I DESERVE MY GUAC

yn_yln: YOU paid? 🤨

poseidonsfavchild: MY SISTER PAID FOR GUAC SO I DESERVE GUAC

lukecastell4n: and the second time?

poseidonsfavchild: i didnt like their vibe idk

gr0verunderwood: percy 🤦🏾‍♂️

tagged lukecastell4n.

yn_yln: being in love is fun when u dont have ur little brother in ur ear telling u it’s gross that you’re dating his idol

poseidonsfavchild: I CALLED HIM MY IDOL ONCE

poseidonsfavchild: i’ve grown. i’m no longer young and naive.

gr0verunderwood: LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. he always asks what we think luke's workout is. he's tryna get like him.

liked by lukecastell4n.

poseidonsfavchild: I TOLD YOU THAT IN CONFIDENCE

lukecastell4n: i gotchu lil bro

poseidonsfavchild: don't ever call me that again.

lukecastell4n: i love you forever and ever

liked by yn_yln.

silenabeauregard: wait the second pic!!! where is that!!!

yn_yln: the museum downtown on 6th!

silenabeauregard: ty!!! charliebeck we need to go.

liked by charliebeck.

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Game Night (Azriel x Reader)

summary: You and Azriel have been kinda flirty for a while, but it has never actually gone anywhere. When game night turns into strip poker… well i’m sure you can guess where this is gonna go.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i haven’t written anything in a long while bc ive been kinda very depressed so this may suck. also thank yall so much for 200 followers!!

!!warning: suggestiveness at the end.

The males should have known it was a bad idea when you four females insisted on the game. Mor had oh so innocently suggested a game night, after which Nesta randomly got the idea to play poker out of nowhere, followed by immediate approval from you and Feyre. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had wrongfully assumed that you all had suddenly gained interest in the game and wanted to learn for fun, so they agreed.

The night started out wholesome. You were ‘learning’ the basic rules of the game while losing a decent amount of money. As expected, Rhys was trying to help Feyre as she kept losing money to his brothers. After several rounds of defeat and many more rounds of drinks, the males started to notice that you four were losing less and less. Actually… you were all holding the majority of the chips by this point. Azriel, in his usual perceptive manner, accused you four of cheating and hustling them. You and Mor couldn’t help but break out laughing.

“I’m sorry! It was just too easy!” You said between giggles.

“Especially when Rhys started telling Feyre his cards in her mind so she wouldn’t lose, which she immediately told to us!” Mor laughed loudly. Feyre gave a sheepish grin and Nesta only smirked while pulling her most recent winning to her pile. Rhys, Cass, and Az couldn’t help but to laugh, commending you for being able to trick them. Cassian, however, insists that they were going easy on you the whole time.

“Well, it’s on now. No more holding back, right boys?” Cassian says with a smug grin while dealing new cards to the table.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to win, now that I figured out each of their tells.” Azriel stated matter of factly while peaking at his cards. His shadows swirl around him, blocking anyone from being able to see the hand he was dealt.

“Oh really? You think you can tell when we’re bluffing? I think you’re overestimating those spy abilities, Az. You haven’t called any of my bluffs correctly so far.” He shrugs. “I think we may need to make this game more interesting since you three claim you’re going to actually try now. I’m thinking we raise the bets to-“

“Let’s play strip poker!” Cassian bellows, obviously drunk, and cutting you off before you can say anything else. Rhys exchanges a look with Feyre. “I think that Feyre darling and I are going to retire for the night before we lose more of our money or our clothes. Goodnight everyone!” He laughs. They throw their cards on the table and winnow away, leaving just you, Nesta, Mor, Azriel, and Cassian at the table.

Cassian stares expectantly at Nesta. “Cmon, Nes! Say you’ll play!” She sighs dramatically and agrees. “Fine. Only if Y/N, Mor, and Azriel all agree to play too.” Your face turns red. While you don’t doubt your poker abilities, the thought of stripping in front of Azriel… or worse, seeing him half naked, makes your heart race. You and Azriel have only ever gone as far as flirting with each other, but these Illyrians are always flirtatious, so you don’t think it means anything. Regardless, your mind wanders to the mental image of a shirtless Azriel, sparring in the training ring this morning. It’s always so hard not to stare. His abs, his arms, his wings…

“Y/N? Are you playing or not?” Mor questions, pulling you from your daydream. You realize everyone has agreed but you now.

“Sure, whatever.” You say quieter than before, still slightly blushing. You look at your cards nervously, praying to the Cauldron for a good hand. Luckily, you get it. The round goes on, and eventually Cassian is the first to lose an item of clothing, opting to lose his shirt and making a big display of removing it.

An hour later, you have all had several more drinks, everyone has discarded a couple items of clothing (except for Cassian who was down to only his boxers and his left sock), Mor got tired and left, and you were focusing way too closely on one of your poker chips in an attempt to not stare at Azriel.

Cassian flips the last card and… it’s not what you need. You bite your lip nervously, pushing several chips to the middle of the table while trying to maintain a confident façade. “I raise.”

Cassian and Nesta both fold, leaving just you and Azriel. You feel his eyes on you, probably trying to tell if you’re bluffing. Your skin heats under his gaze. Trying to appear more confident, you meet his stare, only to notice he’s not staring at your face, but rather a bit lower. You blush and Cassian clears his throat. “Uh, your move, Az.” Azriel immediately looks away, staring back at his cards.

“Um, I fold.” He mutters and tosses his cards on the discard pile, and you can’t help but notice the way his other hand is clenching and flexing under the table.

“Y/N wins! Az, looks like you’re down to your boxers now!” Cassian slurs slightly. Your eyes go wide and you give a panicked look to Nesta.

“Cass, I think it’s time for us to head home. I’m tired.” She gives him a look that he obviously must recognize because he is very quick to leave, obviously excited to get home. They say goodbye and head out, leaving just you and Azriel.

You stand to gather your things, but Azriel stops you. “Are we done playing, sweetheart?” You feel his eyes trail down your half-exposed body.

“You can keep your pants on, Shadowsinger. It’s late and I’m drunk. Plus, if we play another round then one of us will end up a bit more naked than friends should be around each other.” You laugh awkwardly. Azriel’s eyes darken slightly and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Scared you’ll lose?” You shudder at the closeness and the feeling of his breath on you.

“No. I just don’t think you want me to find out that the wingspan theory isn’t true.” You quip back with a raised eyebrow. He lets out a short laugh and sits back down. “Deal the cards.” He says smugly.

You deal the cards, trying to ignore the tension thick in the air. What the hell is he doing? How are you supposed to act friendly and hide your feelings if you see him naked? How is he going to react if he sees you without a bra? You deal the last card and look at your hand. Not terrible, but definitely not great. You bite your lip nervously. The round plays out and it’s time to place the final bets. You make your bet and then look to Azriel, biting your bottom lip nervously. He studies his cards, then sets them down to look at you.

“You wanna know something, Y/N?” He picks up a poker chip and spins it between his fingers. Gods, those fingers. “You bite your lip when you’re nervous. Did you know that?” You freeze. “And while it has been rather advantageous to know when you’re bluffing this whole game, I do find it kind of cute.” He slides all of his chips into the middle pile. “I knew you were bluffing the last round. And I know you are now too.” His voice is low and full of confidence. Your face is completely red now as he flips his cards over. Royal flush.

You turn your cards over in defeat and he grins. “I win.” He says smugly. He stands and saunters towards you, caging you between his arms in your chair. You look up at him, and you can see the silent question in his eyes. Is this okay? You nod softly and he smirks.

“As the winner, I think it’s only fair that I get to claim my prize. May I?” He gently slides your bra strap down your shoulder. This is actually happening. Weeks of flirty words and lustful glances, leading to whatever is about to happen.

“Rules are rules.” You maintain eye contact and reach behind to unclasp your bra. He grabs your wrist, guiding it back down and reaching behind you himself. His fingers softly trail up your spine, leaving goosebumps behind, before he reaches the clasp and unhooks it. Your bra falls to the floor and Azriel’s eyes roam over you hungrily.

“Gods, you are even more beautiful than I imagined.” He gently guides you to stand, walking you back to the wall and pressing you against it. “I have wanted to do this for so long.” He whispers against your skin before moving his lips to yours. He kisses you with no restraint. One hand cups your face while the other moves up your side. You melt into his touch, savoring his taste. A small moan leaves your mouth, causing him to growl softly.

Azriel pulls away for a moment to say something, but before he can, you hear footsteps in the hall. Quickly, you rush to grab your clothes before anyone can see you. Moments later, whoever it was walks past the room towards the kitchen. You let out a breath, continuing to get dressed.

You give a look to Azriel, who had already managed to get fully dressed somehow. He can read the question in your eyes. Now what? Azriel reaches out a scarred hand toward you. “We can keep playing the game in my room.” He smirks. You take his hand and you two quickly head out, leaving the cards and poker chips on the table.

idk what this was. honestly it was a WIP from months ago and i’m not sure if I love how it ended up but whatever i just am trying to write again :)

[sl8yter]

Get It Together - Mühl

Pt 1.

Nikas bestfriend Nahiem is “going through a hard time” and Nika is always there for him. Which causes a lack of presence for her gf.

TW - Angst, mentions of cheating, insecurity, nika being a meanie, and lots of audacity

Im in the mood for angst so sorry yall

Nika Muhl x fem reader

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

“Nika.”

….

“Baby hello?”

…

“Nika”

“Huh oh sorry bebo I was texting Nahiem” Nika replies to my endless please in an exasperated tone looking at me standing in the kitchen as I prepare our plates

Dont start and argument please Niks

“Didn’t you guys just hang out last week? You said this week it’d be about us.” I walk towards Nika setting her plate on the table in front of me

“Hes my best friend and hes going through a hard time right now. I cant just ignore him.” She says finally taking her eyes off her phone to look at me

“Yea I know and I understand that but sometimes it feels like you care about him more than you do me.”

“Well I didn’t mean to make you feel that way and im sorry you do”

I sit down frustrated at her statement slightly banging the plate against the table

“Jesus christ, please dont be like that tonight” Nika says playing with her food

“Youre right, Im sorry its just that I love you you know that I do and I wish to spend time with you but its hard to do that when your friend is dragging you off everywhere. It makes me feel ignored.”

Why am I apologizing shes the one with the attitude

“Well Im sorry you feel that way bebo im not trying to ignore you. I want to spend time with you too. But Nahiem needs me too. We’ve been friends forever you know that” Nika says staring at me with a look in her eyes. The same look she gives me whenever she just wants me to agree with her

“I need you too Nika its not fair youve guys have been hanging out too much. I mean imagine if I went to go hang out with one my guy friends every other day.”

“What the fuck are you trying to imply here” Nikas tone changes. Her syllables grow sharper and her accent comes out

Shes mad

She stares at me waiting for my reply as im silent for a moment

“Im not trying to imply anything. I just want you to understand how it looks from my perspective. Which now you clearly do. I dont think you would do that to me but I cant help but wonder sometimes. Youre always texting him and barely even texting me anymore.”

“Im not cheating on you if thats what youre trying to imply. I lost my appetite, im gonna head out.” She adds with quickness, standing up from her chair and grabbing her keys off the counter

“No you always do this. Whenever things dont go your way or I dont immediately agree with you you leave I want to talk more. I want you to understand me more.” I say chasing after her pulling her arm to make her look at me

“Well I try and you make it so difficult”

“You try? You’re kidding me. I barely see you anymore. I wake up and youre gone. I tell you I want to talk its always im busy or later im out with friends. Im trying it feels like im the only one trying anymore.”

“I try so hard you just dont see it.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it giving me a sorrowful face.

That isnt what she looks like when shes sad

“What dont I see Nika please explain to me” I ask knowing shes full of it. She just wants someone to come home to

…

Her silence makes me snap. I let go of her hand

“Im actually so tired of your bullshit. Im gonna be frank with you since you arent gonna comprehend it any other way. I love you Nika I want to work on our relationship but you have to want that too. At this point ive debated leaving and ive also debated staying in case the sweet girl I knew a year ago wanted to show up again. I think we need couples counsel-”

Im cut off by her grabbing the sides of my face and attempting to kiss me. I retract quickly and try to ask her why she did that but she cuts me off before Ieven start

“Why are you being so difficult right now.” She says giving me a look of disgust. As if a kiss or angry fuck was gonna fix this

“Fuck off Nika. You can leave. Im not the one being difficult. I really dont want to lose you but if youre gonna keep being such a dickhead to me you cant leave. Ive had enough. I try so hard to understand you and I want you to let me im but obviously that isnt gonna happen. I love you but its obvious its not reciprocal.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Leave. Get your self together then you can come back to me. Its gonna be hard to put whatever emotions you have or had for me into words but when you do and you can explain to me why you wanted to throw all this away for me for some guy who probably wants to hit and dip.” I say in the calmest voice possible holding back from yelling at her. If i yell im gonna cry and if I cry Nikas gonna hug me, then ill fold.

I cant give in this time

“Wait bebo im sorry okay I can see how much this hurts you. Lets talk this out I can stop talking to nahiem. I swear he doesnt mean anything to me. I love you let me prove it.” She says, her long and built arms trying to snake around me

“No Nika , I already tried to talk this out. Go back to your dorm, take a shower, and go to sleep. Then we can talk all you want. I need to be alone tonight” I say pushing myself off her as I walk away heading to my room

“Im sorry baby please don’t do this” She says still standing at the door

At least she respects my space

But she doesn’t respect me

“Go to bed Nika” I say before shutting my door

I hear a soft cry before the muffled sound of the door shutting and locking

I hope she does wanna talk in the morning

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

Also i dont proofread my writing. I write based off what my angelic soul is telling me so if you see some mistakes or some blank spaces 🦍🦍🦍

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[eepwriting]

hello there 💖 your friendly iii loving reader here again.

popping in to see if you have time for a new request; I would love to read your take on slightly subby iii fic where reader, who loves when iii dirt talks them, tries to give him a little dirty praise in return. possibly calling him a good boy? possibly putting a hand on his throat to see how he reacts?? would love it if it takes him by surprise and he unexpectedly loves it 🤭

thanks again so so much for your time and your amazing writing 🤩🙏🏻🫡

My Good Boy ✶ III x GN! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, dirty talk, praise, light choking, no plot, we get right into it bby

ANONNNN im smooching you on the forehead for this!!! I love it, thank you for your request!! 🤍🤍 More of a blurb btw. Also IM SO SORRY I’ve been gone. I literally thought about this blog everyday and have felt so bad but I think I’m back 😎

!! mdni !!

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“You love it, baby, don’t you?”

III’s mouth rests against your own as he speaks. “Love it when I stretch you out, huh?”

You wanted to answer, you really did but it was almost impossible to get the words out. The way he slowed the pace of his hips, making sure you felt every possible inch of him, combined with the filth coated words he spoke had you practically choking on your breath.

“Yes, baby…cock always feels s’good. You always feel so good baby.” Your words are breathy, your heels digging into his hips in an effort to keep him close to you. The blush that starts on iii’s neck and crawls up to his cheeks is bright. He lets out the quietest groan and leans down to slot his head in the crook of your neck.

It was rare for you to speak during the act. Whether it be from nervousness to actually speak the filthy thoughts, to not being able to force them out due to overwhelming pleasure, you usually settled for head nods and moans of approval. You had little idea that your words could cause a reaction like that from him.

It’s startling when he flips the two of you, rolling under you and straightening you atop his lap. You let out a small laugh at his swiftness and lean down to press a kiss to his mouth. His cheeks are still a pretty shade of pink and he’s slightly sweatier than normal, stray hairs sticking to his forehead. “I fuckin love hearing you talk like that…wanna hear more, please.” The way his eyes rake over your body make you feel like the most desirable thing to ever exist.

You give him a sheepish smile and circle your hips. Your eyes shut tight, because he somehow feels ever better in this position. A long hum leaves you and your hands land on his chest. It’s good leverage to lift your hips off him and sink down again. “So, so good to me. I love my good boy.” The praise you give him is not one you’ve ever given, but feels the most natural, leaving your mouth with little thought. The loud half chuckle, half moan he lets out might be the hottest noise you’ve ever heard from him. He huffs and digs the tips of his fingers into your hips. “Yeah, I’m your good boy. Fuck…yes.” His hand cups the side of your face, coaxing you down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fingers tentatively trace the base of his throat before wrapping around and gently squeezing. The need to hold on to something was strong.

Another moan from him floods into your mouth and you need to pull away, wanting to watch his face. Watch him make those noises. His eyes are glazed over as he looks up at you, pupils blown wide. His mouth hangs open slightly and his chest heaves. He strains his neck slightly. You squeeze your hand again, a little tighter this time and he eagerly nods up at you, squeezing your hips tight with a high pitched whine.

Oh.

You could definitely have some fun with this.

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YALL IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN GONE

BUT I had so much fun writing this 🫢 thank you once again anon!!!

More to come!

K. Bye bye.

[python333]

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

[gimmeyourlovepls]

Earth 42! Miles Morales x Reader Headcanons <3

a/n: hi guys! sorry ive been gone for a hot second, my mental health is declining just like my grades 😍 anyway, enjoy!

ok, i know that miles would act so stoic at first but he'd show his affection in little ways

like anything from a good morning note to chocolates, your gonna get at least one a week

even though he doesnt write his name on the gifts, you always know its him, and you make sure to give him a little hug or kiss :)

ok, so ive had this thought in my head for a while, but miles would totally have glasses

like, you see how much he's working on tech and junk, you know his eyesight is gonna be at least a little bad

but he doesnt wear them because he thinks theyre nerdy

until you find out :0

"hey miles, are these your glasses? how come ive never seen you wear them? can you put em on?"

from then on, you start begging him to put them on, but he always says no

until one day, when you are lying on the couch, asking him to put them on, when he finally says yes.

he puts them on, smiling at you slightly, and you just start attacking him with kisses

"mi amor, calm down!" "nah, my man looks too handsome"

from then on, he finally wears his glasses (at least when hes alone with you)

and everytime you bombard him with many, many kisses (which he doesnt mind in the slightest)

you two are so in love

but sometimes it leads to jealousy

not only from miles, but from you

one time he saw you chatting to this boy and as soon as you two were alone he wouldnt let you go till he was sure you were his

the boy you were talking to was literally your cousin 💀

but if it meant getting extra kisses from miles, you were not complaining

you've had your fair share of jealous moments too

like when miles was partnered with this girl for a project

she was being a little too nice with him

so you walked over there, hair swaying behind you, and sat on miles' lap at the table they were working at

you kept rubbing his arm and pressing little kisses on his cheek until their working time was over and they finished the project

and you walked outta there on miles' arm

you and miles had a talk after that, and theirs not that many of those moments anymore

however miles is DEFINETLY jealous and happy at the same time at the relationship you have with his mom

because he wants his mom to like you, duh

but when you and her are talking like you've known eachother since birth, he gets a little left out

dont worry tho, he loves u and your mom, you two are his favorite ladies

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! i have homework to do, but i might do a part 2 if yall want. pls give me requests for writing! ilysm, have a great life!

[stevie-petey]

making grabby hands and kicking my feet like a baby in a high chair at dinner time for more cute steve and bug blurbs im STILL thinking about the dream blurb 😔 i need more please bbg 😔😔😔🤞

because im feelin nice i will feed yall and i wanna elaborate more on why i consider steve bugs twin flame rather than her soulmate <333 (i actually have two angsty blurbs lined up sol this is to compensate for later)

enjoy <3

"did you just steal a brownie?"

steve stares at you, eyes wide, with crumbs all over his face. "no, why would you think that?"

you set the rack of brownies down and glare at the teen. you know hes lying, he knows you know hes lying, and dustin is a witness to it all. looking at your brother, you cross your arms and inhale deeply. "dustin, did steve take a brownie?"

"im not a part of this."

steve lifts his fist for a fist bump, which he accepts with a slight smirk on his face. seeing this, your annoyance only grows. youve spent all day baking brownies for mikes birthday, and you invited steve over to help since hes grown to like baking with you. however, for the last hour now youve been smacking his grubby fucking hands away from the first batch of brownies that were left to cool on the counter.

"steve," you exhale now, close your eyes and count to ten in your head. youre overheating, the kitchen is unbearably hot in the april spring, and your head pounds as it begs for water. trying desperately to cling onto your sanity, you open your eyes and look at the teen. "this is your last chance before i get violent."

dustins smirk quickly slides off his face at your words. he knows you mean them, he knows youll throw a spatula at the boys any second, yet in his panicked scramble to flee the kitchen, dustin notices that steve doesnt even flinch.

"violent, huh?"

your eyes darken and your hand slowly moves toward the spatula that rests against the counter top. dustin sucks in a breath, now out of spatula range, and watches with amazement as steve remains unphased. "you heard me, harrington."

steve notices the spatula now in your hand, and to dustins horror, he chuckles. "oh, like thats gonna hurt me, angel."

"did. you. steal. a. brownie?" you sneer at him, spatula raised and ready to throw.

"i. did. not." steve lies right through his teeth.

"you fucking liar!" a spatula flies through the air and dustin ducks as it collides against steves chest. "you know ive been working all day on them, youre supposed to ask me before taking anything that i bake!"

and there it is, the explosion that dustin had feared. he winces, youre terrifying when you shout, and yet steve only smiles.

"hey, i helped bake them. dont forget that."

dustin swears he sees your eye twitch. "im sorry?"

"apology accepted!" steve jumps over the counter and scoops you into his arms before you or dustin can even blink. he twirls you around, tickles your side as he spins you, and helplessly all you can do is giggle at his menacing attack. "oh, you dont sound so angry now, y/n!"

"s-stop!" youre breathless, and yet still you laugh as steve continues to dance you around the kitchen and tickle your neck with the side of his nose as he buries his face into your hair. you can feel him smile against your neck, and your heart skips a beat.

however, the fucker stole one of mikes brownies.

you shove against steves chest and free yourself from his grasp. you point a finger at him, stern despite your breathlessness from giggling. "no, im still mad at you!"

"im sorry, angel. i really am." steve grabs the finger aimed at his chest and draws you in yet again. he kisses the finger, soft and sweet, and you melt. the anger is gone, all thats left are your flushed cheeks. "i'll make it up to you, i promise."

dustin finds himself fascinated by this dance between the two of you.

it takes only a second before you accept his apology, which shocks dustin. if it were anyone else, youd hold this over their head all day, yet for steve your forgeivness seems to come naturally. "fine, but im making you crack all the eggs this time. my hands smell."

steve smiles at your demand, he agrees to the conditions, and silently the two of you begin prepping for the next batch of brownies.

dustin stands in the kitchen, completely forgotten about now, and hes baffled by whats just happened. hes never seen someone able to simultaneously anger yet maulify you so quickly. if it had been jonathan, you wouldve shaken your head at him and teased him, maybe flick your spatula at him, but the annoyance wouldve simmered for the rest of the day despite the forgiveness. there wouldve been no theatrical yelling, no ignited eyes and flushed cheeks.

but with steve, the anger diminishes with just a smile, a kiss to your finger. your cheeks are still red, your breathing is still slightly labored, and steve looks just as exhilarated as you do.

it strikes dustin, then, that hes never seen someone handle this side of you before.

its like steve knew how to push all the right buttons to get you to yell at him just so he could wrap you in his arms and make you laugh. distantly, dustin wonders if that had been steves plan all along; get you riled up just to leave you breathless with you in his arms to distract you from your exhaustion.

clearing his throat, dustin decides he should leave. youre whispering to steve softly now, more gigglings arising. "im going to my room, you guys are unbearable to be around."

"love you too!" both you and steve shout back at him, a practiced ease to it after doing this for months now.

dustin cant help but smile; his sister has met her match.

[trohpi]

rating regulus black ships!!

jegulus | 11/10 - i love them so much. when i rejoined the fandom in 2022 and saw how the ship had blown up in the years id been gone i was really confused, but then i read just lovers and was immediately convinced lmao. they are the epitome of sunshine x grumpy and i adore them both

bartylus | 5/10 - theyre not very compelling to me, but theyre not bad by any means. i think they work better as friends but i understand why people ship them. i just prefer other ships personally, but ive read many great fics with them too!

jegulily | 20/10 - im obsessed with them. i love regulus, james, and lily separately, but together they balance each other out. plus it helps that its a combination of my two most favorite monoamorous ships (jegulus and regulily), like whats not to like? theyre definitely a top tier ship

moonwater | 10/10 - they are so cute and so overhated! theres so much potential here, like they could be friends to lovers or enemies to lovers or rivals to lovers, basically any trope you can think of lol. and think of the angst! the drama! i love them dearly

regulily | 1000/10 - yall already know how i feel about these two! they are literal soulmates and i love them to bits. their personalities mesh so well and, this might be a controversial take, but they make more canonical sense than jegulus does imo (not that canon really matters in this fandom lmao). i could wax literal poetry about this ship i love them so much

rosewater | 6/10 - i have other ships i prefer for both of them but theyre still cute and i can see why people ship them. honestly its a similar situation to bartylus, except they intrigue me just the slightest bit more lol

regumary | 4/10 - im sorry i just cant see this ship. i can see their relationship being platonic but not romantic. i also think mary is a lesbian, which doesnt really mean much considering i also love the trans girl regulus headcanon, but most of the time when i see this ship its very cishet and just not my thing. sorry yall!

regdora | 2/10 - i just cant see this ship either. its not bad necessarily, i just see the relationship between regulus and pandora as that of a sibling relationship. no hate to people who ship them, its just not for me lol

rosestarkillerchaser | 6/10 - i understand why people ship them, its combining three popular ships (jegulus, bartylus, and rosekiller), but im sorry i just cannot see james dating barty and evan. im not hating on people who ship them and its not bad by any means (i like them more than most other ships involving evan & barty) i just dont actively ship them. ive read some good fics tho!

rosestarkiller | 5/10 - similar situation to bartylus yet again, its just not compelling to me. i think regulus works better with evan & barty as his friends rather than lovers which you can probably tell given my other ratings lol

blackeclipse | 10/10 - ooooo i love them. all the best aspects of jegulus, moonchaser, and moonwater in one, its elite. james brings the buoyancy that regulus & remus need while regulus & remus help keep him tethered. they work so well together and i love them all dearly

xenoreg | 8/10 - a crackship ive come to enjoy recently! definitely a weird x weirder kind of ship which is the best. oh to be a fly on the wall of the slytherin common room when regulus told barty, evan, and dorcas that he was dating xenophilius lestrange, ravenclaws resident conspiracy theorist (pandora, of course, would have been overjoyed to have someone to trade ideas with)

regulene | 7/10 - they intrigue me tbh, like marlenes brashness and regulus’ coldness contrast in just the right ways. theyre like fire and water and i love that. plus the potential for a quidditch rivalry is phenomenal, especially considering that they could both be the seekers for their respective teams. theyre kinda similar to dorlene imo

regulilylene | 9/10 - im gonna be honest here i think i made this ship up, but i really like their dynamic. marlene and regulus are on the opposite extremes of hot and cold and lilys right there in the middle to keep them grounded, she evens them out

[catch1ngmoths]

Can you do like a one where quackity takes care of you when your drunk buutttt before you became drunk yall have a big fight, then you left to go to the bar alone and you get like really drunk and he finds you and takes care of you

I'm sorry if half of this doesn't make sense, and if it's too long😭😭😭😭

𓇢𓆸 Drunk in love 𓇢𓆸

Summary: after a big fight with Alex, you drink to numb the heartbreak you feel. But after getting too drunk, you call Alex. And of course, he comes to your rescue.

Note: ITS THE WEEKEND SO IMA POST YAYA!! also thank you guys for the support, it’s always appreciated! Also I’m watching the Florida project bc they put it back on Netflix 😋

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“Fuck.” You slur as you dial his number. You and Alex had a big fight about an hour and a half ago, and it ended in you storming out y’all’s shared apartment with tears rolling down your face. You just felt like he never had time for you, and of course you knew he was busy and stuff but it’d be nice to always feel loved by your boyfriend…

On the other hand, he felt as though you were being selfish. He had to work, he had things to do? He spends enough time with you. He felt as though you were just being needy. But once he heard the door slam followed by silence, he knew he fucked up.

His hands run down his face as he sits on the end of y’all’s shared bed. He picks up his phone, his finger hovering over the “call” button on your contact but he decides against it. Putting his phone down. He waited another hour and finally…

*RING* *RIN-* he picked up in the middle of the second ring, like he was waiting near his phone..“y/n! Are you okay, where are you?” Alex’s worried voice rings out in your ear. “A-Alex- I need you to-I need you to c-come get meee~” Alex can tell by your voice that your drunk, and someone like you being alone, drunk, and vulnerable at this time at night was not good.

“Baby-where are you?” Alex says, the jingling of keys are heard in the background as you drunkly stutter out where you are. Not even 10 minutes later, you see his car park right next to you. As Alex gets out the drivers seat, you walk towards him- well more like stumble towards him.

“Amor, come on let’s get you home now” Alex says grabbing your arm to steady you and leading you to the passenger seat. He drives home as you lay your head on the window, your mind racing with thoughts. Once you get home Alex helps you out of the clothes you’re wearing now, and into some clean ones. He washes your face and helps you into bed.

Once you’re in bed he snuggles up next to you. “I’m sorry.” He says softly into your hair, pressing kisses to your head. “Hm..?” You whisper, as you look up at your beloved. “I’m sorry- fuck, Ive been a shit boyfriend. And you don’t deserve that, I’ll try to be- no I will be a better boyfriend to you.” He says kissing your forehead.

“I promise.” He says, his black eyes staring into yours. “Thank-thank you Lex” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He smiles as you nuzzle closer to him, pressing into his bare chest with a soft smile.

He loves you more than anything in the world. While you were gone he just stared at the ceiling, feeling like an absolute dick. He recalled all the times he streamed instead of spending time with you. All the times he worked on lore instead of coming to bed. All the times he neglected you and your needs

As he felt your breathing on his chest, he felt so much love for you. He sighed, pressing kisses to your hair. Alex pulls your sleeping body closer to his, as he feels his eyes get heavy.

He would be better. For you. He would always do it for you. Always.

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[melanatedeuph0ria]

my initial thoughts on the bear s3 (having only gotten to ep 5)

im not even mad ab the whole sydcarmy breakdown in s3 rn I’m just like disappointed because what the fuck man

I’m only on ep 5 and I’m not gonna lie to y’all if this was as good and actually interesting as season 2 I’d be eating it up and binging that shit as much as I did last year. Well now I rlly can’t because I just HAD to rewatch the show w my parents so now that means I have to wait until they’re in the mood to watch it to watch it with them so I don’t feel like I’m betraying them for watching episodes on my own (mostly my mom tbh) but like ts is NOT speaking to me man

like I NEVER use “man” at the end of my sentences like that only when I’m actually exasperated and fucking tired of the shit something or somebody is pulling

Like FROM WHAT IVE SEEN this season has only showed me that like OKAY I DONT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE FAKS IM JUST SEEING THEM WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH LIKE…WHY IS JOHN CENA HERE STOP TRYING TO MAKE SHIT INTERESTING BY INSERTING RANDOM FUCKING CELEBRITIES INTO YO SHIT FIRST OF ALL

SECONDLY I’m pissed with how CARMY IS TREATING MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK QUEEN PRINCESS DUCHESS SYDNEY

Like what happened man 😕

It was legitimately going so so so SO WELL IN SEASON TWO

LIKE I HAD HOPE INDISPUTABLE HOPE ABOUT THEM GETTING TOGETHER

LIKE HUH

but then this WHITE MAN has the nerve to treat her like GARBAGE

FIRST FROM GETTING INTO A FIGHT WITH RICHIE FOR NO FUCKING REASON CAUSING RICHIE TO FALL OVER AND SPILL ALL OF THE HARD EXPO ORDER WORK SYDNEY WAS WORKING ON

LIKE I WOULD HAVE BEEN GONE BYE RESTAURANT WITH NO FUCKING SIGN ON THE FRONT LIKE WHO DO YALL THINK YALL AREEE

ALSO I FIND IT DISRESPECTFUL AS HELL

DISRESPECTFUL THAT THIS NIGGA IS ASKING HER “WHAT DO I DO WITH CLAIRE???” LIKE LMAO WHY NOBODY GIVE A FUCK

I THINK IM MOVING TO THE SIDE OF THE ARGUMENT THAT SYDNEY DESERVES BETTER THAN THIS MAN

AND I WIULDVE THOUGHT HE WOULDVE BEEN AT LEAST A LITTLE, MAYBE A LITTLE MORE GENTLRR WITH HER DURING COOKING TOME OR WHAGEVER TF BUT HE STILL JUST AS GORDON RAMSAY-ISH WITH HER LIKE WITH ANYONE

WTF DID WE DO STORER

LIKE WHY R U BEING A BITCH ABOUT SYDCARMY SHIPPERS LIKE U JUST PUT A BIG ASS HOLE IN THEIR WHOLE RELATIONSHIP

LIKE OKAY THEY DONT HAVE TO GET TOGEHRHER WHATEVER IF THEY DONT ILL STILL BE PISSED BUT WHATEVER

BUT I FEEL LIKE

UGH IDK

I CAME TO SEE A LIL ROMANCE THE NITTY GRITTY. LIKE EW HOW THE HELL ARE YALL GOING TO BE SHOWING CLAIRE AND CARMY KISSING IN THE DARK LIKE I DONT CARE WHAT TYPE OF WORK SHE DOES I DONT GAF AB WHAT SHE DO FOR WORK LIKE I APPRECIATE HER BEING A NICE PERSON TO THESE KIDS AND STUFF BUT CMON

CARMY AINT CALL HER NOT ONCE THIS WHOLE TIME IVE BEEN WATCHING

RICHIE IS THE ONLY ONE IM FR INTERESTED IN MARCUS TOO BECAUSE HE TRYNA DO SOME EXPERIMENTAL SHIT OUTSIDE OF THIS STRSSSFUL ASS ENVIRONMENT

AND SINCE WHEN DID THEY STILL OPERATE THE BEEF?!? I THOUGHT THEY CLOSED THAT SINCE WHRN IS A BRANCH OF THAT STILL OPERATING AND WHY IS ONLY EBRA IN CHARGE?!?

I THOUGHT THEY BUILT OVER THE RESTAURANT AND TURNED IT INTO WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS NOW I MIGHTA MISSED A PLOT POINT BUT I DONT REMEMBER THAT EVEN BEING SAID

ALSO WHI IS THAT MAN WHO WALTZED INTO THE BEAR REASTUARSNT AND WAS TALKING W CARMY AS HE WAS CUTTING SOME SHIT AND WHO ALSO WAS AT THE WINDOW OF THE BEEF LIKE WHO ARE YOU HO LIKE R U A FAK OR WHAT BITCH

CARMY IS JUST TOO SAME OLD SAME OLD FOR ME LIKE CAN WE PLEASE CHANGE FOR ONCE IN OUR LIVES

LIKE I UNDERSTAND RICHIE ON THE FIRST EP LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DO U MEAN UR SORRY WHEN U LITERALLY CALLED ME A LEECH FOR WANTING TO BE INCLUDED IN THIS FAMILY BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE ONE TO RLLY CALL HIS OWN?!?!? LIKE CARMY CAN YOU CHILL OUT THIS MAN ACTUALLY LOVES YOU NO PAWSE

from what I’ve watched already its okay NOT TO SAY THE ACTORS ARE BECAUSE THE ACTORS DID AN INCREDIBLE PERFOMANCE AS USUAL LIKE THEIR SKILLS ARE STILL GREAT BUT I DONT LIKE WHAT THEY HAVE YALL DOIN WITH THAT AND ITS PISSING ME AWFF DONT PMOOOOO

ALSO IS IT JUST ME OR DO I FEEL LIKE THE BLACK CHARACTERS ARENT GETTING SHIT THIS SEASON

LIKE MARCUS AND TINA..OKAY OKAY THEY GOT THEY LIL EPISODES

BUT WHAT AB NOW IN THE PRESENT

I THINK WHO IM MAINLY TALKING AB IS SYD, EBRA, AND GARY I DAMN NEAR FORGOT HIS NAME BECAUSE WE NEVER EVER EVERRRR SEE HIM. EVER.

LIKE I ACTUALLY LIKE HIS CHARACTER I WANT TO SEE MORE OF HIM HE SEEMS COOL

okay main points:

* syd deserves better

* syd needs to stop being a lil mean to her dad idk I might be soft but like (it HAD to be said cs why r u being so rude to him for having genuine concerns about this murky ass apartment u finna dig into yo pockets to pay for?? ALSO this sussy ass partnership w this man liiiiiioke…)

* they seemed to care more ab carmys failing and anticlimactic relationship with claire than marcus’s late mother (ALSO I couldn’t help but notice SYDNEY was the only one, THE ONLY ONE who came to support this man as they were cleaning his mom’s hospice equipment out of his house…LIKE YALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO COME HELP??? like okay they came to his funeral which I appreciate y’know but still that part irks me)

* ts feels like filler at its finest somebody already said that but I felt like it had to be restated, like if CLAIRE YO

* IF CLAIRE IS THE MAIN DAMN PLOT POINT FOR THIS NIGGA CARMY RN AND IS THE ONE DRIVING HIM TO DO ALL THIS CRAZY NONNEGOTIABLE SHIT TO GET HIS MIND OFF OF IT IM DONE

* okay I’m done thank y’all for listening

* also I’m writing this on my notes app so I just copied it over

*ok bye y’all ty for listening !!! :3

UPDATE: I just read a few posts on here giving different perspectives and now I feel like I might’ve missed some stuff 😭

like maybe this is just setting it up to LOOK LIKE syd and carmy aren’t ever happening just to make season 4 and have them

idk how to even end that sentence

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 155 spoilers n thoughts below cut etc u know the drill

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bug when u lift a rock

i love when he has lil soft smileys like this theyre his best look heehee

THIS IS WHAT MY BRAIN WAS MELTING OVER EARLIER TODAY BTW. IM GOING INSANE

THIS HAD ME SHIVERING . TREMBLING LIKE A WET CAT. "when someone really misses another person... they might meet again here." GHH . HGGGGG AAAAAHHH

ok sorry uh. i dont have much insight this time around im just going insane over it,,, a place that represents happy memories and promises to stay together and yet suho has returned here, unable to hold onto both without the ache of loss bc his parents r gone AAAGGHHHG AA

how cruel how cruel how cruel,,, cruel reminders of what he can never return to,,, WHICH MAKES HIM SAYING "i already met my family." SOOO HEARTACHE TO ME

ok sorry im jumping ahead a bit but yeah suho feeling at home as a frontera and moving forward, beyond the memories and the past,,, im gonna THROW UP what the FUCK

ok bouncing back to some sillies this ep LOL

A MAN ON A FUCKING MISSION 😭 LLOYD U MONSTER HAHAA javier being happy that lloyds back to his motivated self tho makes me so happy WEEHEEHEE

ALSO JAVIER IMMEDIATELY BECOMING SOCMED FAMOUS IS SO FUNNY HAHAHAHA honestly the ppl who r taking pics. so real. me too. i can only imagine how insanely pretty javier would b if he was in our world,,, his protagonist-level good looks are dimensional constants .

i am a little bit confused as to why javier said this considering he was so ready to bring lloyd back at all costs when they first got here? mmm maybe his worries were quelled when they were taking the mountain trail to the tower? im not quite sure,,, maybe i missed smth

ALSO HIS FRIEND OMGGG

IM SO GLAD WE GOT TO SEE HIM AGAIN hes working construction now too!!! wahoo!!! hes still got that face tho lol

OH OH AND THE COP CHASE RIGHT

javier folding the clothes is so silly hes such a good lil guy 😭 vs lloyd just leaving them scattered LMAOOO it was nice of them to leave a note n the gold for the cop guys tho!!

i also liked that the cops kept fucking posing thru out the whole ep HAHAHA ive never seen jjba but its like jjba level posing theyre so silly

AND FINALLY YAA THEY GOT ALL THE MATERIALS SECURED

i rlly liked javiers lil "!!" at the bottom here HEHEHE

so so happy they got the stuff!!!! restoration of fate can SUCK AN EGG THEYRE GONNA BEAT IT!!!! hopefully

afaik theres no telling what the jewel of truth is gonna actually say abt fighting fate,,, or whether or not the jewel will give the answer that easily,,, hopefully it goes smoothly lloyd deserves a break atp 😭😭😭

also how r they gonna put the thing together havent they been flying over the ocean w draggy recently . werent the mermaids tryna figure out who was commanding draggy so that they could sic em for opening that portal to hell 😭 WILL THAT B A PROBLEM? (dont actually answer that)

man oh man milestone achieved but still so much to do for these guys,,,, i wanna put them in a box and contain them and let them have a break they deserve it

ok thats it for now,,, if i start brainrotting again ill prolly post abt it here or on twitter,,, see yall next week!!!!